PROLOGUE
I wasn’t looking for Him.
The prospect of falling in love with another man was inconceivable.
Or so I thought.
I was the woman people turned to in a crisis, not the one in the middle of an existential one. Change terrified me. Fun, I could be, spontaneous– no freaking way.
I sought a simple life, without stress or drama, preferring a bottle of Pinot and my own company most evenings. The wildest I got was three glasses on a school night.
Occasionally, I’d commit to an irregular fad of exercising and update my girlfriends on WhatsApp with a daily progress report. ‘My name’s Lucy O’Connor and I haven’t had a drink for three days.’
As far as vices go, it could have been worse than a couple of quiet snifters on my couch.
So, believe me when I say I wasn't looking for trouble. I found it anyway. By God, did I find it.
It was like a thunderbolt of lightning exiting the sky, and striking the very core of me, waking me from my meaningless, although not entirely unpleasant existence.
I never believed a love like it could exist, let alone happen to someone like me.
Nothing would ever be the same, regardless of whether I pursued it or denied it. A beast had awakened in me. One that had been starved of affection for longer than I could remember.
I’d seen the light at the end of an incredibly long and lonely tunnel. I could no longer pretend that things would ever be right.
I had so much to be grateful for.
A great job.
A roof over my head.
The best friends a girl could ask for. Fun loving Rachel, whose alter ego ‘Raquelle’ was responsible for everything that occurred post wine.
Sensible and sensitive Katie, harassed mother of two tiny terrors, and fellow dental hygienist. Clara, the quick witted and quirky practice manager from work, who was also the famous founder of the Wednesday Wine Club.
I holidayed three times a year with my frivolous, fun-loving mum. I dined out in nice restaurants with my friends, drank cocktails with my colleagues.
But on the flip side, I worked my fingers to the bone, six days a week, primarily to escape the four oppressive walls I called home, and the man I shared them with.
I was a child bride. It’s not like I was even pregnant. I’m sure our extended families waited with bated breath for ‘The Joyful Announcement’ for months afterwards. Chance would be a fine thing.
Rob was American. We’d been dating on and off for a year when his visa expired. He faced deportation, unless of course we got married.
I knew I wasn’t in love when I tottered up the aisle weighed down with a hefty wedding dress and head full of delusional dreams. Foolish maybe but wait for it– this is the crazy bit.
I thought I was being clever you see.
So many times, I’d seen people close to me fall head over heels, crazy in love. I even envied them, wondering when this magical thing would happen to me. The ‘can’t eat or sleep for thinking about him’ kind of love. The ‘I need to see him right now or I might combust with lust’ kind of love.
I wanted it for myself, until I saw first-hand the damage it was capable of.
It was all-consuming, overwhelming, and I witnessed it suck the life out of those involved from the inside out. It seemed to me love was like a tornado; it powered in hard and fast and destroyed everything in its path, before fading and disappearing as rapidly as it arrived.
Often, it wasn’t actually love, of course.
It was infatuation.
A person couldn’t think straight amidst its throes. Rational people became irrational, alienating their friends and family, making countless grave decisions, sacrificing everything they’d ever known before. All for this higher power ‘love’ which took priority over everything and everyone else.
