Chapter One
(September 2015)
The last couple of months had been awful for Danny. No, they had been downright terrible. Even now he couldn't work out why Jessica had left him, muttering about "irreconcilable differences" as she went. Hell, he hadn't noticed any differences at all, never mind irreconcilable ones. Four years they'd been living together . . .
Yes, four years under the same roof, sharing the same bed and having sex at least once every night (and lots more at weekends). They'd shared everything else too, watching TV together, eating meals at the same kitchen table, showering together, only ever going out socially as a couple.
Four years. And at least a year of being boyfriend and girlfriend before she'd finally moved in.
Never an angry word between them in all that time, and suddenly Jess had had enough.
Struggling to cope, Danny had only ventured out of the house to go to work. That's right, for nearly ten weeks he'd avoided pubs and company of any description. Truth was that he didn't know what to say to people. And his circle of boozing buddies had shrunk to next to nothing anyway, thanks to those five years or more of infatuation.
Ten weeks and, work aside, he'd locked himself away from the world. Weekly shopping was brought to his door courtesy of ASDA's delivery service, and those delivery guys were the only folk he saw.
Well, he saw colleagues every day in the office, obviously, but he hadn't been his usual self. If invited for a lunchtime pint and game of pool he invariably said no. Ditto for invites to after-work events like birthdays, engagements and leaving parties.
Normally he'd head home alone and drink himself silly on bottles of supermarket wine before trying to ring and text Jess, wanting to sort out those differences. But without any success. Jess ignored all of his texts and never once answered his calls. Then, perhaps a fortnight ago, he'd started to get the dreaded "number discontinued" response from her service provider.
She'd only gone and bought a new mobile, retiring the (not-so) old one, presumably for all time.
That's when he finally accepted life as he knew it really was over. That's when mystified frustration turned into the blackest depression.
Over, he thought again and again. Everything is over forever.
Things couldn't possibly get worse . . . but this afternoon they had. Friday was early finish day, in line with POETS day everywhere else; he'd been surprised to be called in to his boss's office shortly after four o'clock. His boss was into extreme sports and was usually keen to haul her (admittedly sexy) ass out of there ASAP, doubtless bound for some woodland assault course or other.
But not today. Mystified by the latish summons he sat in the visitor's chair in front of her large, solid oak desk, half-expecting to be quizzed about his slow progress on a potentially lucrative deal . . .
Only to be hit by a list of shortcomings. His workmates were worried about him. He was untypically cold. He'd become reclusive and uncommunicative. And his day-to-day input was noticeably slipping and sliding. From ace performer he'd become decidedly average.
Come to that, was he going to close a deal on the Richardson contract anytime this century?
'What is the matter?' his boss had concluded, eyeballing him closely. 'Can we help in any way? Can I help in any way? Let me know and I'll do whatever I can. All I want is to have you back to normal.'
Danny hated talking about personal weaknesses. For perhaps thirty seconds he considered lying and blagging it out. Then he'd realized it was a fair cop; he couldn't dream up a credible excuse any time soon. Ditching subterfuge, he'd admitted he'd been dumped and was struggling to adapt to his new circumstances.
'Do you need input from HR?' his boss had asked, her expression as tender as he'd ever seen it.
(Sexy ass or not, his boss was known as Ming the Merciless behind her back; tenderness didn't come high in her everyday list of virtues.)
'No,' he'd replied. 'Consider me given the wake-up call. I'll be back in on Monday, and I'll be back to normal as well. Pool, pints and everything else.'
He had meant every word of that promise, but the question was how to go about it. In the real word here he was, home once more, six thirty-something that worse-than-ever Friday evening, full bottles of ASDA vino beckoning him like crazy.
'Avaunt thee Satan,' he said aloud. 'I'll get pissed, but I'll go out to do it.'
And where better to get pissed than Bingley? The old market town had far more than its fair share of lovely hostelries. It was a relatively small community as well. He would no doubt run into a few long-lost boozing buddies as he went along.
Assuming he could raise the courage to step over that first threshold . . .
*****
Freshly showered and casually dressed, not bothering with any jacket because the weather was still warm, he left his Poplar House terrace and walked through Myrtle Park, passing the swimming baths and the rear of the Arts Centre, crossing a large Pay and Display car park before pausing outside of a relatively new watering hole, one that was favoured by the younger element.
(A class he hoped still included him.)
Come on, come on, he thought when his feet refused to accept his brain's instructions. Exactly how many pubs have you walked into alone over the years? Hundreds, that's how many.
Maybe even thousands.
Amazingly, his plates of meat took notice and next he knew he was through plate glass doors and on his way to the bar, casting around for old acquaintances as he went. Seeing nobody.
Buying a pint of San Miguel, wincing at the few pennies change from his fiver, he withdrew and took a place against a pillar. To his left were two large TV screens, one permanent, the other roll-down for projected images. On the roll-down Manchester United were already two goals ahead of some set of no-hopers in blue. On the permanent screen Leeds Rhinos were imminently due to hit another set of no-hopers in red and white for six tries or more.
Business as usual, in other words.
Taking his first swig of lager made Danny wonder why he'd wasted his time on vino for so long. This was more real; this was a big step on his way back to normality.
Sighing deeply, he helped himself to another big swig.
And then he saw her.
Chapter Two
For the avoidance of doubt, Danny's (mostly) spontaneous night out on the lash had never focused on girls in any shape or form. His loose schedule included lots of booze and hadn't included girls at all. Far as he was concerned, from now on girls could go whistle.
But the shape and form of this one . . .
Ignoring Manchester United altogether he gaped at the vision not ten yards away from him. Tall with jet-black hair falling most of the way down her back, sculptured like Miss World only vastly sexier . . .
The vision was dressed for the office. Standing as she was just then she was rear-on to Danny, giving him a perfect view of her perfect ass and long legs in sheer black stockings.
Oh my, wasn't she tall!
Raising his glass Danny realized it was empty . . . already. Something must have diverted him along the way.
The plan had been to down one pint and head off for the next pub. As if! Heading back to the bar, he did his best to look everywhere else but took in as much as he could of the divinity as he went by.
