I caught the barman’s eye and ordered another pint. I couldn’t face going home.
‘Sorry I’m late, darling, just got caught up at work,’ I lied to my wife.
It wasn’t that I had a problem with alcohol – I was just lonely and, at the age of 49, lacking direction in my life, yet on the surface all was well.
My wife Toni, 53, a teaching assistant, and I had a lovely house in Essex, great friends, and – best of all – three wonderful daughters.
I’d spent three decades providing for them, but after my girls had all flown the nest, I felt lost.
Toni and I had met at a disco in Harlow in April 1982. We married and quickly had Kealy, 33, Gemma, 31, and Leah,…
