Artist Paul ‘likes order’: Sarah got a glimpse of how much on their second date

On the day they met in 2006, marketing and communications specialist Sarah Noye Davies, 38, and artist Paul Davies, 45, shared an instant attraction. They’ve been together ever since – experiencing new life as well as loss.

Sarah: I was 19 when I met Paul. I’d just returned from living in London and a friend in Sydney said, “Come and stay.” Paul was his flatmate. I remember him coming down the stairs: tanned, good-looking and an artist. We’ve been together since that day.

I could see he was strong on routine: he’d be in the studio at 7am and work through to 4pm every day. He likes order. On the second day of my stay, he took me to get coat-hangers!

Paul’s upbringing was less traditional than mine. He was a champion swimmer, spent a lot of time training and didn’t have a TV until he was 15; his dad didn’t believe they needed one. Paul’s the same. We only got one recently. It was a running joke. What got it over the line is that you can buy TVs that are disguised as artworks, so now we have a “Monet” on the wall.

His father also did the chores and cooking and Paul has followed that model. I love it, although at times I’m like, “Do we have to have everything quite this tidy?”

We’ve always worked together and Paul has been my biggest champion, through good and bad. In 2017, we were living in LA and my parents flew over for my 30th birthday. Three weeks later, Dad was on a charity cycling trip in New Zealand – with Paul’s dad, actually – and, on the fourth day, he died. A heart attack, in his sleep, at 58. I was devastated. Paul went into action mode, booking flights to get us over there.

‘I’m on all fours in the car park, my pants down, two nurses telling me to push.’

Sarah Noye Davies

He’s always prioritised our relationship. I’ve had some very busy jobs, but he’s always booked a date night for us every week. I’m like, “Do we have any commitments on such-and-such a night?” He goes, “Yeah, we do. Dinner.”

Our first child, Arlo, was born in LA in 2019. It was a 27-hour labour and the anaesthetic didn’t work. Paul hates seeing his loved ones in pain and I remember he cried. A day later, he learnt his mum, Kath, had terminal lung cancer. We moved back to Australia and Paul took her to chemo every day, six hours a day. She lived in a beautiful but isolated spot on the [NSW] Central Coast; it was quite tough being there with a newborn who wouldn’t sleep and Kath so fragile.

Our daughter, Violet, who’s the image of her grandmother, was born three months before Kath died in 2021. Six days before the birth, Arlo became a close contact [of a person with COVID-19], which meant Paul wouldn’t be allowed in the delivery room. My contractions came on fast. We’d been told to enter the hospital via the basement car park and to wait for someone to take us up, but no one was there. Luckily, we ran into two midwives, who said to Paul, “She’s probably going to have the baby here. Do you have anything she can sit on?” He got out the shade-screen. So I’m on that, on all fours, my pants down, two nurses telling me to push. People were waiting for the lift, staring. Eventually, I was admitted, with 20 minutes to spare.

Paul’s a very involved dad, but he also lives and breathes for his work. He’s persistent and the ultimate optimist. He can make any problem sound like an opportunity. I’ll be the one who plans for the worst-case scenarios. He’s always: “Let’s shoot for the stars. It’s going to work.”

Paul: I still remember her walking through the door. I think I fell in love in that moment, but it caught me by surprise. I worried that she might want someone with a steady career. In art, you have no idea where you’re going to go; it takes trust. We’d both lived in London and shared that feeling of a bigger world out there. It felt exciting.

Sarah’s always had cool jobs, like working for Dior or the Australian consulate, organising amazing events, doing PR for celebrities. When we were living in LA and I’d be home all day in the studio, I’d drive her to work just so I could have her ear. She’s a great sounding-board. She doesn’t interfere with my work, but she always knows where I’m at.

With Arlo’s birth, it was all very calm on the way to the hospital. Sarah was having contractions, but she was doing her make-up. Then nothing happened; the labour just went on and on. The epidural didn’t work, she had a reaction to one of the drugs and was shaking uncontrollably. But when Arlo arrived, she was so happy. It had been horrendous, but it felt like only 20 minutes later that she said, “That was OK, wasn’t it? We should do it again.” I was like, “Was I in the same room as you?”

The next day, Mum called to tell me she had terminal cancer; we packed up everything and came back to Australia. We were in this new environment with a baby who wasn’t sleeping, no bank accounts, taking Mum to chemo. We stayed in eight different houses that first year.

‘When we were living in LA and I’d be home all day in the studio, I’d drive her to work just so I could have her ear.’

Paul Davies

Violet’s birth was different. There was no one to meet us in the car park because the hospital was so stretched with COVID. Sarah’s contractions were getting stronger. Arlo was freaking out; the iPad meant to distract him had stopped working because there was no Wi-Fi. Two nurses came by and helped Sarah with her breathing while I tried to calm Arlo.

Once we heard someone was finally coming to collect her, they said, “Why don’t you go get a beer?” Arlo and I couldn’t go in anyway, so we headed to the beach, but it felt like only 10 minutes later that I got a picture of Sarah holding Violet. I thought, “How is this possible?”

It’s true, I’m very organised. I find it hard to go into the studio if things are in a mess at home, and it’s a pretty small amount that will start to bother me. We used to push up against each other’s boundaries on that, so I’ve needed to step back and go, “OK, I’m being way too OCD with this.” Over the years, we’ve really listened to the way we talk about our strengths and weaknesses. You feel you’re given the space to have those eccentricities.

I still love talking to Sarah, hearing her laugh. In any room she’s in, she gives off this amazing warmth. You just want to be on her team.

twoofus@goodweekend.com.au

Read more of Good Weekend’s Two of Us column

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• ‘Your siblings don’t define you’: These twins took their own singular directions

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