Nothing Compares To You

Even now

"You ready, Darling?" Grace's voice drifted upstairs as he sat on the bed and looked at the photo. He hadn't realised he still had it, not until he'd looked in his wallet for the spare tenner he always carried. Cash was something he rarely used now. Not for any reason other than neither did anyone, but tonight? Something had made him think about putting that tenner in his pocket.

He'd pulled it out and with it a small 2"x 2" photo. The kind that came on a strip of four from a photo booth. The kind you take when you're having a day by the seaside with your new wife of a month, and you had too many cokes and candy flosses and were high on sugar and love.

They were smiling and happy. They were squashed together in the little booth. This shot had been his favourite one, the one that made him smile on his loneliest, darkest days. She was leaning on his shoulder, smiling at the camera, her tongue slightly protuding from her lips in a cheeky grin. He had his hand behind her head, making bunny ears. They looked so young and full of hope. It made him smile even now. It also made him want to cry.

Still feeling regret, eh? He chided himself, after all this time. Why couldn't they have made it work? He knew why. He didn't want to admit it, but he'd not tried hard enough. She'd begged him to give it - and her - another chance, and he'd said no. He'd been tired, of fighting, of missing her, of not missing her, of feeling guilty, of being a success. In his weary confusion, he'd mistaken fear for lack of understanding. Hers. And his.

When she left, he knew there was no way back. He'd contemplated following her, pleading with her. By the time he'd found her, she had obviously moved on, and he couldn't blame her. She deserved more. More than he had been able to give.

He, like her, had tried to move on. He'd gone from success to success. Round the world and back again. There had been other women since. But never quite like her. Latterly Grace, who now stood at the bottom of the stairs waiting for him. She was young - well younger than him - beautiful but...

"Come ON, love. You're the one thats said you didn't want to be late. It's not cool to be on time, though. You do know that, dont you?"

He looked at himself and sighed. Why did the world revolve around what was 'cool' was deemed to be this week. Why couldn't it just be what was polite? That was one thing - amongst many - that he'd missed. She knew manners were more important than any image. He missed many other things. She just 'got' him. Well, she used to anyway.

He sighed and stood up. Simon was a good friend and he deserved this party. When the invitation had come through - old school embossed card - he'd been delighted. Simon and his partner Joe had been through the mill, not least being the stigma of Joe's illness. He'd gotten the treatment, and there was no reason they couldn't live into old age together, but it had made them appreciate life.

It had made Tom stop and think. Perhaps a little too much. He walked downstairs and kissed her cheek.

"You look lovely, dear." He said softly. She was the epitome of modern chic. All hair teeth and nails. He couldn't remember ever seeing her without makeup, even in the morning. He suspected she got up at the crack of dawn to make sure. Just once, he wanted to see her. As she really was. Just like he'd seen... he stopped himself, descending into reminiscing again.

"Oh, this old thing? I really wanted something new, but you didn't have time. Remember? " she pouted, and the little girl voice that he'd found so sweet now seemed to set his teeth on edge.

"Maybe tomorrow, I'll make it up to you, ok?" He ushered her towards the taxi. "We can go for lunch and then a little shop." He wondered if he might have time to get something for himself. He had a trip to New York at the end of the month, and he'd like to wear something other than his faithful old blue sweater.

His faithful fans loved Old Bluey, and so did he. For completely different reasons. Old Bluey was the last thing they bought together. Despite everything, he wanted that last connection. A little bit like the photo.

"Grace?" He knew he should say something. He'd been dreading it all week. She was nothing if not devoted to being with him. He turned as they got into the taxi. "I need to tell you something, love. It's about the party."

"Oh? Will there be any of your costars there? Should I be on the lookout for any?" Her face lit up, and for once, he looked at her objectively. His heart might want her to be with him for who HE was, but he had the growing suspicion it was more for who he KNEW.

They drove off, and he shook his head. "No, this is a private, friends only thing. All the people there will be like family." He paused, "past and present. Grace, you know I'm divorced, dont you?"

"Yes, of course I do. I'm not stupid." She sounded offended, and he winced inwardly. "Well, my ex-wife will be there. I haven't seen her in a long, long time. I just wanted you to know. I dont want things to be awkward." He smiled at her. That much was a genuine wish.

They sat in silence for a little while. Each wrapped in their own world. As they arrived at the venue, he looked out the window. Suddenly, his eye was drawn to a petite figure walking inside. He'd know her anywhere. That colour of dress, that figure, that walk.

It was Debbie. His heart lurched. She was holding hands with a tall, blonde man. It bothered him far more than he ever thought it would.

As he walked into the venue, hand in hand with Grace, he saw her. Standing drinking champagne with Simon and his husband Joe. His world stopped, and his heart pounded.

He suddenly realised he'd made a huge mistake. He shouldn't have come.