The moment I knew: I scrawled down my home number but it was illegible – then he called my office | Relationships

I noticed Rory years before he noticed me. We were book publicists for separate companies and worked on the same TV drama. We met at the launch party in Sydney and spoke briefly about possible crossover promotional opportunities. Right then I would have followed him over a cliff. If only he had asked.

I was instantly attracted to his dark blue eyes and Irish demeanour. He was funny and charismatic. Unfortunately, it became apparent Rory might be in a relationship with an older, more assured woman who had also worked on the drama. To my eyes she was sophisticated and beautiful. He was out of my league and already attached.

A few months later I ran into him at a farewell party at a pub for someone moving to the UK. We spoke, but mostly about the cutlets I was going to cook for dinner that night. Not exactly love language. The next day I boldly called his office. Well, I called his boss, whom I knew. “He’s here somewhere, he’s usually buzzing.” Stuart was referring to Rory’s habit of using an electric shaver as he walked around the office. I immediately knew this was not the first phone call from a woman inquiring about Rory. He came to the phone and said, “How were the cutlets?” And that was that. He clearly wasn’t interested.

Fast forward three years to a legendary publishing Christmas party. I now had my own little publishing company and had long since given up thinking about Rory. I couldn’t find a parking spot outside the party and was about to give up before one materialised. I thought, I’ll go inside for a minute.

There must have been 400 people in the venue. I saw Rory across the room, weaving through the crush, and then he was standing beside me – a few red wines in, charming and attentive. Right away the conversation was urgent, as we talked about our Irish backgrounds and British army families and how humour was more highly prized than anything. It felt as though we had known each other forever.

Annoyingly, that night we had company. A woman who clearly had a thing for Rory and a man who had eyes for me hung around beside us as Rory and I talked for three hours. When I left the party, Rory asked for my home phone number. I scrawled it on a napkin, unintentionally making it hard to differentiate the nines from the fours and the threes from the eights.

Rory rang my office at 9am on Monday, having remembered the name of my company. He had been trying to call my home landline over the weekend. I was flattered that he took the first possible opportunity to find me and I was jittery with excitement.

I invited him to a party the following Friday night. As we drove over the Sydney Harbour Bridge, I confessed it was my ex-husband’s birthday party. Rory was a bit taken aback. We were both nervous. He was wearing tight black acid-wash jeans and Cuban-heeled boots to impress but was obviously uncomfortable on so many levels.

At the party I was so excited to be with Rory, but felt as though we were being scrutinised by my ex and his new partner. We just wanted to be alone. We were the first to leave.

That night we went back to my place and by Sunday week Rory had moved his things into my apartment. A month later we bought an inner-city cottage in both our names.

This year we celebrated our 30th wedding anniversary. Rory still teases me that I gave him the wrong phone number on purpose, but we still have urgent conversations and make each other laugh.

These days the laughs are often about growing older together, needing stronger prescription glasses, our grownup children and the oddness of being in a world that we don’t really recognise. But we still completely see each other.