For almost a month, Richie would sneak in through the back door at least two mornings a week. Each night I would wait until I knew the parents were asleep and unlock it quietly so that he was able to enter the house without fuss. I never knew whether he would come round or not, so I spent many a morning praying for my Richio to clamber over the fence with love’s light wings. More often than not I was left disappointed. 

 

He was still living with the other girl - Rebecca was her name - so our arrangement was somewhat confusing for me. When he saw me he would tell me that he was trying to sort everything out, but that it was complicated. I needed to be patient, he told me. He was doing everything he could. 

 

When he did come, my heart would melt. It felt like he was braving danger to come and rescue me and I thanked him profusely for his trouble.

 

On what planet was I living that I could not see this for the scam it was? How was I allowing this to happen? Well, therein lies the magic of gaslighting, the odourless, but noxious fumes invading your being without you noticing how the poison works its magic. He contradicts, you challenge, he insists, you acquiesce for the sake of peace, but slowly start to doubt yourself, especially when he challenges the accuracy of your memory, the state of your mental health.

 

Over the course of about three weeks, he’d effectively convinced me that I was to blame for him leaving. I’d pushed him towards this girl. I hadn’t been attentive enough, wasn’t appreciating what he’d done to turn my life around, how he’d saved me from the prospect of domestic drudgery on the continent and given me the opportunity to taste the glitz and glamour of London. I cared too much about my other friends - fair weather friends at work who didn’t really care about me. Why was I going out with them when I could spend time with him? In fact, why was I going out at all? It wasn’t a good look for a young woman to be going out without a man in London. Anywhere for that matter. I was asking for trouble, apparently, needed my head examined.

​

I pleaded with him not to think that of me. I was loyal to him. Always had been. I was just confused with the situation and didn’t know what to do. Going out with friends was the only way to avoid a night in, crying. I just wanted him. Only wanted him. I begged him to believe me. 

 

“I want to believe you. I’m trying. But it’s going to take time.”

 

“OK, I don’t mind. Take your time, but you’ll see I mean it. I promise.”

 

*

 

And so it was that I found myself locked in this world that he dominated. I’d go to work and think about nothing else than getting back to his parents’ place. I’d text him in the morning to tell him I was off to work, that I had arrived at work, that I was on a break, that I was at lunch, that I’d left for the day, that I was back at his parents’ place. Occasionally he’d text back, very occasionally he’d call. He’d never commit to coming round but would always tell me he would try his best. 

 

At weekends, I’d stay in, too afraid to miss an opportunity to see him secretly for an afternoon coffee or to get a call. When he texted or called at the weekend, it was to ask what I was doing and to make it clear that he needed to know if it was worth making all that effort and taking the risk to come round and see me, particularly if he couldn’t be sure I wouldn’t be off doing who-knows-what with some new guy from work.

 

And then, one Saturday, I got a message to go and meet him in Camden. The message was abrupt: “I need you to meet me in Camden at 2”. I knew where to meet him as we’d met there before - upstairs area of a small coffee shop where he could spy to make sure this Rebecca girl didn’t somehow show, which she never did. I replied to tell him I’d be there.

 

I got there early just to avoid meeting him in the street or outside the coffee shop which I knew would enrage him. I bought a pot of tea and went upstairs and sat in that same spot next to the window. I needn’t have bothered getting there early, though, as he was characteristically late. I saw him crossing the road as he headed towards the coffee shop entrance, rucksack on his back and a holdall in his right hand. Were we going somewhere? Was he whisking me off for the weekend?

 

He disappeared through the entrance below and moments later I could hear his steps approaching as he ascended the small staircase. The look on his face did not suggest that I was in for a pleasant surprise. He dropped the holdall, shuffled his body left and right to loosen the rucksack from his back, slid it down his right arm, caught it with the other and placed it on the floor next to the holdall.

 

“Did you not think to get me a drink? Guess I’ll go and get myself one.”

 

“Oh no, sorry! I got here earlier and didn’t want to get you something in case it went cold.”

 

“Is that your way of telling me I’m late”

 

“No, I just…”

 

“Forget it, I’ll go”

 

“No, it’s OK, you sit down, let me, what do you want? Espresso?”

 

“Yeah. And see if they’ve got any nice pastries” 

 

“Sure.” I offered him a broad smile but only got back a straight-faced nod as I made my way downstairs, wondering what I might have done to mess things up this time.

 

When I arrived back with the drinks and a croissant for him, he looked agitated, his eyes fixed at the window.

 

“Did they not have any chocolate ones? Or the swirly ones?”

 

“That’s all they had. I asked, but they shut at 4 before setting up for the evening and then they serve different food, so that was all they had”.

 

He rolled his eyes and aggressively tore off one half of the croissant with his teeth.

 

“Right, listen. I’m going to need you to take these bags back to my mum and dad’s house. I’m going to move back in.”

 

I could hardly believe what I was hearing. 

 

“I’ve got to work this evening and then I’ll come back there. I’ll sleep on the sofa otherwise they’ll give me shit, but I’ll talk to them in the morning. Might be good if you’re out. Then I’ll get their car and go back for the rest of my stuff”

 

“OK!” I said, barely unable to contain my excitement. “That’s great! I’m so happy! Thank you!”

 

“Yeah, I’m coming back. I said I would, didn’t I? I told you.”

 

I had a tear in my eye as I smiled and nodded, while frantically trying to remember at what point he’d made those assurances, but then just decided I might as well just enjoy the moment.