January 2003

The story of Munich began in Lisbon or probably even before that. Christine had relented to going to counselling or rather she decided we needed to go for reasons unspoken despite the fact that I had suggested the same course of action two years prior. I decided to be petulant at first – to make the point that it was rather presumptuous to decide what “we” needed especially since I had made suggestion of the same a couple of years back and had been dismissed out of hand. I don’t think she took it too well but I relented, relieved that she had come round to the idea. We went to counselling and things got better for a time, but like every deterministic formula, things didn’t take too long to go back to the same old answer.

I had changed job in the previous September and luckily for me I was often called upon, as part of my role, to travel to offices abroad especially Munich. I also attended various team conferences, one such event being held in Lisbon. It was in Lisbon that I met Rhonda. I remember walking into the meeting room on day one, aware that we were being joined that day by a couple of people we hadn’t met before. One of those, an American girl was standing over by the flipchart preparing for the workshop we were about to have. I was a little taken aback, not because of any great beauty – in some ways she was rather plain, but by her presence. She wasn’t my type at all. Long dark hair, american indian hair I was to find out later, shorter than I would normally consider but with a way of speaking that captivated me. She had a soft Georgia accent that I could listen to all day which was unusual as I had often said female American accents were grating. Not so in this case. I sat transfixed, hanging on every word. I warmed to her even more when I noticed that her hands were shaking, and as the session progressed and went off track from the agenda, I saw her hanging on, literally, to the side of the flipchart. She was terrified, but still tried to keep us on track, failing at every attempt. Later that evening at dinner with the group we welcomed her into the fold. We were a pretty tightly knit team that fought hard, played hard, and took care of each other. Rhonda relaxed during the evening and fitted right in joining myself and the rest of the late night crew on a jaunt down to the seafront to take in a club before retiring back to the hotel bar. I was inexicably drawn to Rhonda and in the early hours found myself going back to her room to get pills as I had developed a headache. I dared not step inside but she beckoned me in – it was now my turn to be terrified. We were a little awkward with each other and I didn’t think to try to take anything further. I went back to my room, headache pills in hand, and pondered the last few hours. I couldn’t help myself phoning her room to talk to her some more – I could hear the relief in her voice and we kind of admitted to each other that something had clicked. Nothing happened further though, we agreed to maybe meet up for breakfast, but that didn’t happen either.

Fast forward to June 2003. In the intervening months Rhonda and I met up,  emailed each other rather a lot and spoke on the phone. Rhonda was married and lived in Munich which dovetailed quite nicely with my visits there but nothing really happened. Or at least nothing physical. What did happen was a gradual descent into frustration, longing and a realisation that this was more serious. Eventually Rhonda came to London and we met up for dinner with the wider group and, as we were all staying in the same hotel, at the end of the evening I went to Rhondas room. We ordered champagne and spent the evening talking, holding hands, and bemoaning the situation. It’s funny how, having strayed previously, that when someone comes along that really matters you hold back.

Soon enough Rhonda came to London again and we went out to dinner – alone this time. I held her hand walking down the street and at the end of the evening we went back to her room. This time things took a different course and a few weeks later Rhonda called to tell me something important – she was pregnant.