One Night Only by Emma Heatherington Read Free Book Online Page B

o Sheil a th e sho p assistant . Getting conversatio n ou t o f he r childre n wa s a s challengin g a s a Countdow n conundru m an d sh e jus t fel t s o l o s t , s o lonely an d s o goo d fo r nothing . Sh e wa s thirty-fou r year s old, livin g i n a tow n wher e hardl y anyon e remembere d he r – an d thos e wh o did , di d s o fo r al l th e wron g reasons .
    Sh e lifte d he r mobil e phone , scrolle d throug h the numbers and stopped at ‘Mum’. Her thumb hovered over th e dia l button . Sh e close d he r eyes . Jus t pres s it , sh e told herself . Jus t pres s it .
    Sh e presse d th e butto n an d scrunche d he r eye s tighter an d the n hun g up . Sh e couldn ’ t d o it . Sh e woul d on e da y , bu t no t jus t yet .
    “O h God , ho w di d I com e t o this? ” sh e said , staring ou t th e windo w ont o unfamilia r street s an d th e clenched fis t o f lonelines s squeeze d he r insides .
    Sh e stoo d i n he r ne w kitchen , poure d hersel f a second gi n an d toni c and , knowin g tha t Coldpla y wer e upstairs kindl y drownin g ou t an y soun d effect s sh e migh t make, sh e crie d he r eye s out , longin g fo r someon e t o tal k t o that d i dn ’ t involv e a phon e o r a compute r . Sh e coul d fee l herself s lippin g deepe r an d deepe r int o a horribl e depressin g cocoo n - lik e stat e an d sh e ha d n o ide a ho w t o sto p it . Lonelines s was engulfing . I t coul d swallo w yo u u p an d brea k yo u down i f yo u le t i t an d Rut h Monagha n kne w al l abou t that .
    Sh e neede d someone . Sh e neede d someon e t o tal k to so , s o badl y . An d n o har m t o Sheil a th e lovel y Spa r lad y , bu t sh e jus t wasn ’ t doin g i t fo r he r an y more .
    Rut h Monagha n neede d a friend . A rea l friend . And sh e neede d on e no w .
     
     
     
     

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    Poll y didn ’ t spea k t o Jame s fo r tw o whol e day s after ‘Spaghetti-Gate ’ a s sh e ha d sinc e though t o f it . Living wit h someon e an d no t speakin g t o the m wa s muc h more difficul t tha n sh e though t i t woul d be , bu t that ’ s wher e a nine-yea r -ol d bo y cam e i n hand y . I t wa s difficul t t o begin with , bu t h e soo n go t th e han g o f it .
    “Frankie , tel l you r da d h e ha s t o cal l wit h Grann y to chang e a ligh t bul b i n he r bedroom . Sh e can ’ t reac h and sh e can ’ t se e i n th e dark. ”
    “Sh e shoul d ea t mor e carrots, ” sai d Frankie . “They hel p yo u se e i n th e dark , o r s o yo u grown-up s tel l me . I hav e a feelin g it ’ s a bribe . An d wh y can ’ t yo u tel l him? He ’ s jus t o n th e sof a righ t there. ”
    Franki e pointe d i n bewildermen t a t hi s fathe r wh o lay wit h hi s fee t u p watchin g Th e Simpsons . Th e ver y sigh t of thos e yello w face s o n televisio n wer e enoug h t o drive Poll y batt y .
    “B e a goo d bo y an d pas s o n th e message, ” sh e sai d in defiance . “Grann y need s – ”
    “ I hear d you, ” sai d James , starin g a t th e T V . “Doesn ’ t you r mothe r loo k a bi t lik e Marge , Frankie ? Al l sh e needs i s th e blu e hai r . ”
    H e smirke d an d sh e thre w a cushio n a t him , regretting i t a t onc e becaus e sh e shouldn ’ t hav e acknowledge d his presenc e a t all .
    “H e say s h e hear d yo u an d tha t yo u loo k lik e Marge,” sai d Frankie , stil l a bi t pu t ou t b y i t all . The n h e giggled a s h e realise d i t coul d b e fun .
    “ T el l you r da d tha t make s a change, ” Poll y snapped, no t thinkin g i t wa s fun . Sh e ha d t o mak e he r point . “And I d o no t loo k lik e Marg e Simpson! ”
    “Mu m say s tha t make s a change.” “Wha t make s a change? ” aske d James .
    “Wha t make s a change? ” aske d Frankie , hi s littl e head to-in g an d fro-in g lik e a bal l bo y a t a tenni s match .
    “Hi m hearin g me! ” sai d Poll y , raisin g he r chi n in defiance .
    “ T ouché! ” sai d James .
    “ T ouché, ” sai d