I’m a divorced woman in my early 40s and until recently I hadn’t been with a man for more than a year. My daughter, who is 20, just finished a relationship a few weeks ago with a man in his 30s. She was absolutely heartbroken. During their time together, though, whenever he came to the house there was always some “chemistry” between me and him.
Shortly after they separated he started texting me. We ended up meeting for a few casual drinks, and one thing led to another.
I feel absolutely terrible about what I have done and I don’t know what to do. I really like this man, but I don’t want my daughter to hate me.
My mother did the same
In similar circumstances my mother did the same 11 years ago. Our relationship has never recovered. I am a mother myself now and understand her selfishness and betrayal even less. Your daughter will never forgive you and it is supremely unlikely that you will have a future with her ex-boyfriend. This man is out of limits. You know what to do.
A, London
Don’t ever tell
If you can’t even trust your own mother not to betray you, who can you trust? Shame on you. Don’t ever speak to this man again, and don’t ever tell your daughter what you did.
JS, via email
Cut off contact
This man has broken your daughter’s heart and made a fool of you. Cut off contact with him or you will lose your daughter’s respect. If she finds out what you have done, you will have some explaining to do anyway. In the meantime, have a think about why you fell for this creep. Are you lonely? Not quite over your divorce? Good luck.
CS, Crewe
Tell her the truth
Theoretically, you have not done anything wrong. If you had made love with the ex-boyfriend of a stranger rather than of your daughter, there would be no problem. You don’t indicate whether this was a one-night stand or if you intend the relationship with this man to continue. If it were a one-off, I think you should keep quiet, so that your daughter knows nothing about it. But if the relationship is serious, then obviously she must be told and realistically you should expect that she will be hurt and angry, at least for a while.
HN, London
Are you lonely?
You say that you haven’t been with a man for more than a year, which suggests that you feel lonely. Why not join some groups or classes, or even try online dating as a way to meet other people with similar interests? You could even try to get your newly single daughter involved. I hope in this way you are able to find another fulfilling relationship, without destroying the bond with your daughter.
NG, London
Get out there and start dating again
Can you honestly imagine a family Christmas in six months’ time where she happily waves you and this man off to bed together? Ditch this man before your daughter finds out and decide on whether or not you’re going to confess (depending on whether you think he’ll tell her at some point). You can then sit and wait for someone else who isn’t going out with your daughter to come along or take this as a sign that you need to try dating. Or you can aim for a committed, long-term relationship with your daughter’s ex and she’ll hate you. Up to you.
CE, via email
If you would like to respond to this week’s problem, please post your comment below.
When leaving a message on this page, please be sensitive to the fact that you are responding to a real person in the grip of a real-life dilemma, who wrote to Private Lives asking for help, and may well view your comments here. Please consider especially how your words or the tone of your message could be perceived by someone in this situation, and be aware that comments which appear to be disruptive or disrespectful to the individual concerned will not appear.
• You are invited to respond to next week’s main problem. If you would like fellow readers to respond to a dilemma of yours, send us an outline of the situation of around 150 words. For advice from Pamela Stephenson Connolly on sexual matters, send us a brief description of your concerns. We regret that only letters that are published will be answered.
All correspondence should reach us by Tuesday morning: email private.lives@guardian.co.uk (please don’t send attachments) or write to Private Lives, The Guardian, Kings Place, 90 York Way, London N1 9GU. Please note that Private Lives and Sexual Healing are opened up to comments each Thursday at guardian.co.uk/lifeandstyle
Next week: Is it time to move on?
Bring on AC/DC, I say
It was the week before Christmas and, with each fresh Bacardi, an inelegant Glasgow wine bar was looking more sophisticated than Rick’s. And then the boy informed me I was to become a grandfather. Clive Dunn in a rocking chair began singing “Grandad” in my head and suddenly I felt too old for my surroundings.
After 23 years I felt I was just beginning to get accustomed to the responsibilities of fatherhood.
Becoming more sporadic now were the furious outbursts at Celtic’s defensive ineptitude and I was beginning, occasionally, to avoid the temptation of dancing like Kraftwerk after too many at social occasions.
I was even considering single-coloured suits at M&S. Sometimes I would find myself discussing holidays, schools, soft furnishings, the oeuvre of Alexander McCall Smith for God’s sake. And then the fat lady, or in this case old Clive, began to sing.
At 46, I felt I was too young to contemplate the idea of dandling my own grandchild and so I consoled myself that if I lived in Dundee I would most probably be a great grandfather by now. For years I had endured gentle agonies when people, on encountering my “craggy” features and discovering my age, struggled to contain their surprise that it was around a decade less than they had assumed.
Nor had it helped that my hair had been seeking an exit strategy from my scalp from the age of 25. Or that my wife always looks like she’s about to do an advert for L’Oréal.
By way of riposte I had to construct a witty and quick narrative along the lines of having had a tough paper round and to accompany it with a wry smile, all faux regret. Now, for the first time as an adult, people are saying I actually seem too young to be something. It is a new and giddy experience. I have been a grandfather for a week or so now (a girl, Orlaith, all well, thank you), but am having slightly to move the goalposts on looking at the world.
Do I get my name down for the bowling club up the road? What am I to do about the AC/DC tickets for this week’s show? The last time I saw this toxic rock’n'roll fusion of Caledonian aggression and antipodean insouciance I was someone else’s grandchild. I thrilled to a rhythm section that was truly infernal and which took me down a Highway to Hell with a bountiful lady called Rosie and paved with Dirty Deeds Done Dirt Cheap, all of them the dark imaginings of a lead singer called Bon who hailed from the Angus glens.
Now as I embark on my third age I must confront a new and terrifying dilemma. Just what does a grandfather wear at a rock concert?
In years to come, will young Orlaith appreciate the fact that barely two weeks after her birth her grandfather was to be seen in jeans and a Black Sabbath T-shirt singing “Whole Lotta Rosie” with half a bottle of Jack Daniel’s rattling around inside him?
I will indeed go to Hampden Park on Tuesday night and see the heroes of my adolescence. And in mitigation perhaps I will direct my granddaughter to the work of TS Eliot.
Perhaps it was for such as I and for an occasion such as this that his J Alfred Prufrock mused:
Let us go then, you and I,
When the evening is spread out against the sky …