One Night Only (14 page)

“No
.
I
a
m
no
t
meetin
g
he
r
,
”
sai
d
T
ess
.
“An
d
anyho
w
, I
though
t
yo
u
thre
w
he
r
busines
s
car
d
i
n
th
e
bin?
”

“
I
wante
d
he
r
t
o
thin
k
I
did,
”
sai
d
Poll
y
,
pullin
g
out th
e
ver
y
slick
,
ver
y
cleanl
y
designe
d
black
,
whit
e
an
d
red
busines
s
car
d
fro
m
he
r
purse
.
“I
t
wa
s
th
e
toilet-rol
l
receipt
I
binne
d
bu
t
I
wante
d
he
r
t
o
thin
k
I
wa
s
playin
g
har
d
to get
.
I’
m
no
t
th
e
sof
t
littl
e
Poll
y
W
oodhea
d
I
onc
e
was
.
I
a
m
Poll
y
Kno
x
no
w
an
d
I
wil
l
neve
r
le
t
Rut
h
Monaghan
bull
y
m
e
again.
”

An
d
o
h
ho
w
th
e
god
s
laughe
d
a
s
Poll
y
uttere
d
those words
!
Poll
y
wa
s
alway
s
a
softi
e
an
d
Rut
h
Monaghan kne
w
it
.
I
n
al
l
walk
s
o
f
life
,
T
es
s
wa
s
th
e
toughe
r
,
stronger on
e
wh
o
sai
d
exactl
y
wha
t
wa
s
o
n
he
r
mind
.
N
o
one woul
d
eve
r
wal
k
ove
r
T
ess
.
Sh
e
wa
s
a
n
independent
newly-we
d
wh
o
kne
w
exactl
y
wha
t
sh
e
wante
d
an
d
how t
o
ge
t
it
.

T
es
s
an
d
he
r
husban
d
Ro
b
wer
e
i
n
tha
t
wonderful,
fuzz
y
honeymoo
n
perio
d
o
f
wedde
d
blis
s
wher
e
the
y
were
stil
l
addin
g
littl
e
bit
s
o
f
‘us
’
t
o
thei
r
ne
w
hom
e
an
d
couldn
’
t
kee
p
thei
r
hand
s
of
f
eac
h
othe
r
whe
n
the
y
cam
e
home fro
m
wor
k
i
n
th
e
evenings
.

Rob
,
a
six-foot-thre
e
fireman
,
sen
t
T
ess
’
s
puls
e
racing an
d
he
r
hormone
s
int
o
orbi
t
an
d
sh
e
woul
d
jus
t
hav
e
to hav
e
him
,
ther
e
an
d
then
.
Lif
e
wa
s
a
s
goo
d
a
s
i
t
coul
d
get.
Sh
e
ha
d
a
sensibl
e
jo
b
teachin
g
Frenc
h
a
t
S
t
John
’
s
,
she
ha
d
a
stric
t
dail
y
routin
e
tha
t
involve
d
a
mornin
g
jog
,
a
rea
d
o
f
th
e
newspaper
s
ove
r
breakfas
t
wit
h
Rob
,
a
hop, ski
p
an
d
jum
p
t
o
wor
k
fo
r
nin
e
o’clock
,
a
health
y
packed lunc
h
i
n
to
w
wit
h
th
e
optio
n
o
f
poppin
g
hom
e
i
f
sh
e
so chose
,
a
visi
t
t
o
th
e
gy
m
(togethe
r
o
f
course
)
twic
e
a
week
and
,
afte
r
dinne
r
eac
h
evening
,
on
e
glas
s
o
f
win
e
before relaxin
g
i
n
fron
t
o
f
th
e
tell
y
an
d
the
n
headin
g
t
o
be
d
by te
n
fo
r
mind-blowin
g
sex
.
Perfectl
y
fine
.

Th
e
onl
y
uncontrolle
d
thin
g
i
n
he
r
lif
e
wa
s
wha
t
she
an
d
he
r
hubb
y
go
t
u
p
t
o
i
n
th
e
bedroo
m
(o
r
livin
g
room, o
r
garden
,
ahem
)
an
d
th
e
onl
y
thin
g
the
y
eve
r
argued abou
t
wa
s
whe
n
i
t
wa
s
tim
e
t
o
star
t
a
famil
y
–
no
t
so
perfectl
y
fine
.

Ro
b
wante
d
on
e
no
w
.
T
es
s
wante
d
on
e
neve
r
.
W
ell
,
not an
y
tim
e
i
n
th
e
foreseeabl
e
futur
e
anywa
y
.

A
t
twenty-nin
e
year
s
old
,
th
e
ver
y
though
t
o
f
nappies an
d
buggie
s
an
d
snott
y
nose
s
an
d
shitt
y
asse
s
jus
t
didn
’
t
appea
l
t
o
he
r
a
s
muc
h
a
s
sa
y
,
a
weeken
d
a
t
a
Healt
h
Spa,
o
r
a
nigh
t
ou
t
a
t
a
win
e
ba
r
o
r
a
lon
g
laz
y
lie-i
n
o
n
a
Sunda
y
morning
.
Sh
e
jus
t
wa
s
no
t
read
y
t
o
giv
e
al
l
that up
.
Ro
b
wa
s
though
.
H
e
wa
s
s
o
materna
l
h
e
woul
d
make Mar
y
Poppin
s
loo
k
lik
e
Attil
a
th
e
Hun
.