reiterate.
“Yes, but not any old formal ball gowns. Anyway, I really must be going now.” He backtracked and gave Jess a quick hug, both of them holding a moment longer than was necessary. “See you there,” he whispered close to her ear, drawing his lips across her cheek as he moved away. She felt her legs wobble and was glad she was still sitting down. Rob repeated the motion, though without the erotic undertones, with Eleanor, and shook James’s hand once again.
“Good to meet you,” he said. “You’re a very lucky man indeed.”
With that, he made his way, slowly and with a quick smile at Jess, back down the stairs. A couple of moments chatting with his niece Lois, and they heard his bike fire up outside, then speed off into the distance.
“I’ll wait downstairs,” James said observantly and did as indicated. Eleanor delayed until he was out of earshot.
“You are a very bad woman!”
“I didn’t do anything!” Jess protested, which was the truth. If she had led Rob on, it hadn’t been deliberately so.
“You didn’t do anything to discourage him either,” Eleanor pointed out. Jess had no defence to that one. “So did he tell you why he’s suddenly organised a reunion?”
“He’s been diagnosed with a heart condition of some sort.”
“What sort, exactly?”
“He didn’t say, but it’s the kind that could kill him at any second.”
“OK. Well, I guess that does explain things. What medication’s he on?”
“I don’t bloody know! I haven’t seen him for fifteen years. I’m hardly going to be asking him things like that now, am I?”
“I bet you’d ask him for his inside leg measurement.”
“Know it already.”
“Or the size of his…”
“And that too. James is waiting for you, he said. Hadn’t you best be going?” Jess busied herself with tidying her already tidy desk.
“Fine, fine,” Eleanor said, pretending to be offended, then as a serious aside: “If you need a bailout at any point, just give me a shout, OK?”
Jess looked up from her desk and smiled. “Thanks Ellie. I appreciate it, but hopefully I’ll behave myself tomorrow.”
Eleanor turned away before her expression betrayed what she really thought about the chances of that happening.
The dress code was the first thing Shaunna noticed—when she finally got around to opening the invitation, after much prompting and pestering from Kris—and she was utterly delighted, for in the farthest recesses of her wardrobe lurked a floor-length, red taffeta dress, with a swooping neckline studded with diamantes that continued in two parallel lines diagonally across the front of the bodice and down to the gently scalloped hem. It had been hanging there for twenty years, ever since her parents and Kris had plotted behind her back in a desperate bid to persuade her to attend the sixth form ball, and the design, with its flowing skirt, was such that it still fitted her perfectly, perhaps even better than it would have done when she was eighteen. She still had the shoes that went with it, although they were not really the sort of thing she would wear these days, but who would know? She unhooked the hanger and carefully freed the dress from its plastic cover, holding it up against herself and admiring her reflection, unaware that Kris was watching from the doorway, wearing his own sixth form ball outfit: not a tuxedo in the traditional sense, but a cropped silver jacket with rolled-up sleeves and matching fitted pants. The pointed shoes had been well worn on subsequent nights out and had seen better days, but it was nothing that a re-heeling and a spot of shoe polish wouldn’t fix.
“Put it on,” he said. He looked like Morten Harket, Shaunna thought, standing there, with his hands resting casually in his pockets, and she could feel the knot of sexual tension building within. She dismissed it with a shudder and shooed him away so she could do as he suggested. The fabric was so soft and sensuous against her
“Yes, but not any old formal ball gowns. Anyway, I really must be going now.” He backtracked and gave Jess a quick hug, both of them holding a moment longer than was necessary. “See you there,” he whispered close to her ear, drawing his lips across her cheek as he moved away. She felt her legs wobble and was glad she was still sitting down. Rob repeated the motion, though without the erotic undertones, with Eleanor, and shook James’s hand once again.
“Good to meet you,” he said. “You’re a very lucky man indeed.”
With that, he made his way, slowly and with a quick smile at Jess, back down the stairs. A couple of moments chatting with his niece Lois, and they heard his bike fire up outside, then speed off into the distance.
“I’ll wait downstairs,” James said observantly and did as indicated. Eleanor delayed until he was out of earshot.
“You are a very bad woman!”
“I didn’t do anything!” Jess protested, which was the truth. If she had led Rob on, it hadn’t been deliberately so.
“You didn’t do anything to discourage him either,” Eleanor pointed out. Jess had no defence to that one. “So did he tell you why he’s suddenly organised a reunion?”
“He’s been diagnosed with a heart condition of some sort.”
“What sort, exactly?”
“He didn’t say, but it’s the kind that could kill him at any second.”
“OK. Well, I guess that does explain things. What medication’s he on?”
“I don’t bloody know! I haven’t seen him for fifteen years. I’m hardly going to be asking him things like that now, am I?”
“I bet you’d ask him for his inside leg measurement.”
“Know it already.”
“Or the size of his…”
“And that too. James is waiting for you, he said. Hadn’t you best be going?” Jess busied herself with tidying her already tidy desk.
“Fine, fine,” Eleanor said, pretending to be offended, then as a serious aside: “If you need a bailout at any point, just give me a shout, OK?”
Jess looked up from her desk and smiled. “Thanks Ellie. I appreciate it, but hopefully I’ll behave myself tomorrow.”
Eleanor turned away before her expression betrayed what she really thought about the chances of that happening.
The dress code was the first thing Shaunna noticed—when she finally got around to opening the invitation, after much prompting and pestering from Kris—and she was utterly delighted, for in the farthest recesses of her wardrobe lurked a floor-length, red taffeta dress, with a swooping neckline studded with diamantes that continued in two parallel lines diagonally across the front of the bodice and down to the gently scalloped hem. It had been hanging there for twenty years, ever since her parents and Kris had plotted behind her back in a desperate bid to persuade her to attend the sixth form ball, and the design, with its flowing skirt, was such that it still fitted her perfectly, perhaps even better than it would have done when she was eighteen. She still had the shoes that went with it, although they were not really the sort of thing she would wear these days, but who would know? She unhooked the hanger and carefully freed the dress from its plastic cover, holding it up against herself and admiring her reflection, unaware that Kris was watching from the doorway, wearing his own sixth form ball outfit: not a tuxedo in the traditional sense, but a cropped silver jacket with rolled-up sleeves and matching fitted pants. The pointed shoes had been well worn on subsequent nights out and had seen better days, but it was nothing that a re-heeling and a spot of shoe polish wouldn’t fix.
“Put it on,” he said. He looked like Morten Harket, Shaunna thought, standing there, with his hands resting casually in his pockets, and she could feel the knot of sexual tension building within. She dismissed it with a shudder and shooed him away so she could do as he suggested. The fabric was so soft and sensuous against her
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