vial.
“Mum?” said Rosie.
In one swift movement, Wendy stooped low, grabbed the little bottle and slipped it into her pocket. Her heart beat a little faster.
“Yep,” she said. “That’s everything.”
***
At ten o’clock, Rosie and Wendy walked wearily across the floodlit park towards the exit. Rosie had changed out of her uniform into a miniskirt and crop-top combination which showed off every curve of her blossoming figure. Wendy was still wearing her uniform under her shapeless raincoat. As they approached the gates, Rosie broke away from Wendy and skipped over to a small security hut, rapping loudly on the window.
“Hey, Joey! Wake up, we’re going!”
A young man’s face appeared, dark eyes peering out beneath an unkempt fringe. Wendy felt a familiar burning sensation in her chest. Crazy, really. The boy was half her age, but he was undeniably handsome. And he was so quiet. So mysterious. In her prime, he was just the kind of boy she went for.
Joey slid the window open and leaned on the sill.
“Fancy coming for a drink, Joey?” Rosie said in that flirty, sing-song way of hers. “Just me and the girls tonight,” she added, with a suggestive wink.
Even in the artificial light of the caravan park, Wendy saw the boy’s cheeks flush with colour. He shook his head.
Rosie backed away from his hut, swinging her hips. “Your loss, Joey!” she said.
Some feet away, Wendy watched the boy as his eyes followed Rosie’s figure. The pleasant sensation in her chest turned to a bitter pang of jealousy towards her own daughter. She suddenly burned for those long-lost times when men had looked at her like that - with such naked lust.
“Goodnight, Joey,” Wendy called over, but he didn’t answer. He didn’t even look to see who’d said it. His eyes were still roaming over Rosie’s body.
Head down, Wendy joined Rosie at the gate and they slipped out onto the main street.
“Sure I can’t change your mind about coming?” Rosie said, indicating the glittering lights of the town centre.
Wendy shook her head. “I really am tired, Rosie. And if I don’t hurry, I’m going to miss my bus.”
“Okay, Mum.” Rosie kissed her cheek, the scarred cheek as always, and then started down the path that would take her into town. Wendy watched her go, love and jealousy duelling inside her. Rosie was so much like her when she’d been her age - raven-haired and sexy. Rosie could have any man she wanted. She didn’t need any gypsy glamour. Not for a long while yet.
“Goodnight, oldie!” Rosie cried out suddenly.
Wendy turned and walked in the opposite direction, her thoughts swamped by the object in her pocket.
In her late teens and early twenties, Wendy had drawn men like a magnet. She wasn’t beautiful, and she wasn’t particularly sexy, but she had something they wanted, and that had been enough for her. After a loveless childhood, she was happy to ride the wave of attention for as long as it lasted.
Then she’d fallen pregnant—the result of just another one night stand—and everything had changed. The pregnancy and the scar had come along almost at the same time. For twenty years she had become invisible to men. Could this little vial of blood change all that? Even for just one night?
When she reached the bus stop, she dared to get it out. As she sat down under the canopy, staring at the little glass vial with the minuscule cork in the end, she suddenly felt foolish - more than foolish. Gullible.
Why had she picked it up? She hadn’t intended to, not until the last second when she saw it there in the empty bin. It was a sudden impulse, brought on by some deeper desire. Was she really that pathetic that she was prepared to believe in gypsy magic? Had it really come to this?
Despite her cynicism, she found herself looking up and down the street. There was always one or two people waiting for the 10:15 bus, but not tonight. She studied the bottle again.
Did she really believe it would make her
“Mum?” said Rosie.
In one swift movement, Wendy stooped low, grabbed the little bottle and slipped it into her pocket. Her heart beat a little faster.
“Yep,” she said. “That’s everything.”
***
At ten o’clock, Rosie and Wendy walked wearily across the floodlit park towards the exit. Rosie had changed out of her uniform into a miniskirt and crop-top combination which showed off every curve of her blossoming figure. Wendy was still wearing her uniform under her shapeless raincoat. As they approached the gates, Rosie broke away from Wendy and skipped over to a small security hut, rapping loudly on the window.
“Hey, Joey! Wake up, we’re going!”
A young man’s face appeared, dark eyes peering out beneath an unkempt fringe. Wendy felt a familiar burning sensation in her chest. Crazy, really. The boy was half her age, but he was undeniably handsome. And he was so quiet. So mysterious. In her prime, he was just the kind of boy she went for.
Joey slid the window open and leaned on the sill.
“Fancy coming for a drink, Joey?” Rosie said in that flirty, sing-song way of hers. “Just me and the girls tonight,” she added, with a suggestive wink.
Even in the artificial light of the caravan park, Wendy saw the boy’s cheeks flush with colour. He shook his head.
Rosie backed away from his hut, swinging her hips. “Your loss, Joey!” she said.
Some feet away, Wendy watched the boy as his eyes followed Rosie’s figure. The pleasant sensation in her chest turned to a bitter pang of jealousy towards her own daughter. She suddenly burned for those long-lost times when men had looked at her like that - with such naked lust.
“Goodnight, Joey,” Wendy called over, but he didn’t answer. He didn’t even look to see who’d said it. His eyes were still roaming over Rosie’s body.
Head down, Wendy joined Rosie at the gate and they slipped out onto the main street.
“Sure I can’t change your mind about coming?” Rosie said, indicating the glittering lights of the town centre.
Wendy shook her head. “I really am tired, Rosie. And if I don’t hurry, I’m going to miss my bus.”
“Okay, Mum.” Rosie kissed her cheek, the scarred cheek as always, and then started down the path that would take her into town. Wendy watched her go, love and jealousy duelling inside her. Rosie was so much like her when she’d been her age - raven-haired and sexy. Rosie could have any man she wanted. She didn’t need any gypsy glamour. Not for a long while yet.
“Goodnight, oldie!” Rosie cried out suddenly.
Wendy turned and walked in the opposite direction, her thoughts swamped by the object in her pocket.
In her late teens and early twenties, Wendy had drawn men like a magnet. She wasn’t beautiful, and she wasn’t particularly sexy, but she had something they wanted, and that had been enough for her. After a loveless childhood, she was happy to ride the wave of attention for as long as it lasted.
Then she’d fallen pregnant—the result of just another one night stand—and everything had changed. The pregnancy and the scar had come along almost at the same time. For twenty years she had become invisible to men. Could this little vial of blood change all that? Even for just one night?
When she reached the bus stop, she dared to get it out. As she sat down under the canopy, staring at the little glass vial with the minuscule cork in the end, she suddenly felt foolish - more than foolish. Gullible.
Why had she picked it up? She hadn’t intended to, not until the last second when she saw it there in the empty bin. It was a sudden impulse, brought on by some deeper desire. Was she really that pathetic that she was prepared to believe in gypsy magic? Had it really come to this?
Despite her cynicism, she found herself looking up and down the street. There was always one or two people waiting for the 10:15 bus, but not tonight. She studied the bottle again.
Did she really believe it would make her
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