In Sickness & in Health: We laughed together on our first Star Wars date

Last year, Rebecca’s husband Nick was hit by a car and seriously injured. Here, in one of a series of columns, she writes about the aftermath of his accident

Even without the gifts, it would have been a big week for this pair of fans (Getty)

In my flat there are three lightsabers: a blue Luke Skywalker one, a red Darth Vader one and a little green number for Yoda (and Mia, Nick’s daughter, when he allowed her anywhere near it). They’re the fancy-pants glass lightsabers of a die-hard fan, so you can only imagine how excited Nick was when he got to visit George Lucas’s Skywalker Ranch on work trips past. (Interesting facts about the place: there’s no booze but the coffee shop is called Java the Hutt). My favourite thing about the lightsabers, other than the noise they make when they’re swooshed around, is remembering the time when friends of ours, both fencers, had a fight with two of them. It was mesmerising.

Nick’s collection of Star Wars stuff – which includes Chewbacca trainers, a cuddly Boba Fett, lightsaber chopsticks, Lego, badges, models, a silicone mould for chocolate in the shape of Han encased in carbonite, and our mobility vehicle, Van Solo, with its miniature Millennium Falcon attached to the dashboard – is pretty comprehensive, or so I thought until he opened his presents on Friday.

These included a stormtrooper lamp from me, a T-shirt, Haynes manuals for the Death Star and Falcon from my dad, three packets of themed chocolate, a calendar and a Darth Vader keyring light. Lucky I’m fond of the films myself, otherwise I’d have been a Star Wars widow for years.

Even without the gifts, it would have been a big week for this pair of fans. After watching a TV round-up of the best Star Wars moments, we binged on New Hope and Empire (Leia’s gold bikini apart, I can live without Jedi. I loathe the Ewoks) in preparation for the main event: The Force Awakens, in 3D, on Boxing Day. Our trip to the flicks was special for a few reasons. Nick and I had never seen a Star Wars film for the first time together (I wasn’t born when Episode IV was released and Nick saw it as an after-school treat), and it wasn’t rubbish like the dreaded prequels I pretend don’t exist. It was great, although the CGI, Andy Serkis-style, Lord of the Rings-ification of villains really can stop right now.

The cinema we went to, an accessible if unromantic place situated in a retail park near the care home, is where we spent one of the first “normal” afternoons since the accident, earlier this year. Going to the pictures then was a milestone – Nick could cope with the cinema, could enjoy a movie and we could sit holding hands as if everything was as it always was. The fact that he ended up wearing most of the hotdog he was trying to eat didn’t matter in the dark.

This time was even better. He was so excited to be going that he’d talked about it for days. He wore his new Millennium Falcon T-shirt, which he proudly showed off to the cinema staff, and he even offered me his last Minstrel. We laughed at the funny bits, cheered at the best bits and agreed that BB8 is a fine new character. Although I’ve always said that The Empire Strikes Back is the best Star Wars movie, and Nick is still convinced that it is, from now on there will be a special place in my heart for the film we’ve just watched.

Twitter.com/@rebeccaj