Pushing my way to the bar with my sister, I ordered myself a pint.
In summer last year, I’d joined my sister Dee, 28, for a night out in our hometown of Chorley.
With a young son, it wasn’t often I went out – but my mum Dawn, 51, was looking after my boy, so I made the most it.
And as the evening wore on, one of Dee’s ex-army pals joined our group, too.
I’d met Ben a couple of times – he was loud and charming, but nice enough.
Later in the evening, I dropped my phone, smashing it on the hard floor.
‘Oh God,’ I groaned.
‘Don’t worry,’ Ben, 41, told me. ‘I’ll get you a replacement.’
‘That’s kind of you,’ I said. ‘But I can’t accept…
