Danny Preston pushed his way through the packed bar. He squeezed and shoved his way between the people drinking over-priced drinks and laughing too loudly, determined to show the world they were having such a good time. Media City was something else. It was in Salford and housed the television studios for BBC and ITV, as such it attracted a unique clientele. It had a strange energy, very pretentious and aspirational. It wasn’t his kind of place at all. Half the people in the place were off the television, and the other half wanted to be. And, of course, as this was Saturday night the place was even more rammed.

The whole area was full of swanky bars and exclusive restaurants. Those restaurants were the kind of places that, if you asked for a glass of water, they would bring a jug and lots of glasses, declaring it was water for the table. The bar hadn’t been open that long and it was the hip place to hang out. As he paid the best part of ten pounds for a pint of house lager, he shook his head. If it wasn’t his friend Charlie’s birthday, he’d have definitely ducked out of coming along tonight. Charlie had asked, we’re going for drinks at Media City, if you fancy it. Danny had been about to make his excuses, when his friend had added, it’s for my birthday. Well played, Danny had thought, there’s no way I can get out of that.

A lot of the clientele had their mobile phones in hand and were busily taking photos, to post on social media. Danny wasn’t really one for all that. He would check the football results on his mobile phone but that was about it.

He took a long gulp on his beer and went to find his friends. Charlie was wearing a garishly bright shirt and was sipping a pink cocktail. He must had had a few drinks already, as he was slurring and unsteady on his feet.

‘Happy birthday, Chas.’ Danny said.

Charlie leaned in and hugged him. Danny patted him on the back. There other lads chatted away, talking about everything from the United game that afternoon, to the holiday Billy had just had in Tenerife. Danny sighed and took a swig of beer. The ale might be a rip-off, and the place might be a bit poncy, a bit fois gras for his liking, but he was going to have a good night. He tried not to think about how much the night would cost him. He could always stay in next weekend.

A few pints later, the evening was going well. The drinks and the banter was flowing. Charlie finished a bright yellow drink that reminded Danny of a kitchen detergent.

‘One more in here, then in to town?’ Charlie suggested.

‘Yeah, sounds good.’

Danny was delighted. In Manchester city centre, there were still some swanky bars, but there was also the ordinary pubs, old-man pubs they called them. Those pubs were great. You could hear yourself think and get a pint of beer for less than five pounds. One more rip-off drink, and then off for a proper pint of decent ale in town.

Danny squeezed between two women to get his spot at the bar. The woman were almost bright orange with false tan and their perfume stuck in his throat. He peered down the bar, trying to get the attention of the busy bar-staff. The staff were dashing around behind the bar. These places never employed enough staff. They would have a packed pub, a bar that ran the length of the room, fill the place with punters, and then hire one or two poor souls to work the bar. And what usually tended to happen was that Danny would get stuck behind someone ordering a round of cocktails. The already-busy bar worker would then have to spend the next five minutes mixing and shaking the measures for the funny cocktail.

As the barmaid blanked him and served the person next to him, Danny told himself, not to worry, this was the last drink they were having here. They would soon be settled in a nice cosy pub in town. He could almost taste the real ale now.

A woman joined the throng of people at the bar. She pushed up beside him. She gave him a smile that said excuse me. Danny smiled back. She had the bluest eyes he had ever seen. There was something about her that intrigued him. And, unless he was mistaken, he had seen her before.

He ordered a pint of lager and, as he was scanning his payment card against the hand-held machine, he turned to the woman.

‘Do I know you? Have I seen you somewhere before?’

‘I don’t think so.’ she sighed.

‘I recognise you, seriously. ‘

‘I’m an actress.’ she admitted.

‘How cool. Would I have seen you in anything?’

‘I was in the Firing Line on the BBC.’

‘That cop show, yeah. My parents loved that. They were obsessed with it.’ he said.

She simply smiled and ordered a whiskey and cola from the barman.

‘My mate,’ Danny went on. ‘played a corpse in an ITV thriller last year. You’d have thought he was in the latest Tarantino movie the way he was acting.’

She burst out laughing.

‘I’m Danny.’

‘Debbie.’ she replied, still smiling.

He told her to have a good night and went back to join his mates. As he joined in with the laughing and jokes with his friends, his gaze kept drifting over to the far side of the bar, where Debbie was chatting to another woman. One time he glanced over, she caught his eye. Danny felt his cheeks burn red at being caught staring. She smiled and raised her glass in a toast. Danny did the same, cheers.

He turned away to listen to one of his friends telling a funny story about a recent visit to a burger bar drive-thru. When he’d finished his tale, and the lads erupted with laughter, Charlie clapped his hands to get their attention.

‘Drink up, lads. Time’s a-wasting.’ He said in a mock cowboy drawl.

As one, they lifted their pints and necked them, slamming the empty glasses down on the table. They filed towards the door. Danny went with them. He had a hand on the door and was about to step outside, when he stopped. He glanced over his shoulder to Debbie.

‘I’ll catch you up, lads.’ he called out.

Charlie was halfway to the Metrolink stop, yelling that there was a tram due in six minutes.

As he crossed the bar, towards Debbie, he told himself, if she bins you off, it doesn’t matter. He wouldn’t have to see her again. There would be no embarrassing exchange in the future. It wasn’t like they worked together or anything. She was a stranger he’d taken a shine to, that was all. Chances were, their paths would never cross again. She would no doubt go on to be a big star and probably divide her time between London and Hollywood.

He approached their table, her friend giving Debbie a nudge. Debbie turned to see what was going on, smiling when she saw him. She’s smiling, he thought, surely that’s a good sign.

‘We’re getting off now. We’re going in to town.’ he said.

‘Have fun.’ Debbie said.

Danny took a deep breath. This was it, time to play his hand.

‘Are you doing anything tomorrow? Fancy doing something?’

He tried to make the invitation sound very casual. If he declared that he’d never met anyone like her, and he just had to see her again, she would have run a mile. No, the secret was to play it cool.

‘Yes,’ Debbie nodded. ‘I’d like that.’

Danny couldn’t believe his luck. And it was a definite yes, not a can do, or if you want.

‘I’m busy in the morning, but we could do something in the afternoon.’

They exchanged mobile numbers, Danny grinning, unable to hide his delight.

‘I’ve got to go, my tram is here.’

He jerked a thumb. Through the large windows, the grey tram carriages pulled into the stop.

‘I’ll see you tomorrow.’ he said.

Debbie nodded with enthusiasm.

Danny flung himself towards the closing tram doors with the gusto of an action movie star. The doors beeped and closed shut just behind him. He laughed in relief as his friends applauded his entrance. He joined them, swaying with the rocking of the tram, clinging to the rail.

‘What kept you?’ Charlie asked.

‘There was a woman, I got talking to her at the bar.’

‘Daniel, you dirty dog. And how did you get on?’

‘I’m meeting up with her tomorrow afternoon.’

‘Smooth, mate, very smooth. What chat up line did you use?’

‘I just asked her if she fancied doing something tomorrow.’

Charlie nodded in approval, staring out at the lights of Salford rolling by outside.

‘The direct approach, I like it.’

As the tram rattled on, Danny’s thoughts were occupied by the real ale, and he hoped, the real connection he hoped he’d just made.

Danny rolled over in bed. He opened his eyes. The daylight spilling through the light curtains hurt his eyes. His head throbbed, not enough to be considered a hang-over, more what he termed feeling a bit fuzzy. He’d had a fair bit to drink. Town had been buzzing. The ale and the chatter had flowed wonderfully. He had finished by drinking several pints of a cracking ale called Ringo’s Fat Head.

He couldn’t quite recall getting home, always a sign of a great night. His mouth was dry and he had awful taste. He suspected he’d had a donner kebab on the way in. The events of the night before started to come back in a series of images, as though there was a slide-projector in the room. It has been a good night. Pints of ale, laughs and jokes, friends out together on the beer. Media city first then town. Debbie. The woman he’d met. And they’d arranged to meet up today. He sat up in bed, as though a bucket of cold water had just been thrown over him.

Just over an hour later, he had managed to shower and dress in jeans and Shed Seven t-shirt, and stumble downstairs. He sipped a cup of tea, staring at his mobile phone on the coffee table, as though he was the family of a kidnap victim, waiting on a ransom demand call. He should text her first, of course. It was he who has suggested meeting up. If he waited for her to get in touch, the text or call may never come. Again, if he would have to keep it nice and light. If he played it cool, played everything down, then he might just pull this off. With a determination, he tapped out a short message.

Hey, how’s your Sunday going so far? Hope you had a good evening last night. Danny.

He clicked send, feeling like he was pressing a big red button that would fire a bomb up into the sky. He stared at his mobile phone, as though that would speed up her reply. Would Debbie respond? Had her acceptance of his invitation merely been politeness? Maybe she hadn’t felt she could say no. Maybe she’d accepted to be polite and would now just not respond. Maybe she’d given him a made-up phone number. Geez, this was like playing chess or something.

Ninety minutes later, on his third cup of tea, and feeling better than he had when he woke up, he still hadn’t heard back from her. Oh well, at least he wouldn’t have to see her again. Nothing ventured, nothing gained. At least he had stuck his neck out. He had asked her out. If that was all that came of it, then at least he had tried. If he’d have bottled it, and ducked out of asking her, he would have always wondered what would have happened if he had plucked up the courage to ask her.

Then his phone pinged. The screen flashed, one new message. With trembling fingers, he clicked on the envelope icon. It was her.

Morning! Had a lovely night, thanks. How did you sleep? xx

Danny read the message several times, trying to interpret the meaning behind it. How did you sleep? His mother often asked him that, after he’d been out with his parents and had had too much single-malt whiskey. She meant, how’s your hangover after last night? He read through the message again. There was nothing much to be read into the message. He replied saying he had slept well, and then asked if she was still up for doing something today.

The reply came back straight away, sounds good, what do you fancy doing?

The first thing that came to mind was the Trafford centre. Everyone knew the shopping mall and it had lots of bars and restaurants, there was a few reasonably priced pub chains, if the other bars were too expensive. There was even a cinema, if the conversation dried up between them.

They arranged to meet at the cash machines. Debbie had suggested they meet there. Danny sensed she didn’t fancy hanging around the pub on her own, waiting for him to arrive. As it was, Danny was hanging around the cash machines, waiting for Debbie to arrive. He wore a navy polo shirt and his cleanest pair of jeans. He was nervous and excited. He felt a little bit sick, but that could have been down to the drinks from the night before.

He glanced at his mobile phone, partly to check the time, but also to see if she’d tried to contact him. He wasn’t sure if she’d turn up or not, but, he sensed that, if she was to no-show, she would at least text him to let him down gently. There was no text message and it was only five minutes after the time. Who met at exactly the time they were supposed to these days? Danny found that people generally arrived early or late. Danny was the type of person that, if he was meeting friends at eight o’clock, he’d aim to get there for ten-to-eight at the latest. Friends of his, if they were going on the same night out, would rock up at gone twenty past eight, oblivious to their tardiness.

Debbie came walking around the corner, passing the marble effect Roman-style statues and the bright neon of the arcades and the American burger joints. She scanned the area, looking for him. He gave her a wave. She was wearing dark jeans and a yellow and black check shirt.

Danny leaned in and hugged her gently. As they rode up the escalators to the bars and restaurants, Danny asked her if there was a particular bar she wanted to try. They settled on the Mardi Gras, as Debbie liked the New Orleans jazz feel to the place.

‘Have you ever been to New Orleans?’ he asked.

‘Well, no,’ she laughed. ‘but I imagine that’s what it’s like.’

‘I bet there’s people in New Orleans who say that it’s just like the Trafford Centre.’

They walked along the bustling malls, with the awkwardness that only couples on a first date have. First dates were just a minefield. Everything seemed to have such significance, it was like walking a tightrope. How closed should you walk beside your date? You wanted to come across as interested, but not too keen. If he went to hold her hand, then she would no doubt go running for the down escalator.

They managed to get served in the busy bar, full of afternoon shoppers, stopping for drinks and a pub lunch. Danny opted for a craft lager, while Debbie chose vodka and cola. Danny insisted on paying. When Debbie protested, he says she could get the next round in. Agreed, she said. Danny was delighted that there would actually be a second round of drinks. They pushed and shoved their way through the bar, looking for a free table. It was their first date, surely they’d be able to find a table. He didn’t fancy standing at the end of the bar. That was hardly romantic, unless you were going out with the barmaid. He hoped they’d be able to find a nice little table for two.

They tried upstairs. As they went upstairs, Debbie eyed all the framed jazz posters lining the staircase with interest. Danny found himself looking at the cool, grainy posters himself. He’d been in the bar dozens of times, but never noticed all the jazz items on the wall. The upstairs floor was much quieter. There were only a few tables occupied, mostly by couples. Perhaps they, too, were on dates and had opted for the quieter floor, where they could talk and hopefully flirt, away from prying eyes.

Once they were sitting at a round table, a gleaming golden saxophone on the wall next to them, Danny raised his glass, cheers. She raised her glass, eyes locked on his, as they clicked glasses.

He leaned forward on his elbows, arms folded, eyes locked on hers.

‘What have you been upto with your Sunday?’ he asked.

‘Just the usual Sunday stuff, really. I had a stack of ironing to do before church.’

‘Church, eh? I know where you’re coming from. I was raised a Catholic. My Irish grand-parents were proper old-school.’

‘Really?’

‘Oh aye,’ he said. ‘their idea of a nice day out was a trip to a monastery. I’m serious.’

Debbie laughed.

‘Tell me about you.’ Danny said. ‘An actor, eh? How did that all come about?’

Debbie shrugged, modestly, before speaking.

‘I started when I was high school, with small parts in Midsomer Murders and things like that. It kind of grew from there, really.’

‘That is so cool. Anything exciting in the pipe-line?’

‘This feels like I’m back on the One Show.’

‘You’ve done the One Show? Now, that’s when you know you’ve made it.’ he said.

‘Actually, there’s a few things lined up, if they come off. You never know with this industry.’

‘Gotcha, that’s why I stick to my mind-numbing office job, you know where you are with it.’

Debbie burst out laughing, telling him he was so funny. The conversation flowed so easily. They chatted, laughed and joked, quickly forming their own private in-jokes that you’d have had to have been there to understand.

Eventually, as the evening wore on, Debbie checked the time on her watch, before finishing the last of her drink.

‘It’s time I was going.’ she said.

‘I was about to suggest hitting the clubs in town, getting on the cocktails, going dancing.’

‘Would you actually like to do that?’

‘Not really, no.’ he admitted with a grin.

Debbie laughed, placing a hand on his.

‘Do you fancy doing this again?’ he asked.

‘Sounds good. We can sort the details out during the week, can’t we? I’m sure we’ll be texting each other anyway.’

Danny couldn’t believe his luck. Not only was Debbie up for going out again, she had assumed they’d be texting each other in the meantime. He had a really good feeling about things with Debbie.

From that point on Danny was in almost constant contact with Debbie. The text messages flowed back and forth. If anything interesting happened, something funny, then they would text, if nothing at all happened, and they were bored stiff, they would text. Their messages were always signed off with kisses. Things just seemed so easy, so natural, just perfect between them. He felt like he’d known her for years, not that he’d only met her this year. While her church-going hinted at a religious interest, she also shared his wild sense of humour. He would come out with a ridiculous gag that deserved a groan, and she would burst out laughing. As he told his friend and family, he had finally met a woman who laughs at his jokes.

They met up regularly, whenever Debbie was back from filming and she would tell him all about how the shooting had gone, and the locations and cast. Danny, a life-long TV and film fan, found it all fascinating. Debbie, in turn, seemed intrigued by his office and the politics of it all. He would describe how there had almost been a riot after management changed to cheaper tea-bags in the office canteen.

‘Rightly so.’ Debbie had laughed. ‘It’s your basic human rights, you can’t be denied a decent cup of tea.’

One evening Danny called round to his parents’ house. Having helped himself to a beer, he joined them on the sofa in front of the television. It was time he told them exactly who it was he was going out with. His family and friends were intrigued by the person they called his lady-friend. Even in their company, he would be texting Debbie. He couldn’t help it. Things just didn’t feel right when he wasn’t communicating with her. It seemed that Debbie had the same interest from the people in her life too. She would mention how Sister Esther from church says to give your boyfriend my love. Danny was pleased that he’d had his status confirmed. He was her boyfriend, that was the label. All the next day he would repeat your boyfriend to himself and give a little fist-bump.

‘Mum, dad, you know this woman I’ve been seeing?’

‘Yes.’ beamed his mother. ‘You’ve been going out for a while now, haven’t you?’

‘You know how she works away a lot, that’s because she’s an actress.’

‘Have we seen her in anything?’ his dad asked.

‘She was in that cop show, the Firing Line.’

‘Daniel, you’re dating a celebrity and you’re only just telling us now.’

‘She’s not like that, she’s just Debbie.’

‘What is she like?’

‘She’s lovely. She’s a good church-going woman, too. I think Nanna and Grandad would have approved.’

‘Wait till I tell people, my boy is dating her off the telly.’

Danny laughed, shaking his head and went to get himself another beer from the fridge.

Things rolled on the same way for the next few months. They would be in touch when Debbie was away, and when she returned, they would spend their time either at Danny’s Salford flat, or at Debbie’s city-centre apartment. They met each other’s parents, both sides mixing really well. His mother followed Danny’s instructions, and not trying to grill Debbie about her acting career, as though she was This Morning’s showbiz correspondent.

Debbie was away for almost two months, filming in the South of France. Danny told her to spare a thought for him, stuck in the office in Trafford Park.

‘We’re filming a romantic drama, apparently.’

‘A romance? Debs, I’m hurt.’

‘The only person I want romance with is you.’

Danny didn’t know it then, but that line would stay with him forever.

While she was away, she would phone him every night. They were as close as ever, closer even. As she hung up, she’d always say, I miss you.

‘Same.’ Danny would reply.

Debbie insisted she would get a taxi back from the airport, despite Danny wanting to pick her up. She explained how it would be just easier to jump in a taxi rather, rather than trying to arrange a lift. Parking at the airport was just a nightmare, with people often spending more on the car-parking, than they did on their flights.

‘You’ll be coming straight round, though, won’t you?’

‘Of course. There’s nowhere else I’d rather be.’

Debbie was dragging her suitcase out of the taxi when Danny rushed out to meet her. She told the driver to keep the change. As the taxi pulled away, into the night, he hugged her.

‘Welcome home, love.’

She sobbed that she had missed him so much.

They curled up on the sofa, glasses of lager in hand.

‘How was it then?’

‘It was actually a bigger shoot than I was expecting. I was starring opposite Ben Shearings.’

‘The singer? The guy who won all those BAFTA awards?’

‘Yes, I’m in his first movie.’

‘This could be big time for you.’

‘That’s what my agents are saying.’

She smiled at him, but he sensed she was troubled. Maybe she didn’t want the leap into stardom that lay ahead. As he always said, she wasn’t the famous actress, she was just Debbie, his Debbie.

Almost twelve months later, they were in London for the premier of Once Bitten, the new Ben Shearings film. Debbie was one of the key stars. Both dressed in their finery, Debbie paced the hotel room nervously. She looked pale despite the fake tan, she had been forced to wear.

‘Do I look okay?’

‘You look amazing, mind you, I do prefer you in your tracksuit, on the sofa.’

‘I’d rather be there right now.’

‘You’ll be fine.’

She said nothing, checking the time on her gold watch.

‘You don’t have to do this, you know? James Dean didn’t go to his movie premiers.’

‘They are expecting me. I’ll be okay once I get there.’

Danny smiled gently. There were people out there who just wanted to be famous, they would queue up to get on reality TV, would audition for television talent shows, just to get themselves on screen. Debbie was an amazing actress, and she was about to hit the big-time. She was like a footballer who was about to play in the Premier League. The player may just want to play for their childhood team, but there was so much more that came with it. Debbie seemed really uncomfortable with the media spotlight.

There was a knock at the door, the car was here to take them to the movie theatre, to whisk them away to the red carpet, the flashing of the cameras, and the interviews. Danny would be there, just behind her, just like Prince Philip had been there for Queen Elizabeth II all those years.

The shiny black car whooshed them smoothly through the night. In his tuxedo, in the back of the car, he felt like a movie gangster heading to his club.

Debbie went to chew on her fingernail, before remembering that she’d had her nails done that morning. She tutted and threw her hands in her lap.

With sickening inevitability the car slowed to a stop as they reached their destination. There it was, the red carpet, the press, the cinema signage showing the film title and the cast.

‘I need something to take my mind off all this.’ Debbie said.

Danny leaned in close, and asked the question he’d been wanting to ask for months.

‘Yes, I will marry you.’ she said.

They both burst into tears of pure joy. She jerked a thumb at the media circus outside.

‘None of that matters, does it?’ she said.

‘The only thing that matters is me and you.’

She kissed him and made the Sign of the Cross before stepping out of the car.

Everyone was delighted then they heard of their engagement. His mother wiper her tears with a tea-towel, while his dad reached for the whiskey. This calls for a toast. Debbie’s family were equally as thrilled. Even Sister Esther at the church was thrilled. The nun had been even more delighted than when Debbie had appeared in Call the Midwife. The nun had said it was such wonderful news.

‘She’s happy for us, then?’ Danny asked.

‘Oh yes, just delighted, as long as it’s a church wedding.’

‘I had assumed it would be.’ he said.

A few months later, Debbie was away filming in Portugal. He really missed her when she was away, but, it was the price he had to pay. He consoled himself that, at least, he was the one she came home to, and they were engaged to be married. There was nobody else he would rather be with and he sensed she felt the same way.

He flaked out on the sofa that evening, his mobile phone fully charged, ready for when Debbie called. He watched a documentary about the New York mafia on TV and waited for the phone to ring. By nine thirty that evening, he was starting to worry. Was she okay? Had something happened to her? Just after ten o’clock, he text her, saying that he hoped the trip was going well.

Forty-five minutes later, as he was debating who to call first about her disappearance, his mobile phone pinged.

Going well, thanks, absolutely shattered now. Talk soon.

Danny ready the message several times. He was stunned by the cool tone. That was the kind of text you’d send to a mate from work, not the person you are engaged to.

He was reeling. His initial reaction was to reply asking if they were okay, him and Debbie. Then he toyed with the idea of simply not replying. He should let her wonder about what he was thinking. In the end he simply responded with kisses. This was just so strange. They hadn’t argued or anything. They had parted on good terms and he couldn’t think of anything he’d done to upset her.

The following night, when there was no call from Debbie, he decided to phone her instead. Her voicemail message clicked in. Hi, this is Debbie,. I can’t talk right now. Leave a message. Danny tutted and hung up. He tossed his mobile phone on the sofa beside him. He felt sick. What was going on between them?

All the next day, he couldn’t concentrate at work. He was really stressing. His relationship with Debbie had been the best thing to happen to him. Was this special thing fizzling out? Terms like on the rocks, and the ick came to him. Had things run their course? Had she drifted apart after working away so much? He wasn’t quite sure he couldn’t handle life without her.

Then his mobile phone rang.

‘Hello, you?’ Debbie said.

Her tone sounded fake, forced somehow. There was definitely something going on. Something had changed.

‘Debbie, are you okay? I was getting worried.’

‘I’m fine, everything is fine. I’m just tired, just busy with the shoot. The director is a monster.’

‘And that’s all it is? We’re okay, aren’t we?’

‘Yes, of course we are.’

Danny tried to take her reassurance at face value. She had rang him, and she was telling him they were okay, that work was taking its toll. He knew how that was. But there was something in her voice he couldn’t quite place. They made small-talk but he sensed her heart wasn’t in it. While he listened to her talk about the weather, the camera crew, and how awful the food was in the catering truck, he nodded and wondered what was really going on. She just didn’t seem herself.

When she said miss you at the end of the call, he was tempted to ask, do you really? but instead he said he missed her too.

He heard the taxi cab pull up outside and jumped to his feet. She was back. This would set them on the right track again. Instead of running out to meet her, as he normally would, he hovered in the doorway. Something made him hold back. He gave her a hug and she kissed him.

They curled up on the sofa and watched the comedy channel. They laughed at the comedian’s observations of a trip to the supermarket, but whenever he tried to engage her in conversation, she responded in little more than one-word answers. She insisted that things were good and that she was fine, they were fine, but her words seemed hollow.

Over the next few days, things carried on in the same way. There was nothing specific he could put his finger on, but things just weren’t right. It was as though they’d had an argument and hadn’t quite gotten over it yet. His mind raced with what could possibly be wrong. She was pleasant and polite, but just not herself. Was she about to leave him for her new leading man? Was she jetting off to Hollywood? Maybe she was anxious about asking him to join her in America. Maybe she was over-thinking and stressing about how their relationship would cope under the pressures of Hollywood.

A week later she came to his flat. She had tears streaming down her face. Danny initial thought was that someone had died. He ushered her into the living room. He perched next to her on the sofa, holding her hand in his.

‘What’s happened?’ he asked softly.

‘I’m sorry, Danny. We can’t be together.’

The words hit him hard, he reeled as though he’d been struck.

‘Why not? Is it something I’ve done?’ he asked.

‘It’s complicated.’ she sobbed.

‘Is there someone else?’

‘No, of course not.’

‘Do you love me?’ he asked.

‘You know I do.’

‘Then that’s all that matters. We’ll tackle things together. I’ll do anything, everything I can. I will move with you to LA if that’s what you want.’

Debbie shook her head.

‘I won’t be moving to LA. I won’t be having an acting career. I have a calling, a vocation.’

Danny simply stared in confusion.

‘I’m going to become a nun. I move to the convent at the end of the week to start my training. We cannot be together.’

‘I don’t know what to say.’

‘I do love you, Danny.’

‘Don’t.’ he managed. ‘Please.’

He buried his head in his hands and sobbed. It was as though the life they had planned for themselves had been snatched away. He felt cheated. It just seemed so very cruel.

The next few days went by in a blur. Debbie was moving back in with her parents before her entrance into the Order. Their parting words were sobbed apologies and repeating how much they loved each other. Danny watched her drive away down the street, turning the corner without a glance. He stood in the road for a long time, quite unsure what to do with himself now.

Danny’s heart was aching in ways he hadn’t thought possible. He was hardly eating, wasn’t speaking to anyone. He was going through the motions of living. He went to the office every day and left every evening, without saying a word to anyone. He felt out of place in his surroundings and unsure what to do with himself. Whenever a love song came on the radio, he would turn it off quickly before the pangs and the tears started. He would burst in to tears at any moment. Anything could set him off. If someone used an expression that Debbie used, he’d feel the tears and the sobs start.

One Friday evening, a month later, his friends asked him to join them for drinks in Manchester city centre. He initially refused, thanking them for the invitation, but he really wasn’t feeling like a night out. His friend Charlie had refused to take no for an answer, saying it was just what he needed. And so, having had a quick shower and thrown on the first clean shirt he could find, he caught the bus into town. The bar was packed. It felt so strange being out in a pub. He felt like a visitor from another planet. These people were going about their lives, having nights out, laughing and joking, when he was falling apart. His friends treated him as though someone had just died, they were sympathetic and understanding. The first couple of pints went down well. He wanted to get roaring drunk, and find an Irish pub and sing along with sad, melancholic songs about lost love, about leaving and loss. He was hurting and wasn’t sure he could carry on like this. He was at the bar ordering a double Irish whiskey, when the woman next to him smiled at him.

‘Has to be a double, doesn’t it?’ she said.

Danny simply nodded, handing the barman a crumpled ten pound note.

As he pocketed his change, the woman beside him asked who he was out with.

‘Just some friends.’ He pointed to his mates, huddled around a tall table.

‘Excellent. Hopefully I’ll see you later.’

‘See you.’ He said.

When he re-joined his friends, they asked who the woman at the bar was. Danny shrugged, explaining how she had just started talking to him.

Charlie gave him a nudge, saying they thought she liked him. Charlie was about to suggest that he go and chat to her, see what happens, when Danny burst into tears. He marched from the pub, his cheeks burning red in embarrassment. He rushed through the dark city centre streets. How could he carry on like this? On the bus ride home he felt very alone. He stared out at the pavements rolling by. Everyone seemed to be in couples. The woman he loved couldn’t be with him. She had forsaken him and the acting life to pursue her calling. He envied all the couples he saw, even a man and woman having a blazing row outside a pub. At least they had each other. But, on the other hand, he didn’t want anyone else either. The woman in the bar had probably been interested in getting to know him, but he didn’t want to know. He didn’t want anyone else.

The next morning Danny was on the road for just after nine o’clock. The drove with focus and determination. He didn’t listen to the radio, lost in thought. Just over thirty minutes later he pulled up outside the ornate grand building. He climbed out of the car and crossed the small car park. He wasn’t sure quite what he was doing there, quite what would happen, but he pressed the convent doorbell and waited. A long moment later, the heavy wooden door opened and a woman appeared. She wore a nun’s black habit and had kind eyes.

‘Good morning.’ she said. ‘Can I help you?’

‘Good morning. Could I see Debbie, please?’

‘Please wait here.’

As she turned away, he heard the nun say to tell Sister Deborah that she had a visitor. He winced at the woman who had been his Debbie now becoming Sister Deborah. There were footsteps from inside and then another nun appeared. She smiled at him, tears running down her face. It was then he realised it was her. She looked so different in the harsh black of the nun’s habit, her locks of hair hidden from view. She crossed to stand in front of him and for a while they just stared at each other, lost in their gaze, in the emotion of the moment. She turned and led him round to the gardens. The convent garden had flowers and plants and flagged paving. The nuns had clearly put a lot of work into the garden. It was beautiful, reminding him of an entrant to a flower-show competition. They walked down the garden pathways slowly, both quite unbelieving this was where they had ended up.

‘I can’t be with you, Danny. You should forget about me.’

‘How can I?’

Debbie shrugged, eyes once again filling with tears.

There seemed to be so much to say, and yet, so very little. There was nothing they could say that would change things. They walked and talked, sitting on a bench, looking out over the beauty of the gardens, long moments of silence passing between them.

At the end of the visit, Danny turned to the woman who had once been his fiancée. She seemed changed from his Debbie, but at the same time, it was still her. He couldn’t take his eyes from her.

‘Can I come and see you again next week?’

‘Yes,’ she nodded, her cheeks streamed with tears, ‘I’d like that.’

He watched as she turned and headed back towards the convent doors. He knew then that she was the only one for him. She was his soul mate. There would be no other person in his life. He would spend the rest of his days visiting her, grateful for the brief time he would spend in her company. In that moment he knew the only woman in his life, the only woman he would ever love, was the woman they called Sister Deborah.

Inspired by true events.

By Chris Platt

From: United Kingdom