Hers For One Night Only?

She climbed out of the car and she didn’t say goodbye because she couldn’t bear to, didn’t turn around because she knew she’d head back to his arms, to his car, to escape.

But she couldn’t escape the niggle in her stomach that told her things were less than fine and it niggled louder as she made a half-hearted attempt at cleaning her room. By midday her answer came.

‘Can you have Harry tonight?’

‘I can’t,’ Bridgette said. ‘I’m on an early shift in the morning…’ Then she closed her eyes. She had reported her sister a couple of months ago to social services and finally voiced her concerns. Oh, there was nothing specific, but she could not simply stand by and do nothing. Since she’d asked Courtney to leave her flat, things had become increasingly chaotic and in the end she’d felt she had no choice but to speak out. Not to Jasmine or her friends—she didn’t want to burden them. Instead she had spoken to people who might help. Her concerns had been taken seriously, and anger had ripped through her family that she could do such a thing. Sour grapes, Courtney had called it, because of what had happened between her and Paul. And then Courtney had admitted that, yes, she did like to party, she was only eighteen, after all, but never when Harry was around. She always made sure that Harry was taken care of.

By Bridgette.

And as she stood holding the phone, Bridgette didn’t want to find out what might happen if she didn’t say yes.

‘I’ll ring the agency,’ Bridgette said. ‘See if I can change to a late shift.’

Even if it was awkward talking to her sister when she dropped him off, Bridgette really was delighted to see Harry. At eighteen months he grew more gorgeous each day. His long blond curls fell in ringlets now and he had huge grey eyes like his aunt’s.