W e met through Sydney share houses in the early 80s when I was in my mid-20s and Tanner, a clever and sweet country boy, was a couple of years older. I first laid eyes on him as he was reaching into a hot oven; he looked up and his gaze met mine. I thought: “Wow, he is gorgeous!” Typical of that time, there were many complicated relationships between housemates and friends.
Tanner was in a long-term relationship and it was three years before our feelings for each other spilled over. At a house party we danced to Cold Chisel ’s My Baby over and over; another time, at a dinner party at his place, we shared a furtive kiss at the front door as I left. The moment I knew: she left $50 on my bed and a note that said ‘buy yourself another bottle of wine’ Read more Over the next few months, we pretended to be just friends in front of others.
It was tiresome, confusing and wrong. I told him he needed to make a choice: I would not be “the other woman”. To the shock of friends and especially his partner, we began seeing each other publicly and exclusively.
Cast out from our social circle and in the heady throes of new love, we began spending nearly every day and night together. We’d spend hours talking and writing ridiculous stories and poetry. At sunset we’d sit on the beach and wonder how molluscs knew when the moon and tides were changing.
These conversations made my heart sing but Tanner was not one for sharing his feelings. Besides, Tanner, who had been working as.
