One Night Only (237 page)

Sh
e
didn
’
t
nee
d
bi
g
birthda
y
present
s
o
r
fus
s
t
o
know h
e
love
d
he
r
toda
y
,
n
o
matte
r
wha
t
he
r
mothe
r
would sa
y
whe
n
she’
d
g
o
throug
h
he
r
dail
y
ran
t
o
f
ho
w
Dougie
“simpl
y
wasn
’
t
goo
d
enough”
.
An
d
jus
t
a
s
sh
e
always
did
,
Natali
e
woul
d
ris
e
t
o
th
e
bai
t
an
d
i
t
woul
d
en
d
up
i
n
a
ro
w
a
s
i
t
alway
s
did
,
wit
h
he
r
mothe
r
usin
g
their
debat
e
t
o
reac
h
fo
r
anothe
r
brand
y
,
becaus
e
sh
e
just
couldn
’
t
cop
e
wit
h
al
l
th
e
stres
s
o
f
lif
e
thes
e
days
.
A
s
i
f
her
mothe
r
ha
d
an
y
ide
a
o
f
th
e
wor
d
stress
!
Sh
e
spen
t
mos
t
of
he
r
day
s
wit
h
he
r
chubb
y
ankle
s
u
p
o
n
a
footstoo
l
i
n
front
o
f
th
e
televisio
n
whil
e
Natali
e
an
d
he
r
fathe
r
ra
n
frantically
aroun
d
i
n
th
e
caf
é
downstairs
.
Stres
s
wa
s
no
t
par
t
o
f
Delia
McKenna
’
s
life
,
no
r
woul
d
i
t
eve
r
b
e
n
o
m
atte
r
ho
w
much
sh
e
whinge
d
abou
t
it!

Natali
e
walke
d
i
n
th
e
lat
e
Jun
e
sunshin
e
acros
s
the cobble
d
stree
t
toward
s
th
e
caf
é
an
d
a
s
alway
s
Ber
t
Parks, th
e
newsagen
t
fro
m
nex
t
doo
r
t
o
Nellie
’
s
Café
,
cam
e
out t
o
sa
y
hi
s
dail
y
hello
.
I
t
wa
s
th
e
sam
e
conversatio
n
every
da
y
and
,
lik
e
al
l
th
e
character
s
o
n
Scotc
h
Stree
t
o
f
Castle
Ba
y
,
Natali
e
couldn
’
t
imagin
e
lif
e
withou
t
him
,
n
o
matter
ho
w
muc
h
sh
e
sometime
s
bitche
d
an
d
moane
d
about
livin
g
i
n a
constantl
y
repetitiv
e
existence.

Bu
t
toda
y
th
e
conversatio
n
wa
s
different.

“Happ
y
birthda
y
,
Natalie,
”
sai
d
Bert
,
hi
s
portl
y
belly
restin
g
ove
r
th
e
bel
t
o
f
hi
s
fade
d
deni
m
slack
s
tha
t
ha
d
been aroun
d
sinc
e
Natali
e
coul
d
fi
t
o
n a
tricycle
.
“
W
ednesda
y
’
s
Ch
il
d
i
s
ful
l
o
f
wo
e
an
d
yo
u
certainl
y
don
’
t
loo
k
lik
e a
birthda
y
gir
l
toda
y
,
pet
.
Wh
y
th
e
lon
g
face?”

“Lon
g
face
?
Really?
”
sai
d
Natalie
.
“I’l
l
tr
y
an
d
t
ur
n
m
y
frow
n
upsid
e
dow
n
then
.
I’
m
jus
t
los
t
i
n
thought, Bert.”

“Com
e
o
n . . .
penn
y
fo
r
them?
”
aske
d
Bert
,
handing he
r
th
e
usua
l
bundl
e
o
f
afternoo
n
newspaper
s
fo
r
the punter
s
i
n
th
e
café.

“Ah
,
nothin
g
much,
”
sh
e
replie
d
wit
h a
smile
.
“May
b
e
jus
t a
cas
e
o
f
on
e
birthda
y
to
o
man
y
an
d
no
t a
lo
t
to
sho
w
fo
r
it
?
Gettin
g
on
,
gettin
g
nowher
e
fas
t
an
d
feeling
sorr
y
fo
r
mysel
f
t
o
b
e
honest.”

Ber
t
le
t
ou
t a
sig
h
an
d
shoo
k
hi
s
hea
d
s
o
tha
t
his
fifties-styl
e
quif
f
threatene
d
t
o
actuall
y
mov
e –
bu
t
it didn
’
t
.
Sinc
e
sh
e
wa
s a
tin
y
girl
,
Natali
e
ha
d
onl
y
seen
Bert
’
s
hai
r
mov
e
onc
e
an
d
tha
t
wa
s
o
n
th
e
da
y
hi
s
wife die
d
an
d
h
e
wa
s
jus
t
ou
t
o
f
th
e
showe
r
an
d
didn
’
t
have tim
e
t
o
styl
e
i
t
whe
n
h
e
raise
d
th
e
alar
m
o
f
he
r
sudden
illness.

“
I
remembe
r
th
e
da
y
yo
u
wer
e
born,
”
h
e
said
,
looking
acros
s
t
o
th
e
se
a
lik
e
a
n
ol
d
reminiscin
g
sailo
r
.
“I
t
was on
e
o
f
th
e
busies
t
day
s
o
f
th
e
yea
r
whe
n
th
e
school
s
were
breakin
g
u
p
fo
r
holiday
s
an
d
horde
s
o
f
familie
s
descend
e
d
her
e
o
n
Castl
e
Ba
y
t
o
escap
e
thei
r
cit
y
lives
.
Y
ou
r
poor fathe
r
wa
s
u
p
t
o
hi
s
nec
k
i
n
tha
t
we
e
caf
é
whe
n
th
e
call cam
e
fro
m
th
e
hospita
l
t
o
sa
y
yo
u
ha
d
bounce
d
int
o
the world
.
Oh
,
yo
u
wer
e a
bounc
y
,
bonni
e
we
e
lass
!
I
t
wa
s a
da
y
lik
e
toda
y
,
an
d
th
e
smil
e
o
n
tha
t
man
’
s
fac
e
wa
s
one lik
e I
ha
d
neve
r
see
n
before
.
I
t
wa
s
a
s
i
f
yo
u
wer
e
the onl
y
bab
y
gir
l
i
n
th
e
world.”