Nothing Compares To You

Once More Into The Breech..

Turning from side to side, she looked into the mirror, and she smiled. "Looking good, girl," she told herself.

For the first time in a while, she was pleased with what she saw. A sparkle to her eyes, a slight mischief in her smile. She was, despite her nerves, looking forward to the party. She'd dressed with care. Not too short, not too tight, just a hint of cleavage. Her mother's words echoed in her head, legs or boobs , never both.

She'd spent a small fortune on a new dress, a hair cut and blowdry, nails and shoes. When he'd queried why she had gone all out, the only excuse she had was 'why not?'

Even now, she didn't really want to admit why. She wasn't sure she ever would.

Iain was lovely. About five years her junior, he was tall, blonde, and blue-eyed. He worked out, and he ran. Yes, her mother had said as she'd shown her a picture, she definitely had a type.

A type. Yes. Not that it had served her well so far. Her now ex-husband had been 'her type'. They'd been so in love, so very good together. She'd loved him more each day, supported his low times, and rejoiced in his successes.

Then, slowly, the successes had become more frequent and resulted in more wore work. He'd been away more than he'd been at home. They simply drifted apart. It wasn't a lack of love that ended their marriage. It was lack of time. For them, for work, for love. A modern-day tragedy.

She'd cried, she begged, and she'd promised to try harder. He'd cried. He'd been sorry, but ultimately, he'd gone. In a world where everyone wanted a piece of him, there simply wasn't enough to go around.

She grieved but ultimately acknowledged his decision. What else could she do?

She'd moved away, about as far away as it was possible to go without using NASA as a moving company. That's where she'd met Iain.

He was young, idealistic, highly attractive, and being brutally honest, completely brain dead. Where once she'd had stirring discussions about Shakespeare and Pinter, or debated into the night which was the best comedy series of the past, now all she had in common with him was a distinct interest in mexican food. Meeting someone at work was no guarantee it seemed,you'd have much to talk about outside the office or the bedroom.

Physically, Iain was, as they say, a specimen. Strong, athletic, and decent in the bedroom. It was all she wanted in a relationship these days. Love? Love was for children, and the truly blessed. It had become abundantly clear to her that she was neither.

Now, she sat holding Iain's hand tightly. Why was she so bloody nervous? This was ridiculous. It was only a party. She'd been to many, many parties, so why was she literally shaking in her shoes.

But this was Simon's party. Forty today, the first of their circle to hit the milestone. They'd always promised to celebrate everyone being a grownup. No matter where they were, they would come home for this.

So now, this little corner of England was party central. Just like the first time she'd laid eyes on him. All blonde curls, blue eyes, and winning smile. Her heart lurched, and she shook her head at the memory. Frantic alcohol fuelled kisses in the dark, fumbling hands and breathless passion. Nothing had ever changed. In her mind, nothing probably ever would. A deep longing in her soul almost made her gasp. What the hell?

"Are you ok, Debs?" His voice broke into her reverie. He smiled at her, and she nodded.

"Yeah, remember I told you that I used to be married? That I was at a party with Simon, and it was him that introduced us in the first place?"

"Yeah? So?" Iain was puzzled. What had Debbie's ex to do with this?

"He's here. He's at the party. It's the first time we've been voluntarily in the same room since... well, since the divorce." She felt small and a bit silly. How could he do this to her after all this time. She had a new life, a new job and now, a new boyfriend. She didn't care what her husband - sorry, EX husband - thought or did these days. Did she?

"Well, just point him out to me when we get inside. I'll tell him to steer well clear. Don't want anyone upsetting my little woman now, do I ?" He winked, and she cringed. Little woman? What the hell? Was this the 1950s? Iain was lovely, very charming, and polite, but dear God, he was beginning to irritate the hell out of her.

"I'm fine. You dont need to worry." She was slightly sharper with him than she intended, and as soon as it left her mouth, she felt bad. None of this was Iain's fault. "Sorry, I guess it's just a bit more of a memory trip than I thought." She smiled, and he let her hand go, getting out of the car.

She waited, but he just stood. He never got the chivalry thing. The opening a door for her, the pulling a seat out and the helping her with her jacket. All things she'd discovered over the time, she'd grown to miss.

He'd done all those things, even at the end, he'd been the perfect gentleman. That had never been the problem. His career had been the problem. He was just too bloody talented. So they'd called it a day. It had been heartbreaking, hard, and obviously unpleasant.

Even now, she wondered if there had been another way. Did he?

She'd been thinking about him a lot lately. As soon as she'd accepted Joe's invitation to Simon's birthday party, she knew it was a possibility. That he would be there. That she might see him. That they might have to speak. She wanted to be cool, calm, and collected. She knew there was a distinct possibility she'd be none of those things.

When she'd dressed, she had subconsciously chosen a dress in the same colour as the one she'd worn the first time they'd met. Iain had looked at her curiously. She never wore green. Said she couldn't stand the colour. She'd said it was the only colour it came in, and she'd just had to have it. Truth was, she couldn't bear to wear green anymore. Too many links to the past. To him. So why now?

Why, indeed? Something she wasn't prepared to face at the moment. Shaking off the melancholy, she smiled at Iain. "Come on then, let's get on. It's time to see my best friend in all the world." She giggled, recalling a few of their mad scrapes over the years. Tonight, after an emotional reunion and a few drinks, she would ask Simon for her old job back. She'd run away long enough.