I am 55, divorced with two children, 20 and 18. My son is at university; my daughter is still at home, but very independent. I met a wonderful man last summer — divorced and widowed, with three sons, aged 18, 24 and 25. We had the most lovely time and the relationship was strong and very secure. I got on well with his family and his sons.

Then he went to the other side of the world for Christmas to see his boys. I had many e-mails and a few text messages, but only one telephone call. I missed him terribly. When he came back he seemed distant and tired. I put this down to the long flight. Sadly, he told me that he was still in love with the girlfriend he’d lived with for four years and wanted to rekindle this relationship.

I was shattered and heartbroken, but collected my belongings from his home and tried to forget him. About two weeks later he telephoned and said he wanted us to be “very good friends”. Now I see him more than weekly. We have a lovely time, and he rings me nearly every day and we are in a close relationship. He still “loves” his ex, but “likes” me more than her. He tells me when he sees her. But she is not liked by his sons, while her youngest son will not allow him into the home to see his mother.

It is not easy to meet single men at my age, and I am not really ready to move on. I love him deeply. He tells me he is muddled. When I told him I was being set up with another date, he said he didn’t mind provided that I could still give a bit of me to him. I know I should give him up as the heartbreak will only come again, but for the moment I would rather see him sometimes than not at all.

Nicky

When W. H. Auden wrote that each of us wants “to be loved alone” he identified “the romantic lie in the brain” which not only causes so much individual pain but also prevents us from understanding the significance of what he called “universal love”. No wonder he believed that it stands in the way of a happier, more just world. For the desperate ego which puts out its hooks to grasp at love doesn’t represent the best in us. Scratching, scrabbling, clutching, it shouts: “Love me — just me!”, and thus drowns out the tiny calls for tolerance, compromise, the loosening of selfishness which is a sign of mature affection.

I feel hope from your letter, because you seem to be moving beyond that. Of course you would rather be loved alone, but in trying to put up with the situation as it is you are showing an awareness that the muddle this man feels isn’t unique to him. We don’t necessarily develop wisdom with our wrinkles, and it is perfectly normal to feel torn between two people.

This old girlfriend is probably a fascinating, seductive pain in the neck. Why else would his sons so dislike her? How else could she produce such a brat? Why didn’t their relationship last first time round? She sounds like bad news, and you should settle down quietly for combat — in the most laid-back, easy way imaginable.

You see, I read a warm, intelligent, loving woman who expects me to make the sensible suggestion that she gives up this chap who may well hurt her again. But because you have so much going for you, I don’t see any reason to try to halt your ongoing affection for “a wonderful man” who, after all, has done nothing wrong. He has been honest with you, and at least he didn’t try to string you along while seeing her behind your back. He tells you when he sees her and, even more civilised, he doesn’t expect you to wait at home hoping for crumbs from his table. Mr Muddle has already shown how hard he found it to get along without you. Now he wants to go on seeing you while he sorts out his feelings, and surely this should be possible? I don’t see it as “playing second fiddle”, but a recognition of the fact that his feelings are complex. We’re not angst-ridden teenagers, after all.

You repeat that you can’t “move on” while you are thinking of him, but let your momentum be along two tracks, not one.

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