AFTER SO LONG TOGETHER, IS THIS THE END?

This week: James reacts badly to the news that Anonymous is moving in with her parents

Iwas going home. I felt the way I had done in the university holidays: my freedoms curtailed, my big, grown-up life put on hold – but this time, it was my idea. Moving back to my parents’ house would give me space to breathe, and a chance to work out what to do next while I saved for a bigger deposit than I could currently afford.

Or perhaps, I thought, I’d forget house-ownership altogether, drop the idea of a London flat, and buy a canal barge to explore the waterways of Britain. Obviously, I had no idea how to sail, or what one did about toilets (though I suspected it wasn’t pretty), but I enjoyed my small vision of freedom.

“Oh God,” said Tilda, when I told her, “you’re going to become one of those women who runs yoga retreats, aren’t you? Banging on about mindfulness and gratitude.”

I pretended to be outraged, but I could tell she was pleased with the idea of me staying at her grandparents’, probably because it meant she didn’t have to worry about looking after me.

The person I was dreading telling, however, was James. Things had gone wrong between us, we’d tried to move too quickly, and I wasn’t sure whether we had a future or not. I suspected he was still hoping that we did and, while I wasn’t ready for full commitment, I missed him. I steeled myself and called him.

“Lovely to hear your voice,” he said. “Have you decided where you’re moving to?”

“Well…” I said. “I’m going back to my parents to live in the granny flat. Just for a bit, while I decide what to…”

“That’s bloody ridiculous,” he said. I was surprised into silence. “You’re a grown-up, not a student!” he carried on, “why are you running back to your parents?”

Rage flooded through me. I remembered how high-handed James had sometimes been when we were going out together over 20 years ago, the assumptions he made. Perhaps, looking back, that was why it had never worked out between us long-term.

“I’m not ‘running back’,” I snapped. “It’s a sensible decision, financially, and…”

“You could have moved in with me.”

“I didn’t want to!” I said, furious. “It’s too soon, I’m not even divorced yet.”

“Oh,” he said, “so suddenly, it’s a moral issue.”

“It’s a ‘not wanting to live with anyone’ issue, and certainly not anyone as pompous as you!” I shouted. There was a silence. It took me a few moments to realise he’d put the phone down.

So that was that, I thought. I was filled with a giddy energy, a raging desire to raze my old life to the ground and watch it burn. Instead, I snatched a roll of bin bags from the cupboard, ran upstairs and pulled everything out of my ancient Victorian wardrobe.

Shoes, bags, dresses and coats tumbled on to the bed. I felt ruthless. Out went the dress I had worn to some awful business dinner with Richard, out went the high-heeled shoes he’d bought me for a birthday, that looked fabulous but were too painful to wear. Out went handbags I’d loved, coats I’d craved in shop windows, underwear I’d bought a few years ago hoping to ‘spice things up’. Ha, I thought. There’ll be no spicing up now. It felt like an enormous relief.

My rage with Richard, with James, with everything, fuelled me through clearing out the entire bedroom. But once I’d finished, hours later, I longed to collapse on the sofa and share a bottle of wine with someone I loved. And that was no longer an option. Next time: Richard has news

‘I’m not “running back” to my parents. It’s a sensible decision…’