My one dying wish

But with the country in lockdown, 53-year-old Samantha Byrne’s family had to fight to make it happen…

- JADE BEECROFT

When Frankie Byrne, then 43, asked for my phone number, I gave him a wry smile and politely shook my head. It was September 2009 and I was in the Downshire Arms in Banbridge, County Down, enjoying a drink with friends when he’d wandered over. He was full of cheeky Irish charm, but I was immune.

A divorcée with two children, Stephen, then 18, and Jessica, 15, the last thing I wanted was another man in my life – even a charmer like Frankie. But a few days later, my phone beeped with a text. ‘Hi Samantha, remember me?’

When I replied, asking Frankie how he’d got my number, he confessed one of my friends had given it to him.

‘Typical,’ I thought. They were always matchmaking, but Frankie seemed genuinely keen so I agreed to meet for a drink back in the same pub.

He was divorced, too, with one son, also called Stephen, then 18, and, as we listened to the live band play 80s covers, I knew I wanted to see him again.

We agreed to keep things casual, but I need ’ have worried. My Stephen warmed to Frankie immediately and even though initially Jessica wasn’t so sure, Frankie was patient and took a real interest in her life, which wore her down gently. And Frankie’s son, Stephen, who lived with his mum, was happy for us too.

‘I’m going to call your bluff and say yes’

Still, Frankie and I were both tentative at first, and it wasn’t until four years later, once the kids had left home, we moved in together. In Frankie I’d found someone I could be completely myself with. He’d cook fancy dinners and whisk me away for weekends in the south of Ireland.

Down on one knee