REAL LIFE I moved in with my husband after 20 years
After two decades of living happily apart, Claire Burke and her husband, David, finally decided to take the plunge and live in the same house…
Ismiled as my husband, David, backed into the bedroom, carrying two cups of tea. Our 12-yearold son, Jay, was in tow and the pair climbed under the covers with me. ‘Sleep well?’ I beamed at David. ‘I did,’ he grinned back, kissing my cheek. ‘You?’
In fact, I hadn’t stopped smiling since David, now 48, and I moved in together – which, given that we’ve been in a relationship for 20 years and married for eight – isn’t that long, really…
Five months, in fact. Yep, that’s right. Despite becoming a couple, having a child and tying the knot, we’d missed out what many people regard as being a huge part of a relationship – moving in together.
I met David in 2001, when I worked as a receptionist for the fire station in Bradford. He was a new recruit and I remember him saluting cheekily as
I drove home one day.
It made me smile, but I wasn’t looking for love. I’d just broken up with my husband, the father of our three boys – Lee, now 26, Billy, 24, and Max, 21 – and we were all still living in our family home.
When I got talking to David on work nights out, I learned he was in a similar situation. ‘I’ve just split from my wife,’ he said. ‘ We were together since we were 17.’
There was an undeniable spark, but we were determined to take things slowly. It would have been tempting to ask David to move in when my ex moved out. But I had the boys to think about – and it was the first time I’d had a house to myself, and I was enjoying it. I could watch what I wanted, no one snoring in my ear all night…
When I downsized in July 2002, I found it exciting to pick what carpets and wallpaper I wanted. Plus, with David’s shifts, we had plenty of days together.
Occasionally, after a family party or if he wasn’t working Christmas Eve, he’d stay over. But apart from that, we’d spend our nights apart.
We got into a routine. Watching a film, having a takeaway and a bottle of wine, then David would get up, stretch, and go home. ‘Are you ever going to live together?’ friends and family would ask. Their words got to me.
‘ Why do you always want to go home?’ I asked one night in 2006.
‘Do you want me to stay over?’ David asked, surprised.
‘I want you to want to stay over,’ I snapped. The argument escalated and we broke up.
Yet, the more I thought
about it, the more I realised I didn’t want him to stay over. I wanted the excitement of going on dates – and the independence of living apart.
After nine months, we got back together. Although ours didn’t resemble most people’s relationships, it worked for us.
Even when I fell pregnant with Jay in early 2009, it didn’t occur to either of us to alter our living arrangements.
But in September 2009, Jay was born and diagnosed with Down’s syndrome. All the tests had come back low risk, so it was a huge shock – especially as our gorgeous son had a heart defect too.
‘I’ll stay over,’ David said, an offer I gratefully accepted. It was lovely to have him there, to share my worries, the responsibility – and night feeds.
Yet, after five weeks, Jay was sleeping through and David was still stopping over… Suddenly, I had an idea.
‘I’ve bought you a cot,’ I announced. ‘Jay can stay at your house too.’
David would have Jay on the nights he wasn’t working, giving me the respite I needed from having a poorly baby. I’d laugh at the pictures he sent of the two of them watching TV before I settled down for an uninterrupted night’s sleep.
So when David proposed on Christmas Day 2011, I had only one question. ‘ We don’t have to move in together, do we?’ I asked, horrified. David’s face showed the same shock. ‘God no!’ he spluttered.
‘In that case, yes!’ I accepted. On our wedding day in 2013, everyone jokingly asked if we were going to spend our wedding night in the same bed – but of course we weren’t!
Even on our honeymoon to New York, we got a twin room, like we did on every holiday.
After so many years of sleeping alone, neither of us would get a good night’s rest with another person in their bed.
Then at the end of last year, David came home beaming. ‘I’ve been offered a job in
‘Even on our honeymoon to New York we got a twin room’
Wetherby,’ he announced. ‘As crew manager.’
I hugged him in delight at the news of his promotion.
We’d already been looking to move, to find a good high school for Jay – this was the perfect excuse to find somewhere different.
But there was only one thing… ‘ We can’t afford two houses there,’ I moaned, as I searched the internet. The only sensible solution was to move in together.
‘But what if it ruins us?’ I asked friends anxiously. ‘I don’t want us to start arguing over toilet seats or dirty socks.’ I’m a big believer in signs, so when our homes sold immediately and the perfect house came up, just a threeminute drive from David’s new fire station, it seemed that we should give it a go.
At the beginning of this year, after nearly two decades as a couple, we moved in together. It’s been the best thing we’ve ever done.
We were giddy with excitement as we picked a bed and wardrobes together.
Jay struggled to settle at first so David moved to the spare room, so I could help Jay get back to sleep… but now Jay is getting through the night fine, David has stayed in the spare room and I’m happy in my king-size bed in the en suite master room!
Now, at 54, I’m so happy, I keep pinching myself. I feel so lucky to finally live in my dream house with my dream man and my dream son. But do I wish we’d done it earlier? Definitely not!