In Sickness and in Health: A night out to show I’m still Rebecca as well as a carer

My life is dominated by what has happened to Nick, but I’m still a person in my own right

Last year, Rebecca’s husband Nick was hit by a car and seriously injured. Here, in one of a series of columns, she writes about the aftermath of his accident

I had a rare Friday night out last week. I was allowed out to my friends’ engagement party after a week of tears from Nick, who wanted to come and didn’t want me to go if he couldn’t. After explaining why he couldn’t (he’s not ready for an evening out so far away), I was determined to enjoy myself. So many fun things to do! Drinking! Wearing uncomfortable shoes! Talking to my friends’ friends, aka potential new friends! And toasting Sophie and Ben, the newly betrothed couple, of course.

Standing at the bar at the start of the night, waiting for my vodka, lime and soda (a drink that, according to my mother, rehydrates as it dehydrates), I was introduced to one of the groom-to-be’s pals. An engagement party provides its own conversational ice-breaker, as asking how each person knows the couple lets you avoid resorting to the dreary “so, what do you do?”. We quickly came to a point in the conversation where things could go either way. Basically, should I mention Nick’s accident, or should I draw a veil over the events of the past 14 months?

It’s not as if I’m anything other than desperately in love with and incredibly proud of Nick, it’s just that revealing all early in a casual chat does tend to turn things into the Nick-and-Rebecca show. I end up telling the same stories, people respond in much the same way (“how is he now?” “you’re so brave”) and no doubt they all have a moment where they think “that sounds awful. I’m so glad it’s not me”. But if I don’t explain about my – our – current situation, I end up sounding unfriendly if not downright shifty.

For example, the venue where the festivities took place was a newly refurnished pub. It used to be a sticky-floored boozer with a stage out the back where thousands of bands had their first (and in some cases, I’d warrant, last) gigs. Now it’s been Farrow and Balled and offers fancy food and esoteric beer. Despite it being in my manor, and the fact that I love pubs more than almost anything else, I’d yet to visit. But explaining to strangers that I’d not been involved going into the fact that I spend four days a week away from home. “For work?” “No.” “Oh.” At which point I’d end up plunging in. “I stay with my husband who’s in a care home because he was hit by a car last year...”

Of course my life is dominated by what has happened to Nick. But I’m still a person in my own right. I’m still – I hope – relatively good company. I have an interesting job, I like to meet new people. It’s just hard to get the balance right when describing who I am. I’m Nick’s wife, and champion, and part-time carer, but I’m also Rebecca.

I did manage a 40-minute conversation with a lovely woman without blathering on about Nick. It all came out in the end, though. She asked me what I write about and I had to reply that, apart from occasional stories about cats, it was my husband. Who was hit by a car. Thinking about it now, I realise that actually Nick kind of got his own way about Friday night. He wanted to come and he did – he was there in every single conversation I had.