A lot of detail about the week that followed is a bit of a blur. I remember the journey home on the train though, the next day. I couldn't get Caitlin out of my mind. I was listening to some swing music for one of my upcoming band gigs - Frank Sinatra and Tony Bennett. Those unbelievably cheesy love songs - suddenly they began to make sense. It sounds stupid, but it's true. I was imagining Caitlin in the seat opposite as the train shot through the countryside and Tony Bennett sang "The best is yet to come". A couple of times I caught myself smiling at the empty seat. I had to be careful in case they were waiting with a straitjacket at the next station. One thing I knew though was that I couldn't remember the last time I'd felt like this - it was amazing, and it made me ache inside.

I don't remember much else about that specific weekend, but it's probably safe to say that it was the same as every weekend that followed for months afterwards, with me being a bit distant and withdrawn from my family and thinking about Caitlin the whole time. I know it's not healthy, but I was a bit obsessed I think. I think love does that to one. There's no doubt I was in love, even then.

On Monday, I was in work doing expenses, and Caitlin popped up on MSN. She was going away for a few weeks the following Saturday, and I knew I'd miss her a lot. She was going to spend some of that time alone, and I was plagued with the thought that she'd spend the time thinking about her life and the future, and that she'd decide that she didn't want anything more to do with me. It made sense for her not to bother with me - being married with two children - it's a ton of trouble waiting to happen. If I was impartial, I would have warned her to keep well away, but I wasn't impartial, and hated the thought of not being able to see her. For some stupid, stupid reason, I typed into MSN that I didn't want her to rule out the possibility of being with me. I regretted it a bit as soon as I'd typed it, but the reply was a long time coming and by the time it came I thought that I'd blown it big time.

After that night in Carluccio's, I didn't know *what* to do - I couldn't sleep at night or concentrate on anything during the day, but at the same time I didn't want her to realise just how strongly I felt, in case she thought I was nuts or some weird stalker-type. I think it was also because I wasn't sure what was going on myself - whether I was just temporarily obsessed, or just over-excited because someone gorgeous had shown an interest in me. I didn't know, but I couldn't bear the thought of losing that feeling. Whenever I pictured myself with Caitlin, I was happy, that's all I knew, and at the time, that was almost all I cared about. So I typed the message.

After a long while she sent a reply that said that this was a conversation we should have over a table, and not over MSN. I asked if I'd blown it, and she said no, and not to worry. She told me a lovely saying that I won't repeat here, but it was so reassuring to hear at the time. She handled it really wisely, and it was just another thing that I admired about her. I felt a bit like a small boy in comparison to her wisdom.

I spent the next couple of days working from home. We were going to meet for lunch before the end of the week - a sort of 'goodbye' before she went away. I was back in Canary Wharf on the Wednesday, and we arranged lunch on the Thursday, at Cafe Rouge. Over lunch, we chatted a bit, and then she said simply, "I can't get involved with you while you're still married". We ate for a few seconds in silence - I just pushed my lettuce around with my fork - and I mumbled some apology and said "I know" and some other pointless things. The fact was, she was right, and we both knew it. I'd had this dream, but in reality it just couldn't happen. She'd already escaped one marriage to regain her freedom, and the last thing she needed was to get involved with a married man. She apologised and said that she hoped I didn't resent her. Oh my word. I didn't resent her. I wanted her more than ever.

We carried on with the lunch, chatting about her plans for the holiday, but when the end came, I felt so sad. It was the last time we'd be doing this, and I couldn't imagine how the days could pass without my being able to mail her, or text her, or meet her for coffee. When we were parting, I asked if I could kiss her on the cheek, and she said "of course". As we said goodbye and walked away, I was nearly in tears. She was so beautiful, in so many ways, and now I was losing her.

I got back to the office, and Dean asked me, "How did lunch go mate?" I pulled a face - part smile, part grimace and part pout. It was the closest I could manage to a smile. "She said she couldn't be involved with me while I'm married" I said flatly. "Oh", he replied. We didn't speak much more that afternoon - he could sense that I didn't want to say anything - I was deep in thought - and he didn't really know what to say anyway.

As the day wore on, I began to feel more and more miserable. I wasn't angry - I could completely understand why she'd said it, and I admired her for having the guts to tell me. Part of me wished she'd been a real bitch, so that I could be angry and have some feelings and insults to throw at her to help my healing process. But she'd been gentle and wonderful. Understanding why she'd said it didn't help me at all either. So by the time the clock inched around to a time when I could leave the office, I had formed a plan. It wasn't a good, long-term plan though. It was a short, sharp "get rid of the pain" plan - I was going to get well and truly hammered. I knew, while I was stone-cold sober, that it was an incredibly stuipd, childish and irresponsible plan. But I didn't care. If I didn't do something, I would lie awake all night in the awful, tortured state in which I'd spent the evening, and the afternoon before that. Besides, it was a feeling of responsibility that had landed me in this stupid position of being married in the first place. I'd had enough of being sensible - it was time to get twatted.

I started in the Henry Addington bar, with a double vodka and coke. The coke was just to stave off the hangover - if I could have survived drinking neat vodka without being ill, I would've done it. I followed it with another, and then another. I remember standing outside the pub watching some guy juggling. A crowd of foreign tourists had gathered around to watch, and I found myself in the crowd, surrounded by giggling, pointing people dressed in those funny clothes that mark Europeans as having a very liberal fashion sense - as if they've been dipped in glue and thrown into a jumble sale. A woman started smiling at me and jabbering away in some foreign language. I grinned back inanely. The vodka was setting in, and I didn't have the faintest idea what she was saying, and what's more, I didn't give a toss. I wasn't even listening to try and figure out which language she was speaking. I was feeling warm and fuzzy - not happy, but pleasantly detached, and just wanted to be left alone. She carried on, thinking that I understood, so I carried on too, grinning and nodding. It was getting ridiculous - whatever she said, I'd nod and smile. She must have seen in my eyes that I wasn't exactly mulling over her profound conversational threads; eventually she turned her attentions elsewhere, and I leaned on the railing overlooking Heron Quay. I thought about jumping in for a moment, and for some reason I thought about throwing my glass in so I could jump in after it. Not to drown myself, but just to do something spontaneous and different - to prove to myself that I could *be* spontaneous and take control of my own life. Jumping in would prove that if I wanted to do something ridiculous and have to buy some new clothes into the bargain, I could damn well do it. Surprise surprise, I didn't jump in. I just moved to All Bar One, and ordered more vodka, and some chips.

Have you ever been standing at a bar, drunk, depressed and without knowing a single person in the place? I'm not sure I had until that night. Still, I ate my chips and made small talk with some women who were eating their chips just along the bar from me. The small talk mostly consisted of my apologising for stealing their serviettes. I ate my chips, finished another vodka and coke, then left. I felt like such a loser - I've got everything that lots of people want, but I couldn't have the very thing I wanted most, and it made all the rest seem almost worthless. It wasn't a pleasant feeling at all.

I weaved my way over to Smollensky's, which was packed full, music pumping in full wannabe-nightclub mode. I ordered my drink (can't remember what it was), and leaned back against the bar. My eyes were looking in the direction of the Reuters ticker display around the corner of All Bar One and the Slug and Lettuce, but I wasn't actually reading it. The orange lettering washed over my cornea with hardly any acknowledgement from my brain. By now, I didn't have any plans; I didn't care what happened next. The thing was, my "get twatted" plan had been going well in the beginning, but at some point which had slipped my attention, it started to fail. I was getting more drunk, but the pain wasn't going away. In fact, by Smollensky's, it seemed to be getting worse again. I realised I was clutching my phone, hoping that Caitlin would suddenly ring, or appear in the bar beside me. I knew she wouldn't of course, but that didn't stop me hoping. I had no idea what would happen if we met - we'd still be friendly of course, but what would I say? Would I tell her about the pain, how I felt? I didn't think so, and couldn't see much use in hoping to meet really. So I surprised myself when I sent her a text which said something like "Don't find Cluney - find me - tonight. Just a hug. Please?" I sent it and ordered another drink.

Some time later - I think about three-quarters of an hour but I'm not sure - there came a reply! My heart raced as I read the text - "Where are you? I'm just at Canary Wharf tube - I'll come and find you." Wow. I wasn't expecting that. The next few minutes are a hazy memory, but I remember that we met outside Smollensky's - Caitlin rang to find out where I was, and saw me as she came around the corner of the building. I was looking the wrong way. "Ah - I can see you now!" she said. "What? Where?" said I, agog, looking all around. "Turn right, yep, more right, no, too much". This went on for a while, and she was pretty close by the time I actually saw her. I still remember what she was wearing. We didn't hug, or kiss - she carried on walking, and I joined her, feeling foolish and elated at the same time. We tried to decide where to go - everywhere was closing or full of people we knew. In reality, Caitlin was trying to decide where to go - my mind was free-wheeling in amazement that she was actually here. I think I probably just walked with a stupid smile on my face, I can't really remember.

We ended up in the grottiest bar in Canary Wharf. It looked rotten from the outside, and the clientelle were not the most inspiring-looking bunch. The bouncers on the door refused to let Caitlin in because she was wearing trainers. "I suppose they're afraid she might lower the tone of the place," I thought as I looked in through the window to see a fat, balding man in his late forties strutting his stuff on the dance floor, knocking drinks out of people's hands with his colossal, oscillating hips. The cheek of it. Luckily for us, Caitlin had proper shoes in her bag, so she changed into them outside the place in the freezing cold. We ordered some drinks and found a table on the upper level, away from the crowds. The paint was peeling from the wall next to the table, and the house sound system sounded as if it was living on borrowed time. The carpet was dark with a heavily patterned design, no doubt to conceal the alcohol and vomit that had been spilled on it over time. I didn't care a bit. An hour ago I had been in agony, and now Caitlin was sitting opposite me, as large as life, as gorgeous as ever. Neither of us was smiling much though, really. She was going back to Australia in a couple of days, and things were in a bit of a mess for both of us.

We talked, about life, marriage, love, the past and the future. We held hands and talked. We laughed at our ridiculous surroundings. For a while, I looked at pictures she had recently taken at a wedding, but mostly we talked. Then she ventured, "Maybe I should stop listening to my head so much and listen to my heart instead." "Yes, maybe," I agreed, and surprised myself for the second time that evening by saying, "Can I kiss you? I want to kiss you so much." She nodded her consent, and once again our lips touched. It was heavenly. We spent the next hour or so talking and kissing and laughing, but it was much more subdued than the previous week at Carluccio's.

I walked her home later that evening, and we enjoyed another lingering goodnight. We kissed until Caitlin's lips were sore. It was much more fun and the atmosphere so much lighter when we'd left the bar. Somehow we talked about something that started Caitlin curtseying, over and over again, laughing hysterically that she couldn't stop.

I floated back to the hotel on a cloud of happiness. I felt as though I had her back once more. The dreams ran through my imagination as I walked, and I couldn't keep the smile off my face.

About a minute after I closed the hotel room door behind me, the happy feeling left. It was as though I'd shut it out in the corridor when I closed the door. The old angst from earlier in the evening began gnawing again, and as I lay in bed in the darkness, the futility of my situation seemed enormous. I wondered how Caitlin was feeling. The hours went on, and as I counted the minutes off, my hope was that I'd eventually drift off to sleep. The pain was physical though, and kept me awake. I swear I have never felt anything like it. I'm not saying it was excruciating - it wasn't. It was just as though there was a hand around my heart, gently squeezing - as though the movements of my heart were constricted and it couldn't expand properly. It steadily got worse as time went on, progressing with the steady deepening of the sense that I would never be with Caitlin, and worst of all, that I would never see her again. It seemed ridiculous to be affected so much after such a short relationship, but that's the way it was. If I could have dismissed her from my mind and from my heart, I would have that night - to get rid of the pain. But I couldn't. I went over and over things in my mind - things we had said to each other, things we hadn't said to each other, things we'd done and hadn't done. Eventually, by about 5:30 AM I couldn't take it any more and I just wept and wept. I felt better after that, and managed to sleep from about 6 to 7 o'clock.