This is a story about trust.
Meeting Jake marked the end of a low period in my life. In the previous six months, I’d lost my job, my partner and my dream of living in Australia. Then, picking up on the negative vibes, my reliable old car exploded. Seeking refuge on holiday at my parents’ place in Italy, I was prone to sobbing about my now-certain fate of spending life alone. Writing these words today, I appreciate how ridiculous that sounds when I was only 28!
But a long-term partner had just left me for another woman. We’d secured Australian residency together and I’d quit my BBC position to fulfil a dream that now lay in ruins. In the meantime I’d applied for a reporter’s job at Yorkshire television, never imagining I’d hear back. I was invited for an interview – and it clashed with the trip to Italy. I wasn’t even going to bother going, but my mother had a hunch I’d get the job, so she paid for my flight. Then it took Yorkshire so long to appoint someone that two positions became available – talk about destiny. Jake got the other job.
When we emerged as a couple, the local newspaper reported that our “eyes met across a crowded newsroom” – but actually the first stirrings happened at the induction day for new staff. Jake was sat in the middle of the studio theatre when I walked in. Our eyes locked and being the forward girl I am, I walked straight up and sat next to him. The chatting and laughter started right away, and hasn’t stopped in 32 years.
A few weeks into dating came the moment I realised Jake was the one. My ex-boyfriend – yes, the one I was planning to emigrate to Australia with – asked to stay the night on his way to a job. I steeled myself to tell Jake on the phone but it turned out I needn’t have been nervous. His reply? “That’s nice, you’ll be able to have a really good talk.”
My heart leapt. I thought: “Wow, does he really trust me that much?”
I remember feeling fully seen, heard and appreciated.
Around four months later, he proposed to me for the first time. We were underneath a lamp post in Armley, a part of Leeds long on northern grit but – even its biggest fans would admit – short on atmospheric charm.
My reply was: “Please postpone that question until we’re in a more romantic location.”
A few months after that, I paid for his flight to Australia to visit all my friends here. Once we were stood in the moonlight in Sydney’s east, overlooking the Pacific Ocean, I said: “Would you like to ask me that question again?” We both knew the answer would be yes, but it felt more memorable in the new location. Especially as we committed to making Australia home, or at least trying.
We succeeded in moving, and later worked together to develop Peace Journalism, co-authoring a book of the same name. We used to joke that we gave birth only to projects, then finally had a son when I was 40. It was the Peace Journalism book that evolved into Jake’s job in academia. For many years Jake and I taught at the University of Sydney together, with one student remarking, in feedback: “Jake and Annabel are like two halves of the same brain.”
More than that, he is my soul mate, my colleague and my co-parent. In 32 years of marriage, I’ve never betrayed the trust Jake placed in me.
Tell us the moment you knew
Do you have a romantic realisation you’d like to share? From quiet domestic scenes to dramatic revelations, Guardian Australia wants to hear about the moment you knew you were in love.
