Glammed up, heels on, I was excited for a night out on the town. Linking arms with my sister Francesca, 18, we visited a few bars in Norwich. Ended up at a nightclub. Dancing away, we drank cocktails and chatted into the early hours of 22 April 2017. Around 1am, I spotted a familiar face. Malaki Morgan, 30. I’d met him three or four times before. He seemed a nice guy, was the quiet one in his group. This night, he sidled over to me. ‘Hey Charley, you’re looking great tonight,’ he schmoozed.
Uh-oh!
Though I liked Malaki, I didn’t fancy him at all. Thanking him, I quickly changed the subject. But he wasn’t bowing out that easy. Complimenting me, he moved closer, brushing my arm. ‘Malaki, I’m not interested,’…
