We had met in Italy in the late sixties when I was on a gap year. I was an unsophisticated 21-year-old, and this was a huge adventure for me. We were introduced by mutual friends. He was staying at his parents’ villa and very much a local pin-up; handsome, outgoing, funny and sociable. I found him breathtakingly attractive and was amazed when he asked me out. We had an innocent little sunny summer romance, lots of dinners and wild dancing in local nightclubs; we laughed a lot and I felt free for the first time in my life. When I returned home, he followed me over and asked me to marry him.

It wasn’t that I didn’t love him, it was that I didn’t want to get married and have children, and he did. Having suddenly had some freedom in my life, I found that I wanted to go out and see more of the world and not become a housewife with kids. He went back to Italy and shortly afterwards married someone on the rebound. We lost touch.

A long relationship that I had didn’t work out, neither did his marriage and we had both been on our own for a long time when he suddenly appeared in my inbox.

Now retired, he had emigrated to New Zealand in the early 70’s with his family. 

I had never forgotten him and often thought we had met at the wrong time so when he said he wanted to come over, I was quite sure it would be different this time. It was – but not in the way that I expected.

Before he arrived, he assured me that he would bring plenty of money because he wanted us to have nice meals in restaurants. Being on my own for a long time, I was looking forward to that and would have been happy to split the bills.  

He may have brought plenty of money with him but he took most of it back.  

In the nine days he stayed, he bought fish and chips in a pub and demanded a discount because he thought his fish was small. The rest of the time, he wolfed down three course meals provided, cooked and washed up by me.  

When we went to the supermarket, I was so hoping that just once he would stop at the flower section. Nothing fancy; I love alstroemerias (£3.25) but, even on Valentines Day, he was too busy hastening to the wine section to spend £20 on two bottles of wine for himself.  (I don’t drink). I paid for everything else.  

I paid automatically whenever we went anywhere. It was too embarrassing, waiting for him to proffer entrance fees in galleries, stately homes etc. 

Out for coffee with friends, when the bill arrived, he always allowed me or them to pay.  

When they asked him (politely) how he was, he told them. I always had to change the subject when he got past the blood pressure, arthritis, bad knees, eczema and diabetes. 

I didn’t think they would be quite ready for the graphic details about his prostate op and the problems he encountered with his catheter bag.

He had grown old and let himself go and become self-absorbed and pitying. 

Despite everything, I became fond of him, as you would an old uncle. I regarded him with wistful affection.

We had settled into companionship. He wasn’t bad company most of the time if occasionally querulous; now and then there were  flashes of the humour I remembered so well.  

One day, in the bathroom, I spotted something sticking out of his spongebag. 

I couldn’t resist it, I peeked. A half used packet of Viagra; three years out of date. 

I said I was fond of him – but not that fond.  

He did ask me to go back to New Zealand with him. But I got it right in 1968.