Hers For One Night Only?. Carol MarinelliЧитать онлайн книгу.

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      CHAPTER ONE

      ‘YOU’RE far too available.’ Bridgette didn’t really know how to respond when her friend Jasmine’s sympathy finally ran out. After all, she knew that Jasmine was right. ‘It’s me and Vince’s leaving do and you won’t come out in case your sister needs a babysitter.’

      ‘You know it’s not as simple as that,’ Bridgette said.

      ‘But it is as simple as that.’ Jasmine was determined to stand firm this time. Her boyfriend, Vince, was a paediatric intern at the large Melbourne hospital where Bridgette had, until recently, worked, and he was heading off for a year to do relief work overseas. At what felt like the last minute the rather dizzy Jasmine had decided to join him for three months, and after a lot of paperwork and frantic applications, finally tonight there was a gathering to see them both off. ‘You’ve put everything on hold for Courtney, you’ve given up a job you love so you can do agency and be more flexible—you’ve done everything you can to support her and look at where it’s got you.’

      Jasmine knew that she was being harsh, but she wanted Bridgette to cry, damn it, wanted her friend to admit the truth—that living like this was agony, that something had to give. But Bridgette refused to cry, insisting instead that she was coping—that she didn’t mind doing agency work, that she loved looking after Courtney’s son, Harry. ‘Come out, then,’ Jasmine challenged. ‘If everything’s as fine as you say, you deserve a night out—you haven’t had one in ages. I want you there—we all want to see you. Everyone will be there…’

      ‘What if…?’ Bridgette stopped herself from saying it. She was exhausted from going over the what-ifs.

      ‘Stop hiding behind Harry,’ Jasmine said.

      ‘I’m not.’

      ‘Yes, you are. I know you’ve been hurt, but you need to put it behind you.’

      And it stung, but, then, the truth often did and, yes, Bridgette conceded, maybe she was using Harry as a bit of an excuse so as not to get out there. ‘Okay!’ Bridgette took a deep breath and nodded. ‘You’re on.’

      ‘You’re coming?’ Jasmine grinned.

      ‘Looks like it.’

      So instead of sitting at home, Bridgette sat in the hairdresser’s and had some dark foils added to her mousey-brown hair. They made her skin look paler and her sludgy-grey eyes just a bit darker, it seemed, and with Jasmine’s endless encouragement she had a wax and her nails done too and, for good measure, crammed in a little shopping.

      Bridgette’s bedroom was in chaos, not that Jasmine cared a bit, as they fought over mirror space and added another layer of mascara. It was a hot, humid night and already Bridgette was sweating. Her face would be shining by the time she got there at this rate, so she climbed over two laundry baskets to open her bedroom window and then attempted to find her shoes. ‘I must tidy up in here.’ Bridgette searched for her high-heeled sandals. Her bedroom had once been tidy—but when Harry had been born Courtney had moved in and Bridgette’s two-bedroom flat had never quite recovered from housing three—actually, four at times if you counted Paul. Her love life hadn’t recovered either!

      Bridgette found her sandals and leant against the wall as she put them on. She surveyed the large boxes of shelves she had bought online that would hopefully help her organise things. ‘I want to get these shelves put up. Dad said he’d come around and find the studs in the wall, whatever they are…’

      Jasmine bit her tongue—Maurice had been saying that for months. The last thing Bridgette needed tonight was to have her parents criticised but, honestly, two more unhelpful, inflexible people you could not meet. Maurice and Betty Joyce just closed their eyes to the chaos their youngest daughter created and left it all for Bridgette to sort out.

      ‘How do you feel?’ Jasmine asked as, dressed in a guilty purchase, make-up done and high heels on, Bridgette surveyed herself in the mirror.

      ‘Twenty-six.’ Bridgette grinned at her own reflection, liking, for once, what she saw. Gone was the exhausted woman from earlier—instead she literally glowed and not with sweat either. No, it was the sheer silver dress she had bought that did the most amazing things to her rather curvy figure, and the heavenly new blusher that had wiped away the last remnants of fatigue in just a few glittery, peachy strokes.

      ‘And single,’ Jasmine nudged.

      ‘Staying single,’ Bridgette said. ‘The last thing I want is a relationship.’

      ‘Doesn’t have to be a relationship,’ Jasmine replied, but gave in with a small laugh. ‘It does with you, though.’ She looked at her friend. ‘Paul was a complete bastard, you know.’

      ‘I know.’ She did not want to talk about it.

      ‘Better to find out now than later.’

      ‘I know that,’ Bridgette snapped. She so did not want to talk about it—she didn’t even want to think about it tonight—but thankfully Jasmine had other things on her mind.

      ‘Ooh, I wonder if Dominic will be there. He’s sex on legs, that guy…’ Even though she was blissfully happy with Vince, Jasmine still raved about the paediatric locum registrar, Dominic Mansfield.

      ‘You’re just about to fly off to Africa with