Puff of smoke
Slipping on a black leather bodysuit, I couldn’t wait to get my groove on.
‘You look nice,’ my husband Steve, 43, smiled.
It was 21 August this year, and I was off on a night out with my friend Vicky, 44.
We worked together as support workers, so we thought we deserved a night out after Covid.
‘Have a good time,’ Steve smiled before I left.
He was staying at home with our children Ryan, 16, and Connor, 13.
Our daughter Elisha, 24, no longer lives at home, but we’re all still close.
Jumping in the car, I drove the 40-minute journey to Vicky’s house.
Our plan was to hit a gin bar for the evening, before crashing at hers. However, known as the party animals, the gin bar we found was more of a club with different music rooms.
We may have been in our
