Page 23my husband to say I had arrived
safely, then emailed the young,
handsome author. I told him the
truth, that I had finished his book
and found it beautifully written.
His response came back immedi-
ately. If I didn’t send him my latest
book, he said, he would show up
outside my window like John
Cusack in Say Anything.
I hadn’t ever seen that film, but I
watched it in the hotel room that
evening, trying to decipher the
scene, the lyrics of the soundtrack
song, trying to figure out if there
was deeper meaning to his email.
We emailed back and forth during
that trip to England, and every
time I saw his name in his inbox, I
felt my heart soar. I felt alive again
in a way I hadn’t in years; I felt
pretty, and sexy, and young, as I
made my way around the UK,
constantly checking my phone for
his name in my inbox.
It wasn’t that I would have anaffair, I told myself. I am absolutely
not the kind of person to ever have
an affair, I thought. I just wanted
to feel alive for a little bit longer;
I wanted to feel beautiful again. I
wanted one more email to feel that
way again. And that, of course, is
how so many affairs start.
Who amongst us, married to
wonderful people, would ever have
an affair? Most of us are loyal,
honest, trustworthy, we are not
the sort of people who would hurt
our spouses in that way.
We don’t want to necessarily do
anything, we just want a little
excitement, a little more dopamine
released in our brains; we want to
feel that we are still exciting. But if
you don’t walk away in time, there
is enormous danger ahead.
I know there is a certain type of
m a n w h o c o n s t a n t l y n e e d s
approval, who kids himself that he
is able to compartmentalise his
life, thereby not hurting hiswife. But the thrill, the lure of
excitement, of feeling alive again,
is the same for women as it is
for men.
Latest figures show that 22 per
cent of married men admit to
having an affair and 14 per cent of
married women. Although thenumbers who had dreamt of it
must be much higher.
The late psychologist, Dr Shirley
Glass, one of the world’s experts
on infidelity, had this to say: ‘The
new infidelity is between people
w h o u n w i t t i n g l y f o r m d e e p ,passionate connections before
realising that they’ve crossed the
line from platonic friendship into
romantic love. Infidelity is any
emotional or sexual intimacy that
violates trust.’
Flirtatious emails can very quickly
become what feels like a deep,
passionate connection — that’s
what I was falling into. The young,
handsome author and I continued
emailing, and shortly after my
return, he visited New York, and
we met for a quick drink.
I kissed him goodbye on the
cheek, and when I arrived home,
flushed with too much flirting and
too many martinis, my husband
took one look at me: ‘Uh oh,’ he
stepped back and stared at me.
‘My wife has a crush.’
Over the course of the next year,
the emails between the author and
I gradually grew less and less. I still
felt a flicker of excitement when I
saw his name in my inbox, but hewas in California, I was on the East
Coast and it was unlikely I would
ever see him again. Then I was
invited to speak at an event in Los
Angeles. Los Angeles! That was
where the handsome author lived.
I accepted, and emailed him to
let him know. Within minutes, we
had agreed to brunch. I went to
find my husband, to inform him I
would be away on September 4th.
‘September 4th?’ said he. ‘I don’t
think so.’ ‘What? I have to go. It’s
my career!’ I was indignant.
‘You mean, you’re going away on
my birthday?’ he replied. I was
mortified. Not only had I forgotten
my husband’s birthday but I was
planning on spending it brunching
with another man.
My husband’s eyes lit up. ‘I
know!’ he said. ‘Why don’t I come
with you? We can make a weekend
of it!’ I stared at him, like a deer
caught in the headlights. But what
could I say? So off we went
together, not just to LA but to
meet Mr Dreamy.
At the restaurant, I stopped
speaking. I didn’t have much of a
choice, unable to get a word in
edgeways as my husband and the
young, handsome author chatted
away, nineteen to the dozen.
At one point, the author excusedhimself and left the table. ‘Wow,’
my husband turned to me, his eyes
all knowing. ‘He’s the best looking
man I’ve ever seen.’
After lunch, the author invited us
to join him on a walk around the
canals in the Venice neighbourhood.
I was not dressed for walking, I was
dressed for brunching, in much-too-
tight jeans and strappy sandals that
I thought had just the right amount
of approachability combined with
sex appeal. My husband enthusias-
tically agreed, eager to continue
this new bromance.
And so, we walked. It was a
blistering hot day, and within
minutes my hair, which had been
expertly blow-dried, frizzed into
something resembling a large cloud
of candy floss, sweat was trickling
along my hairline, and painful
blisters were forming underneath
those sexy, strappy sandals.
I limped along by myself,
behind my husband and the
author, ten yards in front of
me, their heads together, still
chatting like the oldest of
friends. It bloody well serves
me right, I thought.
Later that night, I looked at
my husband, at his salty sea-
dog white beard, his large
hands that make me feel safe,
and I thought about how
much peace, and love, and
serenity he has brought to
my life.
A friend once told me that
the grass is greener where you
water it. I had forgotten to water
the grass. We had become so used
to taking each other for granted,
we had lost the spark.
When we got home I shamefacedly
confessed to my husband that I
had had what I called an ‘almost
affair’. I had betrayed him emotion-
ally, if not physically. That I had
been seduced by the attention.
He was stunned at first, hurt I
am sure, but he held me close and
told me he loved me and he trusted
me. And I felt ashamed.
I had never felt so grateful to
have avoided the path of excite-
ment, and danger. Later that night
the young, handsome author
emailed me.
This time, there was no fluttering
of my heart when I saw his name in
my inbox. He wrote to tell me he
t h o u g h t m y h u s b a n d w a s
wonderful, handsome, and utterly
brilliant. Yes, I thought, leaning
over to kiss my husband. You are
absolutely right.Novelist JANE GREEN had a loving
husband and a happy family. But as
she reveals here, that didn’t make her
immune to a new type of infidelity
Daily Mail, Wednesday, March 4, 2020^almost
affair
Why so many
women like
me have an
Flirtatious emails
can quickly feel
like real passion
Picture: CAMERA PRESS/Ci
RCE
H AM
ilton
I just wanted to
feel alive, to feel
beautiful again