Chapter One

Beyond the gates and at the top of the oak-lined drive, Wenslade House shimmered under the late afternoon sun over The Hillside, New York. Inside, Jim scanned the vast expanse of designer suits and shirts in his bulging closet, his thoughts on the evening ahead.

“What do you think I should wear, Milo?”

Milo stared at him, confused.

“I think this suit,” he said, pulling out one of the countless Italian black ones, “with the blue shirt. What d’ya reckon?”

Milo was silent, but cocked his head to one side in agreement.

Jim dressed quickly and stood in front of the ornate, full-length mirror studying his reflection. He hadn’t really noticed the subtle changes that had taken place over the years, but it suddenly struck him that at thirty he looked remarkably like his father. Turning to the huge, framed photograph on the wall, he looked into William Fletcher’s ice-blue eyes, almost as if he were looking into his own. Although cool in colour, there was an intriguing warmth and richness about them; a furtive intensity. They had the same angular jaw, too, but it was the eyes that left Jim with no doubt that he was the son of the man he was looking at.

His mother, Maria, was standing alongside her husband with her arm draped over his shoulder. She looked so happy and carefree – they both did – posing on the porch of the family home. A six year old Jim was sitting on the porch steps between them both, knees to his chin, with a massive grin spread across his sunburned face. Would he ever be part of a happy family photo again?

Had the late afternoon sun not been flooding his room with warmth, and had ‘In the Summertime’ not been playing on the stereo, Jim may have allowed himself a minute to reflect, a moment to dwell on the accident that had killed his parents twenty-three years before. But it was such a beautiful day and he had things to attend to. There was no time for being sentimental.

“Where are my socks, Milo?” he said, spritzing his neck with aftershave.

Milo sat up and stared at him.

“Fetch the socks, Milo!”

Jim watched, smiling, as the Labrador wandered across the room, nose to the floor. Seconds later, Milo dropped a clean pair at Jim’s feet, his tail wagging in anticipation of a reward.

“You’re the best!” Jim told him, rubbing his head. And he meant it.

Dressed smartly, Jim ran downstairs and left the house. Slipping his Ray-Bans into his jacket pocket, he dashed past the pool, climbed into the BMW and hit the power button on the stereo, releasing the blare of an old sixties song from before he was born.

-

Minnie had spotted Walter at the dance hall the first time she went there with her friend Darlene. He was fresh-faced and kind of handsome and she could see he was tall, even though he was leaning against the wall. She noticed he was drinking Coke, unlike the other guys knocking back beers and getting a little crazy. Minnie and Darlene were sipping dry Martinis, because they thought they were sophisticated, but it was all Minnie could do to swallow each sip without wincing. What she wouldn’t do for a Coke right now!

“Hey, Min,” Darlene drawled, sucking on her cigarette – again for sophistication’s sake. “Either tear your eyes off the jock or dance with me, will ya – or go right up there and ask him for a dance!”

Minnie laughed and shrank into the corner, “You have to be kidding!”

“Hey, it’s the late sixties!” Darlene breathed out a long thread of smoke, the cigarette confidently propped between her first two fingers. “Times are changin’! Get with it, doll!”

Minnie risked another glance across at Walter, laughing with the other boys, before she followed Darlene onto the dance floor and started twisting the night away.

-

For a Sunday afternoon, the roads were busier than usual and Jim, driving way too fast, knew he was late.  He fully intended to drive straight through the approaching yellow traffic signal, but when it turned red a second too soon, he thought better of it and slammed his foot on the brake. Tapping his fingers impatiently, he watched the monotonous line of traffic in front of him making its way to wherever they were going while he sat there irritably, going nowhere.

As soon as he saw the green light, his foot was on the gas and he raced down the road as fast as the other cars would allow. Trees gave way to office blocks and then to enormous industrial units as Jim left the tranquillity of home behind him and headed into the city. He stared straight ahead, the steady sound of rolling tyres on the black top the only thing calming him, and when the next set of lights forced him to stop, he slammed the palm of his hand into the steering wheel.

“Goddammit!” he said, his blood pressure rising. He reached for his shirt collar and tugged at it in a hopeless attempt to cool off, then wound down the window and rested his arm on the sill.

The last thing he expected was for the car to be hit full force by a McDonald’s cup half-full of ice. Completely stunned, he glared at the pudgy, flat-nosed boy in the back seat of the car beside him, who’d thrown it. The boy laughed, and before Jim could even think of an adequate response, the traffic moved forward.

“Thanks!” Jim roared at his disappearing assailant, who was hanging out of the window, giving him the middle finger.

He edged his car forward, astounded by the kid’s audacity. He was relieved the cup had missed him and had only hit the door, but by the time the traffic picked up pace, Jim was fuming. At the third red light he realised that even going at full speed on an open road there was no way he’d make it in time, and he watched the horde of shoppers crossing the road in front of him, willing them to stop dragging their feet.

“Please stop!” a panic-stricken female voice cried.

Jim turned his head towards the voice on the other side of the street, seeing the billowing of a white dress in the breeze as a woman, holding her hair behind her ears to stop it flapping in her face, raced along the sidewalk towards a bus. Jim watched her with interest as she dashed through the crowds with her auburn hair gripped loosely in one hand and a folder tight against her chest in the other. He glanced quickly at the bus, then back at her, wondering if she’d make it before the lights changed; but by the time she reached the stop, the bus was already indicating and pulling out. He felt a momentary pang of sympathy for her as she gazed at it, an unaccountable sadness and disappointment clearly etched on her face. She didn’t look like other people he’d seen who missed a bus: pissed and irritated, or embarrassed. He wondered at her reaction. Slender and poised, with her long summer dress fluttering against her calves, Jim couldn’t help but think she looked like a forlorn ballerina. It was only when the sound of car horns behind him snapped him back to reality that he turned away from her and focused on the road.

“Ok… Ok… I’m moving,” he said, raising his hand out of the window as a way of apology. He moved slowly forward, glancing at her as he passed her, and the swirl of auburn hair against the bright white of a dress was the last thing he saw before he turned the corner and headed down the street.

He had just driven past Brooklyn Hospital when his cell phone rang. Putting in his earpiece, he took the call.

 “Jim Fletcher.”

“Where the hell are you?”

“Hey,” Jim said, amazed at the kid’s nerve. “Show some respect when you’re talking to your boss.”

“Sorry, Sir,” the man, John, muttered, somewhat sarcastically. “But you’re late. You need to get to the hall…People are waiting for you.”

“I’m on my way,” Jim told him. “I’ll be ten minutes.”

“Why you don’t get an apartment here in the city, I don’t know. Manhattan ain’t that ba…”

But Jim had already clicked off the cell phone.

-

After a couple of numbers, Minnie had managed to gradually step her way across the dance floor, subtly edging closer to where Walter was standing with a couple of pals. Darlene, unaware of her friend’s true intention, had happily followed, because it took her closer to the band, and she was smitten by the lead singer, Tony Ray, of The Raytones.

Walter sipped his Coke, leaning back against the wall, letting his gaze sweep across the dance floor crowd, landing lightly on Minnie. She turned away in alarm, her shoulders rigid. Even though she’d wanted to attract his attention all night, the shock of meeting his eyes had just been a bit too much for her at that moment.

Silly woman! She protested to herself, Get a grip! He’s only a guy! She shielded herself behind the gyrating bodies of a couple of dancers beside her, all the same. But that didn’t stop her turning her head nonchalantly, catching glimpses of the man she planned to marry someday, gratified to see that Walter was still watching her, from time to time.

“Swoony!” Darlene winked at Minnie, and turned a seductive smile towards her heart-throb on the stage just above them. She was artfully swaying her hips to the music, just beneath his gaze, desperate for him to notice her.

Darlene yelled to Minnie over the band’s playing, “They’re gonna be on American Bandstand one day. I’m writing to Dick Clark… tell him he’s got see these guys!”

“Yeah, but don’t they need some original songs?” asked Minnie.

As Tony Ray cradled the mike in his hands singing the final line of the Top Ten cover version the band had just played, and the audience applauded, Darlene frowned against the raucous noise and said, “Huh?”

“I SAID!” Minnie yelled, “THEY NEED SOME ORIGINAL SONGS!”

All around was silence. The band had stopped, the applause had died down, and Minnie’s words, shouted at the top of her voice, rang out loud and clear. In fact, they were amplified across the whole dance hall, since at the end of the song, Tony Ray had dropped the hand holding the microphone to his side, right in front of Minnie’s face as she’d yelled above the now non-existent loudness of the music and applause. As she’d yelled at point-blank range, as loudly as she could into a microphone, in a near-silent dance hall filled with hundreds of people.

One second felt like a lifetime. Silence thundered loudly in Minnie’s ears, and she looked up, open-mouthed, at Tony Ray’s glaring face above her. She shot a sidelong glance of disbelief instinctively towards her friend, which only gave her a view of Darlene’s twisted expression of outrage, humiliation and horror.

“Yes, they do!” came a male voice beside her. Minnie turned in relief, glad of any distraction to take the attention off herself and the most embarrassing moment of her life.

It was Walter, smiling at her side. He grinned amiably at her and then turned his gaze up at Tony Ray and shrugged.

“The lady’s right,” he said, reasonably. “You sing okay and the band’s good, but you won’t get anywhere without some original songs!”

Walter cupped Minnie’s elbow reassuringly to lead her off the dance floor, and she could have melted into his arms.

-

Mark Seybold, President of The Prime Investment Bank, took the microphone in his hand and looked down at his throng of employees, waiting for the applause to subside.

“What a boring ceremony!” he said, completely straight-faced. “Whoever organised this is fired!”The crowd laughed, knowing full well that Mark had organised the entire thing himself.“I’d like to thank you all for being here tonight,” he went on. “As you know it’s our twentieth successful year, and considering I’m heading a team of idiots, that’s quite an accomplishment.” The crowd laughed again as Mark paced the stage. “Of course,” he said, as if suddenly remembering what had pulled him from the golf course. “Ladies and gentlemen… the employee whose performance in the past twelve months is worthy of this wonderful trophy and a cheque for two hundred thou…” He stopped and stared at the cheque in his hand. “That’s one helluva lot of money,” he muttered, looking at Linda. Who the hell approved it?”

“Umm…You did, Sir,” she told him.

Mark looked at her for a moment and watched her head bobbing up and down, her eyes wide open in approval. It was difficult to tell if this was some weird, scripted performance or whether he really had lost the plot, but whatever it was, his audience loved it.

“Right…ok… Let’s see who the lucky winner is” he said, lifting the flap of the envelope and sliding out the card. The crowd were transfixed, each one desperate to hear their name being called but petrified they’d have to join Mark Seybold on the stage.

“I can’t believe this!” Mark gasped, eyebrows raised, staring at the name in front of him. “God, not again…”  He shook his head as if he were acting in some amateur theatrical farce and then took a breath, scratching his head and feigning disbelief. “Well, it’s a freakin’good job I like him,” he said, “because the top performer award goes to…Jim Fletcher.”

The applause was immediate and several people at the front got to their feet in anticipation of seeing Jim emerge at the front of the hall. Others turned their heads, hoping to catch a glimpse of him walking down the aisle. But it wasn’t to be.

“Jim Fletcher, could you possibly find your way to the stage please,” Mark said, trying to identify Jim’s face in the audience. Even from his superior position, he couldn’t spot anyone remotely similar to the enigmatic Jim. There was a low grumble as people shifted in their seats, looking for him.

Mark was unimpressed. “Can anyone tell me where he is before I sack him?”

Linda looked uncomfortable, and just as she was about to approach Mark with a suggestion for a musical interlude, the back doors of the hall swung open.

“Here I am, boss!” Jim bellowed, striding down the aisle, and the audience were suddenly on their feet, welcoming and congratulating the man they admired.

Jim climbed the stairs to the stage and shook hands with the President. Linda kissed him lightly on the cheek and handed him the trophy as Mark leant over, putting his mouth to Jim’s ear as he passed him the cheque.

“You took your time,” he snarled, taking care to cover the microphone.

“Sorry. Stuck in traffic,” Jim said through gritted teeth, managing to get the words out without a twitch in the smile on his face.  He acknowledged the crowd, nodding his head in thanks to those still on their feet applauding him.

“With a two hundred million dollar investment secured in the last twelve months,” Mark announced, shaking Jim’s hand, “I’m extremely proud of you.”

“Thanks Mark,” Jim said, taking the microphone and a much needed deep breath, not entirely sure what he was going to say. “It’s a great honour for me to be standing here today and I’d like to thank my seniors and my entire team for having faith in me,” he began, strolling to the front of the stage. “And again, I’d like to thank you all for extending your support to me since my very first day here at PIB.”

Most of the audience were still standing, whooping and hollering, and Jim, taken aback, took a moment to contemplate his next sentence. He cleared his throat, his mind suddenly a jumbled mass of thoughts, overwhelmed by the support. “I love you guys,” he said.

 For five years, Jim had been such a driving force in the company, never allowing anything to jeopardise his position or the bank’s progression. This talk of ‘love’ was completely unexpected and the crowd soon settled down and took to their seats.

“Is this my third or fourth?” Jim asked, looking at the trophy in his hands. He wasn’t joking, either. “I never intended to become a banker,” he said, “but it was my father’s profession and I’m extremely proud to be carrying on in his footsteps. All I can promise is to keep doing well, giving all my efforts to the success of the company.”

He paused, the family photograph he’d been looking at just an hour before suddenly flashing in his mind.

“You know…although this award is for recognition of my work, none of that work would have been achievable had I not grown up to be the person you see on this stage today. Any successful business needs a solid foundation on which to build, as does any successful person. And for giving me that solid foundation, I’d like to thank my parents. They passed away when I was a boy,” Jim said, walking to centre stage, “and I miss them terribly.” He felt a sudden tightening in his throat; a rush of emotion flooding his face, and the hall was suddenly in silence. “You know…I never really had the chance to make them proud,” he went on, his voice faltering, “and if I had one wish, it would be for them to see me now.”

Jim paused, wondering where the hell the words were coming from as the crowd sat transfixed in their seats. He gathered his thoughts, swallowing back the emotion.

“Whatever you achieve in life,” he said, “never forget the people who got you there.”

----

“The name’s Walt,” Walter grinned, shaking Minnie’s hand courteously. He had bustled her out of the crowded dance hall, weaving through the laughter and braying, the muttering and cat-calling. Now they stood on the front steps, just outside the pool of light spreading onto the veranda from the glaring overhead lights of the sign above the entrance door.

The air was cool on her hot cheeks. Minnie just gaped at her rescuer, open-mouthed, and speechless.

“Cat got your tongue?” he asked with a wry smile.

“I wish!” she cried, her face burning at the recollection of what she’d done in the dance hall just now. Would Darlene ever speak to her again, after she’d offended her hero, and made a holy show of them both in front of the entire audience?

“Oh, my goodness! I’m so embarrassed!” She clapped the flats of her palms against her flaming cheeks. “I’m a crazy lady!”

Walter roared with laughter, and in the dim light, she could still see the mischievous twinkle in his eyes. His laughter was infectious, and despite her humiliation, she couldn’t help but break into laughter herself.

“And is that how you introduce yourself to people: Crazy Lady?” Walter persisted. “Or do you have a name? I mean… that you’re willing to tell me?”

Minnie clapped her hands over her mouth and rolled her eyes, “Oh gosh – yes! Minnie. I’m Minnie.”

“Minnie Mouth?” he teased.

She gently smacked his arm, playfully, but added, “Big mouth, more like!”

Walter looked down at her, obviously delighted, “Luckily, I like a gal who has something to say for herself!”

“You’ll really like me, then!” she scoffed, aiming to belittle herself. Then, she realised that what she’d said could be seen as quite flirty and audacious, and flushed again with embarrassment.

“You’re right,” Walt smiled down on her, and she noticed how tall he was. How broad his shoulders were. How his soft lips were only about a foot away from her upturned face. Somewhere deep inside, some place at the root of her belly gave a little pleasurable twinge, which was only intensified by his next words, murmured softly, as he lowered his mouth towards hers: “I already do like you!”

-

Jim’s friend John took a slug of his beer, watching Jim draw a wet circle on the table top with his finger. “You seem distracted.”

“Do I?” Jim sipped his red wine, contemplating it. “Replace ‘distracted’ with ‘bored’ and you’re spot on.”

John laughed. “Well, if you stopped winning all these awards, man, you wouldn’t have to be here.”The trophy sat between them on the table and Jim stared at the swirl of his name engraved in the silver.

“What is it, man? Something’s eating you.”

“I’m fine,” Jim said, rather too quickly. “Come on, let’s get out of here.”

John laughed. “With all this free drink? Are you kiddin’ me?” He stood up, wobbled on his feet and grabbed the back of the chair to steady himself.

“I think you’ve had enough already.”

“One for the road, eh?” John said, slapping Jim on the back.

Jim sighed, and against his better judgement handed over his empty glass.

“Ok, just one more,” he agreed, and watched as his friend weaved his way precariously through the crowd to the bar.  He couldn’t help but laugh at John’s suggestion of free drink. It wasn’t as if they needed it, after all.

“Hey, Jim.”

Jim looked up, straight into Tracey Jordan’s cleavage, and immediately averted his eyes to her face.

“Hi, Tracey,” he said, in his very best attempt at being polite.

“Congratulations,” she said with a genuine smile on her lips.

“Thank you.”

“Can I sit with you a while?” She scraped the chair legs across the floor, not bothering to wait for a response, and perched on the edge of the seat, crossed her legs and took a sip of champagne.

“You look lovely,”’ Jim told her, and she did. Tracey had been with the bank for as long as Jim had and, as one of the most successful senior managers on the team, never failed to look immaculate.

“So you noticed at last!”

“I always notice you,” Jim said, reaching for his glass before remembering he didn’t have one. He sat back in his chair, scouring the crowd for John.

“Actually, I don’t think you like me very much,” Tracey told him, her perfectly plucked eyebrows arching in anticipation of his response.

“What? Of course I do. Why ever wouldn’t I?” Jim wished she’d disappear. She’d never been this familiar with him before and it unnerved him; he preferred his colleagues to have at least some level of decorum.

“You never talk to me, Jim. You never hang out for a coffee or anything.” She shuffled forward, her face inches away from his. “How about you take me for coffee tomorrow?”

Jim swallowed, a sudden nausea rising in his stomach. “You know my schedule Tracey. I’m busy most of the time; I hardly even get time for myself.”

She pulled back, suddenly dejected. Her glassy eyes stared at the table, her false lashes quivering.

Jim ignored the raised voices behind him and leaned towards her. “Can I tell you something?” he said.

Tracey said nothing but gave a nod of her head and lifted her eyes to him.

Damn, she’s gonna cry, Jim thought. It was the last thing he needed.

 “You’re an attractive woman. You know that, right?”

Her eyes were suddenly wide and she stared at him with such intensity that Jim had to take a breath.

“Tracey… you know it would be extremely unprofessional of me to succumb to any advances, don’t you?”

She blinked but said nothing. The voices behind them grew louder but Jim shut them out, and not for the first time that night he searched for the right words.

“Tracey…”

“You bastard!” said an angry male voice.

They both swung around and saw John nose-to-nose with a red-faced waiter. Jim leapt from his seat, darted across the hall and managed to yank John backwards just as the waiter raised his fist and slammed it right into his face.

-

Minnie sat in the bleachers, her arms folded to contain some body warmth. Shuffling in her seat beside her, Darlene irritably tugged down the hem of her skirt to cover her legs a little more, and blew out a long, fast stream of smoke into the cool morning air.

“Who the hell’s idea was this? At this time of the morning?” Darlene muttered. “I must be crazy!”

“Strictly speaking, Darlene – you said you wanted to meet more guys.”

“Call this ‘meeting’?” she sulked, gazing out over the football field. “Nobody has taken their eyes off the ball since we came out. Except for when they’re gazing at the coach. And here I am – gorgeous, sexy, full make-up, short skirt… Freaks!”

Minnie remained silent, unable to argue. Although she didn’t agree with the ‘freak’ bit, since Walt was no freak. Except in the nicest possible way. He was certainly different from the other guys she’d known. He was confident, yet considerate; cheeky, but loving. And he was strong, and yet sensitive – but not in a weak or effeminate way. She smiled smugly to herself, flexing her hand, admiring her engagement ring again, then returning her gaze to her man on the field. She had been hardly able to tear her eyes away from his body throughout the football practice. He hardly needed shoulder pads, she mused – his shoulders and chest were so broad and masculine, he looked as if he had them naturally. And his torso beneath, she knew, was so muscular and taut… and those abs… She remembered fingering every tight ripple of muscle a couple of nights before, his skin moist with sweat under her hands, as he…

“I haven’t done this since I was a cheerleader, Minnie,” Darlene said, dully, breaking into Minnie’s delicious daydream. “And I didn’t really want to do it again.”

“Guys, though, Darlene…” protested Minnie. “Lots of guys!” She nodded over at the huddle of football players, who were pretty unmissable, since they were the only other living beings around at 8am on a Saturday morning.

“Jocks, Minnie. I shoulda known. You know the kinda guys I like aren’t even up and awake at this time of day… unless they’re just coming home from a party or a gig!”

Minnie laughed, “Aw – sorry. You’re right. I shouldn’t have even brought you here. But thanks for coming along. I appreciate it.”

“Natch. It’s not like I have anything else to do before dawn on a Saturday morning at…” Darlene lifted her cuff to view her watch, “Eight-oh-eight…” She cast a sly sidelong glance at Minnie, adding, “… except sleep.”

The coach must have declared a break, since the huddle broke up and the team members wandered to their discarded bags for bottles of water and Gatorade. Walt ran up to Minnie and Darlene, taking off his helmet and grinning, his gum shield hideously distorting his face.

“Handsome!” Darlene snorted, even though Walt was already removing the shield from his mouth, and actually warranting her remark. Apart from looking genuinely handsome, his hair was tufted into a cute boyish cowlick, and his smiling face was rosy with exertion.

“Hey!” he cried happily, waving at Darlene, and leaning over the rail to five an affectionate but lingering kiss with his hot lips on Minnie’s cold mouth.

Darlene pulled a face, which she was aware neither of them could see, but it made her somehow feel better.

Knowing her friend all too well, or having some extra-sensory perception of her reaction, Minnie said, “Envy is a terrible thing, Darlene.”

“Witch!” Darlene muttered, in mock seriousness.

“You really want to be maid of honour to a witch, Darl?” Walt joked. “It’s not too late to back out!”

“Pah! No chance, Waaal-terrr…” Darlene drawled. “I’ve got to get something out of this relationship!”

“The best man,” Minnie smiled. “She wants the best man.”

“It’s traditional, it’s true,” nodded Darlene, “for the maid of honour to end up with the best man. But I can’t get a proper look at him in that helmet, and now he’s too far away,” she squinted into the distance, her nose wrinkling. “I’m not into Beauty and the Beast, so I need to give him my seal of approval before I agree.”

Walt turned around and yelled, “TONY!”

The man turned, waved, and started running up towards them, still wearing his football helmet. Darlene sat appraising his athletic build: slimmer and smaller than Walt, which looked promising, but she was sitting blank-faced, reserving judgement till she saw his face.

“Hey, Tony – meet Darlene, the maid of honour!”

Tony removed his helmet and Darlene scrutinised him, frowning. His face was red and sweating, twisted with the exertion of running, and his dark hair was plastered to his head. But there was something strangely familiar about him, and she tipped her head to one side, like a dog trying to understand a strange sound. He looked like…

“Tony Ray,” he said, smiling, extending his hand towards Darlene.

Open-mouthed, Darlene was speechless, but offered him a bewildered limp handshake.

“Haven’t I seen you somewhere before?” Tony asked, his brows slightly furrowed.

“Tony’s got a band,” Walt said, winking at Minnie, who stifled a laugh. “The Raytones. You might have heard of them…”

Her mouth still hanging open in shock, Darlene turned a stony glare towards the bride-to-be.

Minnie struggled to get the words out without laughing. She’d only found out a couple of weeks before that Walt’s cousin Tony was the lead singer Darlene had a total crush on. At the same time, Walt had told her that he’d asked Cousin Tony to be his best man. To this day, Minnie didn’t know how she’d managed to keep such a huge surprise from her best friend. She’d been so excited and had so wanted to tell Darlene, but this moment made her secret all worthwhile. The look on Darlene’s face was priceless.

Swallowing down a giggle, Minnie asked, “Well, Darlene? Does he get your seal of approval?”

-

When Jim opened his eyes it was John he saw first, peering down at him, looking horrified. Behind John, he saw a blur of faces and could just make out the scarlet red lipstick of Tracey’s wide open mouth.

The waiter stood wringing his fist in his palm, muttering, “I didn’t mean it! He just got in the way!”

“Christ, are you ok?” John gulped, helping him up.

“I’m fine,” Jim said. “Just get me the hell out of here.”

Back at home, Jim lay on the bed with his head spinning. Milo was beside him, nestled under his arm with his nose shoved firmly into his armpit. It had certainly been an eventful evening, and as Jim stared at the ceiling with his face throbbing, he hoped to God his eye wouldn’t look too bad in the morning. He did his best to ignore the pain and shrug it off, turning his attention to Milo who was more than happy with some quality time.

  When tiredness overtook him, Jim turned off the bedside lamp and slunk under the covers, and as he drifted off to sleep, he was sure he could see the swish of a white summer dress in the breeze.