A month ago, I moved in with my son’s dad. To be clear, we’re not getting back together. We’re not, because we were never together in the first place, although this is a love story. Just probably not the kind you’re expecting.
But then, neither was I. I met Egg (my nickname for Louis since his surname is Quail) in London in 2001. I was a 27-year-old journalist on a women’s magazine, and he was a 34-year-old photographer booked to cover the story I was writing. It was friendship at first sight. I felt an instant connection. I loved his creative spirit and his energy – all these years later, I still do.
We started hanging out. This was the golden age of media in London and there were parties every night of the week. Egg and I had a lot of fun, which on occasions ended up with a snog. We also began to work together – a journalist/photographer dream team, getting sent all over the world to cover stories. I remember being on one assignment in New York, in the winter of 2001, sitting across from Egg in a diner and thinking, I am having the time of my life with this man – am I falling in love? Our conversation fizzed, plus Egg had this ability to make everything we did feel like an adventure.
I came back from that trip on a total high but confused. Was this sexual? Weirdly it didn’t feel like it, but we slept together anyway. Surely the loin feelings will come, we reasoned, if we, well, practised. After two years of being essentially ‘friends with benefits’ – going back to one another’s place for a cuddle and sometimes more after nights out – we did, in 2003, attempt to ‘go out’ with each other. I remember it clearly; it was a Friday, but by Sunday night I was in tears and called it off. It didn’t feel like a boyfriend/girlfriend relationship.
Katy, 51, and Louis,58, with their son Fergus
In hindsight, I was trying to force something and finding it hard to accept it wasn’t there. The lack of attraction was more on my side, but Egg wasn’t overly upset. His mother had schizophrenia and was in hospital a lot when he was a child. After this unconventional upbringing, he’s never been one for traditional relationships, so the way we are has always suited him. He teases me about that weekend now.
We were both sad that the spark didn’t ignite. Here was this man, perfect in every way, but the sexual attraction wasn’t developing. It’s hard to say why. We are from different backgrounds, me from a traditional family and him a bohemian one, but the truth is there was no tangible reason. However, because we loved and trusted one another as people, we still found ourselves sleeping with each other occasionally and in March 2004, when I was 29, I found out I was pregnant. Despite the situation being far from ideal there was no doubt in our minds: we both really wanted this baby.
‘So, you’re going to get together properly now?’ people asked. I think my parents assumed this too, although, simply delighted to be having a grandchild, they never said as much. We didn’t want to force something that wasn’t there, so decided to co-parent as friends and live separately, but close by.
I bought a small flat across the road from Egg’s and when Fergus came along in December 2004, making us as overjoyed as any parents, we split the care down the middle (no ‘weekend dad’ situation for us). Our doors were always open for each other, which I guess is what made us different from most separated or divorced parents.
We’ve always spent time as a family, going on holidays together, and Egg, whose parents died years ago, has spent Christmas at my parents’ house since Fergus was born. He’s ‘uncle’ to my sister’s kids. When Fergus was a baby and I was struggling emotionally, my mum would say things like, ‘Can’t you just marry him and have done with it?’ More recently she said, ‘I think Egg is the love of your life.’ And she’s right. As best friends, over the years we have championed and helped one another through everything from parenting problems to financial crises and, particularly, with our creative work. Only last weekend we went for a walk, where he helped me iron out some plot problems in my latest novel. He’s always my first reader.
Now Fergus is 20 and having moved out to go to university a year and a half ago, his father and I decided to move in together. I gave up my rental to live with Egg – finances were a driver for this decision, but we wonder why we didn’t do it sooner. Of course, there has been bickering, mostly over our different standards when it comes to tidiness. He is obsessed with everything ‘having a place’ while I think that place is on the floor where I can see it! But we’ve put in strategies to give each other our own living areas and space and of course we have our own bedrooms (we’re not that modern!).
If you’d have told me when I was pregnant that this is where we’d be some 20 years hence, it would have saved me so much angst. I didn’t think my relationship with Egg would survive the stormy seas of parenthood without the glue of sex and romantic love.
In truth I’ve grieved for a more traditional relationship setup. My parents had three children and have been married for 56 years, and I grew up wanting that, too. But I’ve still experienced so much joy sharing my son’s life, from nursery milestones to dropping him off at university, with the only other person in the world who loves him as much as I do.
Have we stopped one another from finding a partner? This is the question everyone asks. Egg has had a few relationships and has a girlfriend at the moment – I met her briefly for the first time the other day and she is lovely. It is fine by me and as long as we’re not having sex she’s cool with our setup. Besides short flings, I haven’t had boyfriends, and I think there’s one reason for that: it’s a tall order to find someone I connect with as much as Egg and fancy the pants off – especially at the age of 51. I don’t need the emotional intimacy and support that comes with a relationship, because I already have them. Although it would be nice to have sex again at some point. On that subject, Egg and I were recently at a barbecue and I got chatting to a woman I recognised from years ago.
‘And how’s Egg?’ she said. ‘Didn’t you bring up your son as friends? Do you still?’
‘He’s over there,’ I said.
‘Oh, so you eventually got together?’
‘No,’ I said. ‘Still just friends.’
I enquired about her husband, and she looked wistful. ‘Yeah, still married, but it’s not great,’ she said candidly. ‘I envy you two. None of that pressure of having sex, so you can just concentrate on your friendship. It must be liberating.’
I’d never looked at it from that angle before. Instead, I’ve always worried that the fact we’re not a traditional ‘nuclear’ family would mess Fergus up.
He came home from university recently to his parents living under one roof and the age-old question ‘met anyone nice?’ came up. This led to an insight into his thoughts on this, which surprised us.
‘I want kids, but I’m not bothered about marriage. Actually, I like what you two have,’ he said. ‘You have all the good stuff about a relationship, but without the risk. I mean, you were never going to get divorced, were you?’
On some level, this was music to our ears, but Egg and I looked at each other as if to say, ‘Blimey, we’ve messed him up!’ We don’t want him to miss out on the whole fireworks of falling in love in the traditional sense. We’ve never sold our setup as one we’d recommend exactly – simply one we made the best of.
It’s difficult to remember what we’ve told him over the years about us, so in preparation for writing this article, I called and asked him. ‘Yeah, I still don’t really know,’ he said. ‘Was I a one-night stand or were you together for a bit then split up?’
Cue panic that we’d psychologically damaged him. ‘What? You don’t know?’ I said. ‘It’s so important that you know!’
So I began to tell him. ‘What happened is that Dad and I had a sexual relationship for a while, you came along making us really happy, then we decided we were better off…’
‘OK, Mum,’ he said, cutting me off. ‘That sounds like a lot to unpack and I’m on my way out. Can we chat later?’
I texted him afterwards. ‘I’m sorry if we’ve not been clear. Has this been bothering you?’
He texted straight back: ‘Why would it bother me?’ he replied.
This made me smile, because it sums up how he’s always been: not really that interested in the details. He is happy in his skin. He knows we love him, and each other, too, and that seems to be enough.
You can read more about Katy’s story at katyregan.substack.com
