It begins on our tenth anniversary. Who would have thought?

Actually, there are two things going on here: 1. Who would have thought it would all kick off on such an auspicious day? And 2. Who would have thought we'd make ten years in the first place?

By ten years, I don't mean ten years since our wedding. I mean ten years since we first met. It was at my mate Alison's birthday party. That was the day our lives changed forever. Ben was manning the barbecue and I asked him for a burger and ... bam.

Well, not bam as in instant love. Bam as in I thought, Mmm. Look at those eyes. Look at those arms. He's nice. He was wearing a blue T-shirt which brought out his eyes. He had a chef's apron round his waist, and he was flipping burgers really efficiently. Like he knew what he was doing. Like he was king of the burgers.

The funny thing is, I'd never have thought 'ability to flip burgers' would have been on the list of attributes I was looking for in a man. But there you go.

Watching him work that barbecue, cheerfully smiling all the while ... I was impressed.

So I went to ask Alison who he was

'old uni friend, works in property, really nice guy'

and made flirty conversation with him. And when that didn't yield any results, I got Alison to invite us both to supper. And when that didn't work, I bumped into him in the City 'by accident', twice, including once in a very low-cut top

almost hooker-like, but I was getting a bit desperate

. And then finally, finally he noticed me and asked me out and it was love at, you know, about fifth sight.

In his defence

he says now

he was getting over another relationship, and wasn't really 'out there'.

Also: we have slightly edited this story when we tell other people. Like, the low-cut hooker top. No one needs to know about that.

Anyway. Rewind to the point: our eyes met over the barbecue and that was the beginning. One of those kismet moments that influence your life forever. A moment to cherish. A moment to mark, a decade later, with lunch at the Bar.

We like the Bar. It has great food and we love the vibe. Ben and I like a lot of the same things, actually – films, stand-up comedy, walks – although we have healthy differences too. You'll never see me getting on a bike for exercise, for example. And you'll never see Ben doing Christmas shopping. He has no interest in presents, and his birthday becomes an actual tussle.

Me: 'You must want something. Think.' Ben

hunted

: 'Get me ... er ... I think we're out of pesto. Get me a jar of that.' Me: 'A jar of pesto? For your birthday?'

A woman in a black dress shows us to our table and presents us with two large grey folders.

'It's a new menu,' she tells us. 'Your waitress will be with you shortly.'

A new menu! As she leaves, I look up at Ben and I can see the unmistakable spark in his eye.

'Oh, really?' I say teasingly. 'You think?'

He nods. 'Easy.'

'Big-head,' I retort.

'Challenge accepted. You have paper?'

'Of course.'

I always have paper and pens in my bag, because we're always playing this game. I hand him a rollerball and a page torn out of my notebook, and take the same for myself.

'OK,' I say. 'Game on.'

The pair of us fall silent, devouring the menu with our eyes. There's both bream and turbot, which makes things tricky ... but even so, I know what Ben's going to order. He'll try to double-bluff me, but I'll still catch him out. I know just how his mind weaves and winds.

'Done.' Ben scribbles a few words on the page and folds it over.

'Done!' I write my answer and fold my own paper over, just as our waitress arrives at the table.

'Would you like to order drinks?'

'Absolutely, and food too.' I smile at her. 'I'd like a Negi, then the scallops and the chicken.'

'A gin and tonic for me,' says Ben, when she's finished writing. 'Then the scallops also, and the bream.'

The waitress moves away and we wait till she's out of earshot. Then:

'Got you!' I push my piece of paper towards Ben. 'Although I didn't say G & T. I thought you'd have champagne.'

'I got everything. Slam dunk.' Ben hands me his paper, and I see Negi, scallops, chicken in his neat hand.

'Damn!' I exclaim. 'I thought you'd guess langoustines.'

'With polenta? Please.' He grins and refreshes my water.

'I know you nearly put turbot.' I can't help showing off, proving how well I know him. 'It was between that and the bream, but you wanted the saffron fennel that came with the bream.'

Ben's grin widens. Got him.

'By the way,' I add, shaking my napkin out, 'I spoke to-'

'Oh good! What did she-'

'It's fine.'

'Great.' Ben sips his water, and I mentally tick that topic off the list.

A lot of our conversations are like this. Overlapping sentences and half-thoughts and shorthand. I didn't need to spell out 'I spoke to Karen, our nanny, about babysitting'. He knew. It's not that we're psychic exactly, but we do tend to sense exactly what each other is going to say next.

'Oh, and we need to talk about my mum's-' he says, sipping his drink.

'I know. I thought we could go straigh