She instantly regretted it. He’d be certain to ask back.“Six-three, and you?”“A little less.” As if he couldn’t tell that. “Almost five ...eet.” He grinned at her. They danced one more dance.“Want another drink?” he asked. Really, she didn’t yet. She needed to pace herself. Her third would be her last, and even that would mean hoping she wasn’t stopped on her way home. She was conscious that her small frame could hold less than his massive one.“Not really,” she said. “I like to keep a clear. As usual, I took a book, Terry Pratchett's 'Going Postal', with me, but even his usual brilliance couldn't hold my attention, the recent events would not let my mind wander as it should. When I managed to drag my prune-textured body out of the water, I was still as bewildered as before.I needed to talk to someone, or more likely, at someone. I briefly considered my children, but discounted them for totally different reasons; my youngest, Mark, was away at university, and if on the remote chance. More

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