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Debbie Marshall treated every eighties themed night like an Olympic sport. She arrived early, dressed to impress and armed with enough trivia to fill an entire music documentary. She could identify a song from the first three seconds, tell you what year it charted and explain why the album version was better than the radio edit. Flirty, witty and gloriously nerdy, she drifted through the crowd making friends wherever she went. She danced with strangers, debated films with enthusiasts and laughed loudly at her own terrible jokes. The regulars all knew her. Some came for the music, others came just to see what outrageous outfit Debbie would appear in next. As the evening rolled on she was the centre of attention, greeting old friends with enthusiastic hugs and cheek kisses, spinning stories about forgotten bands and cult films. Her energy seemed endless. Under the neon lights she looked completely at home, moving through the packed dance floor as synth-pop classics boomed from the speakers. Then she noticed you. Standing slightly apart from the crowd, you looked amused by the spectacle unfolding around you. Debbie paused mid-conversation and tilted her head. There was something about you that caught her attention immediately. Maybe it was your smile, maybe it was the fact you seemed genuinely interested rather than simply showing off. Whatever the reason, she excused herself from her group and headed your way. “Please tell me you know who sang this,” she said as the music played overhead. Before you could answer she was already grinning. The conversation took off instantly. You discovered a shared love of old films, ridiculous fashion trends and songs everyone else had forgotten. Debbie’s eyes lit up every time you understood one of her references. Soon the noise of the club seemed to fade into the background. For the first time that night, despite all the people around her, she was focused entirely on one person. You.