My first meaningful interaction with Tony and Erica came out of nowhere, or at least, that's what I thought.

     "Are you ok, love?" asked Erica softly as I scooped up some empty glasses from their table.

     "Yeah, fine, thanks. How are you? Same again?" I replied automatically.

     "No," said Erica, "I'm asking how you are. I've been watching you. You look like you've got the weight of the world on your shoulders."

     Her observation cut me in half, and a lump in my throat swelled as I tried to respond. The chair next to Erica pulled me down. "I just… don't want to be here," I said.

     "Of course you don't, love. I expect a bright young lad like you has big plans. But you don't have to worry so much. Just believe in yourself, and it will happen for you. God knows I've felt a bit lost at times, but lucky for me, I met Tony here. If you keep going, you'll get there. Alright?"

     I can't tell you how much I needed to hear that, at that exact time. It was like Erica could sense other people's pain and misery, and felt compelled to help. Her advice was always like that as well. No easy answers, no instructions, no demands, just kindness. I looked at Tony, expecting him to take the mickey or something, but he just nodded along silently.

     A girl I worked with told me they'd both been married before and that both relationships had ended badly. Do they ever end well? I never found out much more than that, and I never wanted to know. I preferred to think that they were destined to find one another.

     Tony would always come to the bar to buy the drinks and seemed to get a genuine thrill from doting on Erica. He always paid cash. In fact, most people did in there; it was that kind of place. A pint of bitter and a whisky and lemonade; I knew their tipple so well that I'd started to pour it before Tony got to the bar. Sometimes, he'd try to have some fun by pretending to order something else, but everyone who worked there knew the dance too well. Not that it took away from the enjoyment of being in on the joke.

     "Take one for yourself," Tony would offer after he'd had his fill of teasing.

     "You are soft, Tony," Erica would say.

     Their network of friends would change through the week, but they were never short of companions. The two of them were the lifeblood of their gatherings, exchanging light-hearted ribbing with whoever had come to join them for the evening, taking it back in equal spades. Occasionally, Tony and Erica would aim a couple of playful jibes at each other, which usually centred around Tony's bald head or Erica's diminutive stature. It was the gentlest form of ridicule I'd ever seen, and I yearned to be swept up in it.

     "Come on then, Ricky, let's get down the chippy!" Tony would say at what felt like the end of every evening. It was their signature act. Erica played along perfectly, holding a stone-cold glare for as long as she could before a smile cracked across her face. "Shut up and put your coat on Tony!" she'd say as the others around them laughed.

     Tuesday night was quiz night, something which attracted a pretty decent crowd at the pub. I was always fascinated by the spectrum of seriousness by which the various teams took it. Some tables spoke in whispers for fear of eavesdroppers, while others would exclaim the most ridiculous answers they could think of, laughing hysterically as heads turned toward them. Tony and Erica played every week, but they never really cared about winning. As long as they were having a good time together, a few beer tokens or a bottle of cheap bubbly was of no significance.

     It was a surprise when Tony came in to play one week without her, and it might have been the first time I'd seen either of them alone. Instinctively, I picked up a glass and poured him a pint. He moved slower than usual that evening, like he was wading through treacle, and he was quiet when he got to the bar. Clearly, his mind was elsewhere. "Everything alright, Tony? You're a bit early. You on a bender?" I asked, trying to lighten his spirit as I reached for a smaller glass to start mixing Erica's drink.

     "Yeah. Just that for now, though, thanks."

     "Erica not in tonight?"

     "Dunno yet," mumbled Tony as he discarded a note on the bar and shuffled off towards a corner of the pub. He put his head between his hands as he sat down.

     It could have been an hour before anyone came to join him, by which time the pub was starting to fill up with quiz teams. There was a part of me that wanted to sit down next to him to find out what was wrong, but I decided that I didn't know him well enough for that. I'd never seen him like this before, and I was relieved when some familiar faces began to surround him. The noise levels made it difficult to hear the conversation, and with his head down, I couldn't hope to read his lips. But as a friendly arm moved across his shoulders and he lifted his head to acknowledge the show of comfort, I clearly saw the word "tests" spill from his mouth.

     Tests? What did he mean? Where had he just come from? Where was Erica?

     Each question filled me with dread, and as I watched Tony try to tough it out, my mind started to draw its own conclusions about what was wrong.

     Erica plodded into the pub halfway through the evening, searching frantically for Tony with her arms tucked closely into her body. It was strange to see, as it wasn't like there were many places to hide in there, and they both knew the place inside out. But much like Tony a couple of hours before, she looked totally lost.

     When their eyes met, Tony jumped up from his table and marched towards her, throwing his arms around her tiny shoulders. Erica patted him softly on the back before placing her hands on either side of his face. She kissed him gently on the lips before the two of them went back to their friends, their hands clasped together.

     Tony was ill. It was obvious. Some brave smiles glimmered briefly as Tony hid among the others, and the only twinkle in his eyes came from the tears that pooled every few minutes. He managed to fight them back out of some absurd desire not to show any emotion, using his beer as his shield.

     It was maybe a couple of months later when they got married. They had the reception in the function room at the back of the pub, which, despite its cavernous size, could barely contain the well-wishers that had turned up. I made every excuse to go in and collect glasses or deliver food just so I could feel a part of it. Each time I did, I was happy to see that even though their scores of friends fought for their attention, Tony and Erica didn't leave each other's side.

     Rob, the landlord, let them have the whole thing for nothing. In fairness, he probably did alright from the amount of beer we sold that day. Tony embraced Rob tightly when he eventually, reluctantly, accepted the charity. Erica smiled sweetly as she followed suit, sniffing tears back as she pressed herself into Rob's body, whispering something into his ear. I couldn't tell what she said. Rob waved away their gratitude fervently, suggesting it was nothing more than a small token of his support for the two of them.

     Over the next few weeks, I saw a lot less of Tony and Erica, and the pub suffered as much as I did without them. The evenings were quieter, everyone laughed less, and it felt as though it took more wood to keep the fire burning.

     When they did come in, they both looked tired, gaunt and cold. Erica seemed to be wrapped up tight under scarves and hats, while Tony's woolly jumpers seemed to sag from his shoulders and forearms. A pint of bitter and a whisky and lemonade were replaced with half a Guinness and an orange juice, and they rarely stayed for more than one. I guess the illness took its toll on both of them.

     But underneath it, they were still the same. That special look they had for each other, the one that nobody else got. It was still there, sparkling like a diamond among jagged rocks.

     "Off down the chippy after this, Tony?" I called as they finished up one early evening, hoping for a glimmer of their trademark humour which I had sorely missed.

     Tony, helping Erica gingerly into her coat, offered a half smile. "Not tonight."

     Erica twisted her neck round and smiled at Tony. "Love you," she whispered behind burgeoning tears. That was the last time I saw them together.

     The funeral was a few weeks later, and Rob closed the whole pub for the wake. The function room was once again full of people, but this time, the place was dripping with sadness.

     I've always thought it strange how people behave at wakes. One moment, it's all sullen and morose, and the next, someone cracks a joke, and the mood is briefly lifted like a faltering light bulb, flickering and flashing before cutting out completely. Some were using the day as an excuse to drink themselves stupid, while others cradled cups of tea. Among the bodies, looking frail, grey, and defeated, was Tony.

     Although surrounded by people, he looked like he was a million miles away from anyone else. His lips trembled as he declined cups of tea and morsels of food from mourners trying to make themselves feel useful. One by one, people took turns to hug him, tap him on the arm or kiss him on the cheek. He barely reacted to any of it, and his mannerisms all seemed to be delayed like he was moving in slow motion. All that vigour and energy; gone, syphoned off. He was nothing but a husk of his former self.

     Sitting there, he looked like a man on the very brink of his world, with everyone expecting him to turn back and carry on with his life. Deep down, I think he wanted someone to push him over the edge and put him out of his misery. It never came.

     Rob, once again, didn't charge for the do and this time I don't think Tony protested; I'm not sure how aware he was of it anyway. Nobody saw Tony leave that day; he must have made an excuse and slipped out somehow. "He probably just wants to be on his own," everyone seemed to theorise.

     A few more days went by before Tony came back in, drunk and clutching a bag of chips. By the looks of him, he'd had a good few days at it as well. Normally, we didn't allow anyone to bring their own food in, but I couldn't find it in my heart to deny him, so I smuggled him to a quiet corner of the pub where he could eat in peace. His eyes were glassy and faded, and his nose drizzled with thin, red veins. I don't think anyone could have really blamed him for hitting the bottle, and even though he'd had a skinful, I poured him another pint and took it over. "Here you go, Tony," I said as I stepped back.

     "Thanks," he slurred. "I'm sorry. I just wanna be with my Ricky."

     "I know you do," I croaked, swallowing a sharp pain that was rising rapidly in my throat. "You just take your time, Tony. There's no one else in, and to be honest, three o'clock on a Monday afternoon isn't exactly our peak time. Let me know if you need anything else."

     I smiled through gritted teeth and backed away from him as he slumped in his chair and continued nibbling on his chips. I checked on him a few minutes later but could see he'd dropped off. I decided to let him sleep while I threw some more wood on the fire and got on with some other jobs.

     It was a couple of hours later when Rob came down from the flat above. "What's that smell?" he asked.

     I shrugged. "What smell?"

     "Salt and vinegar, is it?"

     My eyes shot to the corner of the pub. "Oh, that's probably just Tony. He's over there with a pint and a bag of chips. I didn't think he'd do any harm while we were quiet like this, and–"

     "Chips? Oh no."

     "What?"

     "How long's he been there?!" shouted Rob as he rushed towards Tony's table.

     "Couple of hours maybe," I said, totally confused as I followed Rob swiftly through the pub.

     Rob placed his hands on Tony's shoulders, shaking him gently. "Tony? Tony? Can you hear me?" Rob turned to me. "Call an ambulance," he said as he pushed his fingers into Tony's throat.

     "What? He's just asleep."

     "Ambulance. Now. He's not meant to eat fried food. High cholesterol. Erica never let him. Oh, Tony, what have you done?"

The paramedics came a few minutes after that, but there was nothing they could do. They said it was most likely a stroke. I felt guilty for quite a while after that to be honest, letting Tony destroy himself with a bag of chips and a pint of bitter like that.

     But to reduce Tony to that would have been to do him a dishonour. Tony knew what he was doing, even if I didn't. It was a good job as well, as maybe I'd have tried to stop him if I'd known. And who was I to keep him and Erica apart? I reckon that if it was the other way around, Erica would've been reaching for a happy dagger to join him.

     After all that, the bite of the rejection emails wasn't as deep, and the shame of my postcode faded. It may have been the front door to a small flat in a high-rise block, but behind it was my entire world. We had each other. That's all Tony and Erica ever needed to be happy.

     Theirs was no tale of woe, no warring factions or feuds to conquer, no love sprung from hate; just two people who found each other at the right time. And although the world felt like a darker place without them, it felt like the flower growing in the shaft of light at the bottom of the cave bloomed brighter than before.