‘I had a secret affair with my cousin – and I wish we’d come clean sooner’

It was a family gathering in Christmas 1988, and the chemistry between me and my cousin was palpable. I didn’t know how to contain my feelings. As I walked with my husband into my parents’ sitting room in Guildford and saw Charlie* standing there, all I could think to myself was: “Wow, he’s gorgeous.” I could tell the attraction was mutual.

I was 28 and married with a baby and a one-year-old – Charlie was only 18. I felt a deep sense of shame. It was taboo – and I was the older married woman. But the feelings were so intense that I couldn’t shake them off. I didn’t expect him to be so good-looking – he’d been away at boarding school much of his childhood and his parents, my aunt and uncle, lived abroad. We really hadn’t had much to do with each other apart from the odd Christmas together. Suddenly, though, he wasn’t a gangly teenager, but a hunky man who played rugby.

How could I fancy my cousin? It wasn’t just attraction – it felt like we had a profound connection. We got chatting and we clicked, but nothing happened for years after that meeting. His parents had moved back to the UK and Charlie lived with them in Scotland – I was living in Nottinghamshire. He’d spend Christmas with us at my parents’ house every other year, but other than that, I’d only see him at family occasions. During that period, he had girlfriends. We both knew we fancied each other but our partners didn’t – because we were cousins, they didn’t suspect it. I just got on with my life, but every time we saw each other, we knew how we both felt. It was a non-verbal understanding – that was why we were so careful around each other.

It wasn’t until 20 years later – when I was 51 and he was 41 – that we finally got together. My husband had left me by then and Charlie had split up with his long-term girlfriend. We were both at loose ends when our parents invited us to spend a week with them on a family holiday in the Lake District. It was there that we began a secret affair.

We had gone out for a long walk alone and were chatting about our breakups. I wouldn’t have made a move with a guy 10 years younger than me, but out of the blue he said: “Well you know how I’ve always felt about you.” I said: “Well I suppose so.” We had been skirting around the issue without speaking about it for years. I thought we would probably go to our graves without ever talking about it. But he kissed me as we stood in a field – it felt like the most natural thing in the world.

We had to go back to our parents and pretend everything was normal. This was the start of the clandestine affair. Both of us thought that what we were doing was a bit stupid; it couldn’t go anywhere because we were family. Our parents knew that Charlie and I got on well, so they didn’t suspect anything when we went off for long walks without them.

We both gave ourselves a hard time – me probably more than him. We thought that people wouldn’t understand. That’s why we didn’t tell anybody for a year that we were in a relationship. The concern for me was that, if it didn’t work out, I’d still have to see his family – because they were mine too. It made it exceptionally hard. I also had to consider my children, who were then aged 22 and 24. They’d known Charlie growing up too; it could have all been a mess.

We got sick of hiding it, though. When I went up to Scotland, I had to make excuses as to why I was staying with Charlie and not my aunt and uncle as usual. When his parents came over, we’d set up two beds as though I was sleeping in the spare room. It was lies upon lies – it did take its toll. If Charlie put his arms around me when we were at his parents’ house and his mum walked in unexpectedly, she’d say, “Oh dear, what’s wrong?”, thinking Charlie was comforting me about my divorce. I became an expert at deceit: I’ve never had an affair, but even though we were both single, it felt like one. It all got a bit silly. But we were too concerned about what everybody would think.

Then everything changed. When he was 30, Charlie had been diagnosed with a brain tumour that then went into remission – but, nine months into our secret relationship, he started having fits. When he was being treated in hospital, I couldn’t be with him by his bedside – why would I be there? Nobody knew about us.

My dad had just died when we got a call from my aunt and uncle saying Charlie had been rushed to hospital. My aunt was going to stay in Scotland with him – and my uncle would come to my dad’s funeral. It was an intolerable situation. I needed to get hold of Charlie to tell him we had to let the family know about our relationship, but his phone was switched off.

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I told my uncle I was trying to get hold of Charlie to see how he was getting on – but I thought his phone battery had died. Could my aunt take in a phone charger so I could cheer him up a bit, I asked him. I was still lying every step of the way – it had become second nature. Finally, Charlie and I communicated – and he told me he didn’t want to upset his parents even more by telling them about us. “I’m not convinced it would,” I told him. “I think they’d be pleased to know you’re happy.”

I told my mum first, to gauge her reaction. Her mouth dropped open. She put down her hot chocolate and gave me a hug. I burst into tears with relief, knowing that I wouldn’t be an outcast. “Why didn’t you tell us before?” she asked. She was hurt that I’d lied. I rang Charlie’s parents. I couldn’t see their faces when I told them, but after the initial shock they were happy for us. I texted Charlie. The message read: “The deed is done.”

Mum was like, “If this doesn’t work out it’s going to be very difficult”– but I said we are pretty certain it will. The extended family weren’t rude about it to my face, but I don’t know what they said behind my back.

Nobody could understand why we hadn’t told them sooner. In our minds, it was a guilty secret – but in reality, it wasn’t that bad. What quickly overrode the family drama was that Charlie was unwell, and time was precious. He had chemotherapy – but the fact he’d had a relapse was life-shortening. Doctors told us he had between six months to two years left to live. He wanted to marry me, but my divorce hadn’t come through.

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We didn’t move in together straight away, but I spent more time in Scotland. Over the next two years, I quit my job in finance and moved to be with him permanently. We wanted to make the most of every second together, so we decided to buy a camper van and travel around Europe. We were on a pink cloud. But three weeks into our trip – just as we got to Croatia – Charlie collapsed.

I wasn’t allowed in the ambulance with him, and I felt like my heart was going to break. Once Charlie was stable, we flew him back to the UK. He never walked again – I knew it was nearing the end. Charlie died a month later. We had been together for three years by then. He was only 44. Everything that happened between us taught me how important it is to follow your heart, and that you can’t choose who you fall in love with.

We had a very short time together, and we could have spent more time together if we hadn’t worried so much about what other people thought. The lesson is not to assume what people might think.

This was the most magical time of my life – I was on my own for 10 years after Charlie died, though I’ve since remarried. Seeing both sides of the family at his funeral was weird. He was my cousin, but to me, he was just the man I’d fallen in love with.

*Names have been changed