It’s a cliche to talk of love at first sight but I think that’s what it was with me and Chris. We met at my brother’s wedding, when I was 17 and he was 23, and from the moment we were introduced until we said goodbye that night, we didn’t spend more than a few minutes apart. His friends joked that he was following me about like a puppy, but I didn’t mind. He was handsome and funny and had lovely hair. I lived in Sheffield and he was in Wrexham, but he asked if he could visit and I agreed. For four years we courted long distance, and when he asked me to marry him in 1977, I said yes straight away.
We stayed together for seven happy years. I never stopped laughing with Chris. The problem was his job: he was a lorry driver with his father’s firm, and that meant he spent long periods away. I got lonely. I’d moved away from all my family and friends, and felt as if life was passing me by while I sat at home waiting for someone who was never there. We discussed it, but Chris said he couldn’t leave the family firm. He wouldn’t let his dad down; he had to keep driving. So, we hit an impasse. We were both too headstrong.
One day in 1984 he told me he had to go to Scotland and something snapped. I said if he was leaving, so was I – and I wouldn’t come back. And that’s what I did. My brother came to pick me up that afternoon, and I remember his exact words: “This is a waste of my time. You’ll be back together soon enough.”
In fact, except for one weekend when we met to discuss our divorce, we didn’t see each other for 26 years. It would have been too hard. I was heartbroken, but I was 27 and determined to move on. I ended up remarrying, having two children and running a pub. I often thought of Chris – I’d hear a song that reminded me of him – but I refused to live in the past.
In 2010, I had divorced again and had sworn off men for life, when a friend told me there was a photo of me in a book about 1970s nightlife in Sheffield. I couldn’t believe what I saw. It was Chris and I on our wedding night. We’d held our reception party in a local rock’n’roll club, and this photograph had been taken there. Apparently, someone had passed it on to the author with hundreds of others from the venue. Seeing it gave me butterflies.
I instantly decided to track Chris down. In fact, that was easy. I didn’t realise, but he and my mum had stayed in touch, sending Christmas cards every year. His number was in an old address book of hers.
So I called him. I was so nervous, I was shaking. When I said who it was, he greeted me as if we’d spoken only last week. “Hello, Annie, how are you?”
We slipped back into conversation so naturally. It turned out he’d stayed single. He’d told his family that I’d been the one true love of his life and he wouldn’t marry anyone else. He’d devoted himself to the business. Three days after we spoke, he drove to see me. He didn’t tell me, because he wasn’t sure he’d have the nerve to knock on my door. He just wanted to see where I lived. But, as it happened, I was in the street as he pulled up. I recognised him instantly. He had less hair and more weight, but he still looked exactly like my Chris.
We spent all evening chatting and looking at photos. I made us cups of tea, but we were talking so much, they went cold. We agreed to go out for dinner a week later. We couldn’t stop talking; there we were in our 50s, laughing like kids. The night ended with a cuddle. He proposed for a second time three weeks later. And, for a second time, I said yes. My children had met him by then and they told me to go for it.
We married in April 2011. My brother said at the wedding, “I told you you’d get back together. What took so long?”
The truth is, I don’t know. I won’t say I regret spending 26 years apart, because I have two wonderful children and perhaps we needed the separation so we didn’t come to resent each other. But I won’t lose Chris again. He’s mine for keeps now.
• As told to Colin Drury
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