Happy birthday J

It's J's birthday today. The man I love, who has asked me to be his wife. We have been together for seven years, we met at a party, both of us had mutual friends but we had never met. I saw him, taller than everyone else in the room, and I danced, caught his eye, moved closer. We went up onto the roof of the building where the party was held to look at the stars. When it was time to leave I asked him if he was coming with me. He followed me down the stairs, we went to another party, we danced all night, and we have been together ever since.

We moved in together after six months, to a damp rented flat in Wood Green. It had an enormous, unmanageable garden, which we tried to make beautiful together. By July 2002 we had succeeded on a limited budget, and we had dug a bed and filled the garden with flowers including spectacular hanging baskets that required constant watering and protection from the marauding slugs. I watched with pride as he passed his solicitors' exams after long hours of studying at night school. We spent money we did not have on holidays. The brutal pace of his job was forgotten as we walked in hot far away countries, having surfed the net for cheap last minute deals. We qualified as scuba divers and swam with sea turtles and stingrays. We danced and threw parties, let off fireworks with ridiculously-terrifying consequences. We adopted goldfish, and disastrously, two house rabbits, who chewed through every wire and gnawed all the furniture in the flat, before being rehomed.

We survived my near-murder and savage rape at the hands of a sadistic stranger who broke into our home whilst J was kept late at work , and I will always remember how he arrived in hospital after that long bitter night, and took my hand, and said 'Oh Honey', looking at me as if I was beautiful, when my face was battered and swollen beyond recognition. We moved from Wood Green from the home we had loved that I could no longer bear to look at, because I had lain there covered in blood and tied up with wire, and we did not give up, though I was in a strange, terrifying hinterland of remembered horrors and frozen fears. We made a new start, renting a place with barred windows and a steel door within noisy earshot of Arsenal stadium. (J is a Leeds supporter and bore local success with Yorkshire stoicism.) We made it a peaceful refuge: then we moved to another flat: it seemed that as soon as we settled, the landlords wanted to sell.

Everywhere we lived, we planted gardens, though we were renting and knew that we would not see the full glory of the bulbs we buried. We bought our first flat in June 2004, and moved in with Miff the fat rescued tabby, whom J had suggested would be a companion in the bleak, numb days when I was off work recovering from the rape attack.

On 7 July last year I kissed him goodbye and hurried to the tube for an ordinary Thursday at the office. An hour later I was texting him from Russell Square, wondering if he was on the train behind me, wondering if he was still alive. He walked across London and found me black-faced and bloodied and shuddering, sky-high on adrenalin in a cafe in Euston, and we walked hand in hand to a pub, my heart soaring because it was all right, we were both still here.

When we are apart I miss him, physically. The bed is too big, the frying pan too wide, as Joni Mitchell sang. The chatter of sports commentators on TV from the sitting room, the pad of his feet in the hall, the reading out snippets from the Sunday papers and his shoulder that I doze on as we sit on the sofa make the weekend sweet. He works too hard, he is brave and loyal and clever and passionate and stubborn. He takes a craftsman's pride in a job well done, and animals will come to his hands, even the goldfish eat from his fingers. He loves music and dancing and flowers and sport and rare steak and fish pie and crunchy vegetables and cheese and red wine. His arms around my waist and the smell of his neck are home.

I want to have children with this man, my beloved. Ti amo sempre, J and many happy returns. I hope I celebrate birthdays with you for the rest of our lives.