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It all started to unravel the day Phoebe's uncle Bob came to visit. I didn't work that out, though, until after it all happened.

To fill you in, Phoebe is my wife. I guess I loved her from the first time I bumped into her at the demo. That was five, no six years ago - our 5th anniversary was coming up in a few weeks time.

Phoebe: five foot five, slim willowy but strong and agile. She danced - started her own dance troupe, taught dancing 2 days a week. Shoulder length hair, brown with a hint of auburn. Stunningly beautiful my friends said, as they looked quizzically at me as if they wondered what she saw in me. I didn't know either but she loved me fiercely.

None of this explained my complete adoration of my lovely Phebe. It was the intense aliveness in the fire of her eyes that caught my attention, on that fateful hectic student day. She was more alive than anyone I had ever met. She grabbed my arm to stop me falling. And to my astonishment, the wonder in her eyes grew and exploded as she met my gaze. We looked at each other, entranced. We both fumbled for words just to start talking, just to see that wonder for a few moments more. Not romantic words, just stuff like "What the fuck are you doing running into me?" But it was enough.

She talked about it on one of our long walks. "I always felt intensely alive. You know, it is why I loved to dance from the beginning. You ...

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