I’d been sitting on the sticky threadbare carpet, my back against the woodchip wallpaper, nursing a beer and wondering why I’d bothered to come. My friend and colleague Anita, from the Standard – where I was working at the time – was dancing in the middle of the room with a group of people I’d never seen before, jumping up and down to the Strokes with an abandon I wish I’d felt.

‘You look like you need cheering up,’ a voice said, and a guy with floppy dark hair, striking navy-blue eyes and an impish grin sat down next to me. He had on flares and a retro 1970s shirt with a swirly orange print. Even though it was hideous he managed to carry it off. He must have noticed me staring at it because he’d blushed a little and glanced down at his clothes. ‘Yeah. Sorry about the get-up. I’ve just come from a seventies party. It was shite.’

I’d laughed then. ‘This party’s even worse.’

He watched the dancers throwing themselves around the floor and cocked an eyebrow, his eyes twinkling mischievously when ‘Jump Around’ by House of Pain came on. ‘It is. But they look like they’re having fun. Come on.’ He got to his feet and pulled me up, my beer sloshing over my chipped mug. ‘Give me that,’ he said, taking it from me and shoving it on the mantelpiece next to a plant with cigarette butts covering the soil. I was mortified. I wasn’t a dancer and I didn’t even know this man. But he didn’t give me much choice as he started throwing me around and performing outrageous moves, trying to make me laugh. And because he was sexy and handsome, I allowed myself to go along with it, before long even beginning to enjoy it. When the song had finished we flopped into a faded old armchair, breathless.

And that was when we started talking, and when we found we couldn’t stop. I could have listened to him for ever, the soft Irish lilt in his voice, the way he talked about his brothers and sisters and parents. He told me he was a teacher and that he loved kids. And, as I sat practically on his lap, enraptured by this funny, gorgeous, off-the-wall man in the hideous 1970s shirt, I realized I needed to see him again. His optimism and love for his family were infectious. Even then, I was desperate to be part of it, and it wasn’t long before I was. His family welcomed me with open arms and the same wry sense of humour as Rory. I loved them almost as much as I loved him.