At The Eleventh Hour.

By Sarah Prince

Four very different women work and live in the same village but have never met. Little do they know that when 96 year old Rose steals thousands and escapes from her care home, that they would connect in ways that change their lives.

Rose Parkfield has spent 20 years on her own since her husband died. Being moved to a care home in the sleepy village of Blackbeech does nothing to dampen Rose's acerbic opinions and her manager, Carol Salt, a cold and aloof woman, becomes Rose's unwilling victim.  Uncovering her manager's secret crime, she uses a spontaneous moment to steal from Carol and kicks starts an incredible journey. Escaping the home she chances upon Lia Bright. Upon finding Rose in her car at a petrol station, her good heart and naviety means that Rose is able to flee the home discreetly. Anna Greco, the local station's detective Sargent gets called out to investigate the disappearance of Rose Parkfield, where she finds a very distressed Carol and an empty safe.....

• Language: English
• Publisher: Sarah Prince
• Release date: Jul 1, 2019
• ISBN: 9781393195153

Book preview

Ichi-go ichi-e.

One time, one meeting.

Traditionally used in Japanese tea ceremonies, the phrase is used to remind people to treasure any gatherings they take part in as they can never be replicated.

Each moment is always once in a lifetime

Chapter One

Rose was dying. This was it. It was happening. Folds of soft sheets and floral prints cocooned her like a swaddled baby, her small and skeletal frame seeming so tiny in her bed. Her eyes felt rough and heavy and despite the constant stream of people that she briefly glimpsed on the rare times she opened them; she almost always recognised the hand that was on hers. It was a soft, warm hand. A young hand that had grown sweaty in the palm from the skin to skin contact it shared with Rose. It was a hand that held hers so delicately, that sometimes she needed to move her bony fingers slightly in order to check that it was still there; touching her with such compassion. As Rose lay there, the hours and days either sped by in such an alarming rate or moved so slowly she wondered if time had stood still. Sometimes she was awake, sometimes she was asleep; either way the people who came in and out of her room consciously whispered. Sometimes they talked about her, sometimes they talked about what they had seen on Twitter that morning; some people tried talking to her, but all quickly gave up when Rose decided they weren’t worth the effort to open her eyes for and so deliberately ignored them. And as she lay there, Rose could not help but think about her life. Her choices, her paths, her sins and good deeds.

Rose Parkfield had always, in her very long life, considered herself to be a Good Person. A tad grumpy maybe, a little selfish absolutely; she knew she wasn’t a saint, but she never acted like a sinner either. Until the day came when she committed a crime. The day she knowingly stole thousands of pounds. Of- course that rather pales in comparison to the man she unwittingly killed. Still, at this particular moment in time; warm in her bed, Rose is hoping that the life she saved will balance out her cosmic deeds and she won’t be joining Hitler in Hell. Looking back through the 96 years of Rose Parkfield’s life, you could say that on the whole it was pretty uneventful. Until one Friday changed all that. This particular Friday happened to be Roses’ 96th birthday and despite the surprising turn of events that happened that day, it still began the same way it always did. Rudely Interrupted. 

..................................................

One Year Ago.

FRIDAY.

MORNING!. A cheery voice with an Irish lilt sang out through the room. Rose jumped beneath her duvet and let out a low moan of annoyance as her heart slowly returned to its normal beat. Honestly were they allowed to do that? She thought, surely that's a danger to health especially in a place like this. She pulled her gritty tired eyes open and realised her nose was inches away from the wall. Going cross-eyed from the effort of focusing, she rolled onto her back and turned her head toward the bedroom door. Maeve closed the door behind her and suddenly spun on her heels, throwing an arm in the air.

Happy Birthday to you, Happy Birthday to you, Happy Birthday dear Roooose-AH! Happy Birthday to you!

Piss off. Thought Rose, it is my damn birthday at least let me sleep in for god's sake. Oblivious to the unimpressed look on Rose's face, Maeve began to move around the room at lightning speed. In a flurry of activity, lasting what seemed like seconds, she had flung open the curtains, rifled through the wardrobe and rummaged through the drawers. With various items of clothing hung over the length of her arm, she then moved to a small basin in the corner of the room and began to fill the sink. With a squeeze of the shower gel which seemed to empty at least half the bottle, she turned and walked to Rose's armchair and began to lay them on the side of the arm. Watching Maeve in action and feeling a sense of nostalgia for the time when she could move that fast, Rose began to prop herself up with her elbows. With a grunt of effort and enough cracking and popping in her elbow joints to send a seasoned soldier diving for cover, she pushed her arms until she was sitting upright. Her back felt stiff and tight and her arms began to wobble with effort. Pushing the duvet to one side and placing her hands flat on the mattress, Rose began to rock, side to side, faster and faster, gaining momentum, until with one final swing and an oh-so-graceful move in which her nightdress rode up until it practically garrotted her; she managed to swing her legs out of bed.

I’ve filled the sink for you love and put your clothes on the chair, ready for the day

Maeve stood in front of Rose and pointed to the sink and armchair like a demented air hostess declaring where the exits are.  I'll pop back in a minute, see how you're getting on.

Rose gave the tiniest nods as Maeve gave her one last smile before retreating out the door. I hate this bloody place, she thought. And what is with the need to wake people up in such an obtrusive way? MORNING! came Maeve's voice through the wall from the room next door. Poor sod, smiled Rose as she pictured dear old Basil and his stripy pyjamas leap up and out of bed in alarm. Straightening her creaking knees and pushing herself off the mattress, Rose slowly co-ordinated her body into a standing position. With one wobbly foot over the other she made her way over to the sink. Dunking the flannel in the warm, soapy water, she glanced up and drank in her reflection. She was amazed how she could have the same face for all her life, yet it still took her by surprise when she looked in the mirror. Blue eyes once wide and sparkling, now seemed dull; and her eyelids and crow’s feet, now saggy with age seemed to have made her eyes small in appearance. Her nose is getting larger by the day or maybe it seems that way, as time has shrunk her prettiest features; her large eyes and full lips, into hooded slits and thin lines. Still, she thought, at least she’s still got all her teeth. After a quick wash, a brush of her fine hair and a scrub of her teeth, Rose moved across the room to the clothes Maeve very helpfully laid out for her. Out of sheer pride she picked up the clothes in a heap and threw them on the bed. Moving to the wardrobe and drawers she began to choose a light blue short sleeved blouse, beige elasticated trousers and a white cardigan. Choosing a pair of knickers that even Bridget Jones would shake her nose at, Rose used her bony fingers to stretch the elastic. As it tightly stretched and pinged back, she gave a small nod of approval. Rule of survival, always pick a pair of knickers with good elastic.  Now she was up and her body and joints had begun to move and flex, Rose was able to bend down double and pull her knickers up over her feet and up her calves. The blue shirt was next, no bra; far too fiddly, then the trousers with the shirt neatly tucked in and finally the cardigan complete with a tissue up the sleeve. Sinking down into the armchair, she surveyed her bedroom. Remembering the day which set this all-in motion, she closed her eyes.

It had been a Saturday morning in the beginning of June. Rose up and about at 5.30am, had already done her housework, put her washing on the line and made up a shopping list by the time the market opened at 7am. It was not routine nor was it choice that made Rose get up and out of bed at 5.34am, it was a toothache. The problem with having your teeth after all this time was that wear and tear and general weak brushing made your teeth all the more sensitive. Never one for dentists and deciding that given her age, she may as well set her sights on dentures, Rose naively waited for the day they just began to fall out. Despite chomping on enough boiled sweets and hard apples, her teeth decided to stay put and rather than just drop out of her mouth as she envisioned, they decided to give her hell. At 5am wondering if the pain of a toothache was enough to call an ambulance, Rose swung herself out of bed and made her way to the bathroom. Manoeuvring through piles of washing, towels and enough boxes, shelves and shelved boxes full of Avon bath range; Rose found her way to the medicine cabinet. After a bleary-eyed rummage, she found a packet of tablets in foil and popped two in her mouth washed down with some minty water from the plastic beaker that held her toothbrush and toothpaste. Deciding that now she was up she may as well get dressed, she set off for the market at 7.10am. Armed with her shopping list and feeling drowsy with tiredness, she walked the short distance to her town centre. The sun was already shining through and Rose could feel the gentle warmth on her face. Dressed in a thick pink jumper and navy knee length flowy skirt, she began to scan the stalls and track down the various items on her list. As she began to walk around each stall she began to feel more and more tired, her eyes began to droop, her head felt heavy and for some strange inexplicable reason she felt like she was swimming under water. What... on... earth? She had thought, What the devil did I take? Mentally trying to place each item in her medicine cabinet, she recalled the last thing she threw in there. Ah. Back in January, after an ill-advised thought of cracking through a frozen bird bath, she had slipped while making her way back down the garden path. One shattered ankle, bed rest and a packet of industrial strength pain killers later; Rose was healed and back to her busy self with her stay in hospital a dim memory and the packet of painkillers forgotten in the medicine cabinet. Until today that is. Bugger.

Determined to carry on, Rose stared down at her list and waited for her eyes to focus. While weaving through the stalls and trying to disguise her swaying by clinging onto any man’s bicep (Excuse me dear), Rose was concentrating far too much on walking straight to realise that her once comfy, able-to-tuck- your-boobs-into knickers, were slowly, but surely, sinking down her hips, past her belly and sliding down her thighs. Aware of people doing double takes in her direction, Rose was convinced she was rumbled and about to be carted off and given a stern talking to about the dangers of over-age drinking, when she felt a chill suddenly shiver up her back. With a sense of ‘something isn’t right here’, she glanced down to see her grey knickers saggy round her lower thighs. Bloody elastic must have gone, she thought. Still, nothing to do about it now, and with the confidence of someone with inhibitions and embarrassment out the window, Rose gave a shake of her legs worthy of Elvis, until her knickers slid down to her feet and she deftly stepped out of them and walked off with her chin in the air, ignoring the look of disgust from surrounding people all staring at the offending item which was now blowing in the wind on the pavement. Convinced that any moment a particularly strong gust of wind may blow the nasty knickers into their direction, passers- by and shoppers began to scatter, but one particular woman saw something others didn’t. Alana Green like everybody else, had watched Rose shimmy and shake out of her knickers like an elderly stripper. Watching Rose glance down at her list for the fifth time in as many seconds and picking up a cucumber and staring at it from all angles as if she'd never seen one before, Alana decided that she had seen this behaviour many times before. A qualified social worker for the local council, she had great experience in how to deal with these types of potentially vulnerable situations. Walking over to Rose, now about ready to squeeze single tomato in her purse, Alana had introduced herself and managed to decipher the woozy woman’s address through her slurs. Once at home and settled in her armchair with a mug of strong coffee, Rose had managed to string a sentence together and calmly explained what happened and assured Alana she in no way shape or form had any kind of dementia. It was just a simple accident. Leaving Rose sipping her coffee, Alana had made her way through her council house. With a social workers eye quick to assess living arrangements, Alana could clearly see that Rose had trouble keeping up with her housework. The kitchen was filled with clutter, boxes and overflowing bins. The oven looked like it had decades of grease layered on it and two of the cupboards were missing their doors which were now balancing against the freezer.  Looking through the larder and fridge, Alana found hardly any fresh food but enough tins to fill a nuclear bunker. A quick glance into the bathroom again told the same story. By the time Alana had said her goodbyes she had decided in all her good conscience, there was no way she could walk away from Rose without following up on her and her health.  Two months later, after several meetings with her bosses and with Rose; the accidental tablet taking and living conditions were taken into serious account. Coupled with the broken ankle a few months previously, a group of strangers who had never spent more than an hour with Rose at a time; decided that the best course of action for her health would be to move to a residential home. And so the day came for Alana to break the news.

The hell I will! shouted Rose. How DARE you!

Alana watched as Rose, with fire in her eyes stood up as tall as her height could bring her.  Determined to stand her ground, Alana patiently but firmly began to explain why it was the best thing for her well-being.

You'll have all your meals cooked, there’ll be no housework to worry about and a chance to socialise with others.

Rose rolled her eyes at the attempt to mollycoddle her like a toddler.  She quickly sat herself back into her armchair and crossed her arms, convinced that her sullen protest would be enough to make Alana change her mind. Though she did half expect a couple of burly blokes to send her front door flying so they could whip out her armchair from beneath her.  Sensing Alana getting annoyed with her sudden exasperated sigh, Rose pointedly turned her head to avoid eye contact. There was absolutely nothing wrong with her, thank you very much. She was a grown woman who could live her life the way she wanted and if that meant living the quiet life with just her TV for company, then so be it. Of- course Rose knew deep, deep down that the life she was living was almost, well, dangerous. Her solitude was becoming addictive. She really couldn’t muster the energy to deal with people anymore. Rose had often gone to bed, alone in the darkness, her quiet house even quieter; and wondered as she felt her eyes closing; ‘What if I die here tonight?’ At her age, Rose very much expected to go to bed one night and her poor heart to finally give up. She considered it a blessing to die warm in her bed. The question that tortured her the most was ‘Would anyone notice I was gone?’ A few lines from a poem by TS Eliot called The Burial of the Dead was her haunting lullaby as she drifted off into sleep night after night, wondering if she would open her eyes again in the morning.

‘And I will show you something different from either

Your shadow at morning striding behind you

Or your shadow at evening rising to meet you;

I will show you fear in a handful of dust.

Rose often felt those powerful words described the innate fear most people would admit. That we fear that no one will notice our absence. That we will disappear without a trace. She stared unblinking at the ceramic dog figurine that stood on the outskirts of her old gas fireplace. The one she never turned on because she couldn’t push and hold the ignition button anymore. She was acutely aware of Alana in her far peripheral vision running her hands through her hair and rubbing the back of her neck, as if she could feel a migraine coming on. Rose considered the two options before her. Stand her ground, continue to give what for and hope Alana will leave her in peace.... But then what? What will happen after that? It struck Rose that she might go to bed this very night, tortured by her thoughts and fears until she succumbed to sleep, and wonder if she turned away the only kind and guiding hand that she had felt in a long time. One that could expel those black thoughts and give her endless restful nights of sleep. Rose could feel her defence begin to crumble. She remembered how long she spent on that frozen garden path calling for help before someone found her, how hard it was for her to get herself washed, dressed and up about with a plastered foot, and how utterly exhausting it was sometimes to do her daily chores. She looked directly at Alana. She was never one for ‘socialising’ but it would be nice to have someone to talk to. Rose shook her head almost in pity as she tried to remember how many whole weeks had passed without her uttering a single word to another soul. How many years it had been since she had heard the comforting sound of a key in the lock, the feeling that she was soon to be joined, spoken to and sharing her space with another. A human, a presence, a soulmate.

Sensing a shift in the old woman’s posture and clocking the almost wistful look on her face, Alana was certain she was getting through to her, Clearing her throat, she tried one more time to convince Rose . You'll have outings. A hairdresser visits monthly, plus there'll be a doctor on call should you need one.

What about a dentist? Asked Rose.  And that was that.

Of course, now she was here it is a whole other story. Yes, the food is lovely, thought Rose and it was brilliant to be able to have a cup of tea at the press of a button, but no one warned her about Hilda, a wandering diabetic, who on strict orders from the doctor and carers to watch what she eats, has a penchant for sniffing out and finding other people’s sweet treats. The amount of times she's come back from the loo to find Hilda rifling through her bedside cabinet and eating a month-old stray Malteaser. Or the bloody manager, thought Rose. Carol Salt. What a name. A woman as bitter as her surname. How on earth did a woman like that get a job in care? A strict, polyester wearing battle axe who never met a rule she didn’t like. Still there are some lovely girls here, she mused. Lovely girls that love nothing more to chat, share a cup of tea and find me a CD player so I can listen to my music.  Opening her eyes, Rose glanced up at the clock. Her little trip down memory lane had only passed a few minutes of time, despite her feeling she had been sitting there for hours. Her eyes falling on the heap of clothes thrown on her bed, Rose couldn’t help but feel a shiver of annoyance at the way she was woken up this morning. Let alone the irritating way Maeve gave her no choice in her outfit for today. Looking around the room, she eyed up the commode beside her bed. At first repulsed by the thought of doing her business in a POT rather than a flushing toilet, Rose refused to use it when first arrived but during that first night after laying awake trying to remember where she had seen a toilet, sheer desperation had forced her to use it. Spine-tingling relief had soon overtaken repulsion and every night since. Walking over to the commode Rose took the lid off and stared down into the dark yellow liquid. Cocking her head to one side, she listened to a flurry of steps and the sound of doors opening and closing. Hearing footsteps retreating down the corridor, Rose picked up each item of clothing, and began to slowly dip them into the commode pot until each one was a sodden, dripping lump. Holding them between her thumb and forefinger, Rose walked her dripping clothes over to the door. Pulling the door open, she peered out and saw that not only was the corridor empty but Maeve had rather helpfully left the laundry skip right outside Rose's bedroom. Peering inside it, she could see that it was empty save for a couple of sheets Maeve had aimed at the skip but missed and were now hanging around the edge. Rose lifted her dripping clothes into the skip and with a wet 'flump' let them fall to the bottom. Grabbing the sheets from around the edge and covering the wet mess, she gave a little snort as she pictured Maeve on her tip toes, head deep in the skip, leaning down to grab the last sheet only for her nostrils to be assaulted and her fingers to delve in a urine- soaked mess. Sort that lot out, thought Rose and with a final glance up the corridor and a small smile on her face, she closed the door.

.................................

Carol enjoyed hearing the rhythmic clicking of her heels in the lino floored corridors. Each step sounded like she was about to break into a rumba. Turning a corridor into an open unit comprised of a lounge, dining room and kitchenette for the residents, she saw a quick flash of terror on the face of the newest and most youngest carer to join her team. Charlotte had been a carer at Meadow-bell for two months and had quickly come to find that the smiling Carol who had interviewed her, was not the same woman whom she had come to know. Carol eyed Charlotte up and down, obvious in her judgement of the young woman standing before her trying to desperately busy herself with a handful of flannels. Spotting Shirley coming out of a bedroom further down the corridor, Carol wondered if she had made a mistake in employing young Charlotte as clearly the girl couldn’t do her job without someone holding her hand.

Shirley. She said sharply. Is this your unit?

Carol knew damn well it wasn’t. Shirley turned her head as she heard her name and made no qualms in rolling her eyes at the boss. A robust woman with short spiky hair and a thick northern accent, Shirley had been working at Meadow-bell for 12 years, double what Carol had, and had very quickly come to dislike the snotty manager. Continuing in her quest to treat Carol with utter disdain rather than respect, she actually  looked forward to the opportunities where she could one-up her and try and topple Carol from the pedestal she had placed herself on. Throwing a handful of damp towels into the skip, Shirley immediately clocked Charlotte’s pained expression. Walking towards her newest colleague in her defence, she crossed her arms. No. You know it’s not.

Carol sensed her usual showdown with bull headed Shirley and stood tall, clasping her hands behind her back. Then why are you here? she replied haughtily.

Because the residents on my unit are all independent. Snapped back the carer. Besides, Charlotte’s still learning the ropes so I thought I could give her a hand. Shirley clocked her head suddenly. Teamwork, remember?!. Isn’t that what you are always harping on at us about in every staff meeting?

Carol curled her lip in annoyance, knowing she was beaten. With not even a quick glance to the young woman beside her, she remained unflinching in her eye contact. Make sure Charlotte doesn’t wear those shoes again.

Shirley looked in disbelief at the young girl who was only standing two feet from Carol, her face growing red as she glanced down guiltily to her converse trainers. Turning sharply ready to continue on her morning tour of the home, Carol could hear an audible intake of breath from the stout woman behind her. "Ms Salt. Doris in room 12 needs some more nighties. Thicker ones, ready for the winter. I don’t mind getting some for her at the weekend. I’m sure her daughter wont mind"

Carol turned back to the carers and racked her brain about the identity of the occupant in room 12. Doris who? Doris, Doris, Doris. Ah, yes Doris Hanford. She quickly remembered writing Doris's name on an plastic wallet with her petty cash inside. Swallowing hard, she shook her head. No, I don’t think so

Shirley’s mouth dropped open. She’s freezing at night! She turned to point at the bedroom she had just come out of. I’ve just taken two cardigans off her. She buzzed the night staff last night because she couldn’t stop shivering!

Waiting for Carols response to her passionate plea, she shook her head in utter disgust when Carol simply shrugged and said. We’ll get her some more blankets. Striding out of the corridor and back into the open unit, Carol heard a very clear, very loud Heartless bitch Behind her.

...................................

Hi Mum Ophelia Bright was squashed into a corner. Trying to inch herself around in a more comfortable position, Lia did a sharp intake of breath when she banged her hip bone on the sharp corner of a wooden box. Ouch!

Hi Lia love, how are you? how’s work? I bet you are rushed off your feet today. Have you had a break yet?  

Pausing, simply because she didn’t know which question to answer first, Lia decided to answer them all in one go. I’m fine and works good. It’s not too bad today so I’m on my break now. 

Ah that's good.

There was a pause that seemed to last minutes. Lia's conversations with her mother were always like this. Having grown distant from her parents since abruptly leaving home and moving away, ending up a waitress at the Tea and Trifle Café; Lia's mum never knew how to hold a conversation with her daughter, and so began the torrent of questions that ended in silence while her mum thought of something else to say. Say happy birthday, thought Lia. Say happy birthday.

Ooh, your dad has decided that his latest project is to learn a musical instrument! Her mum snorted with unconcealed amusement.

Should have heard him here the other day, had a trumpet he did. Sounded less like Louis Armstrong and more like a traffic jam! I had to pop my head over Marjorie and Brian's fence and apologise from the bottom of my heart for the racket. Luckily they know your father, so they know it won’t be long before he's gotten bored and moved on to the next project. Beekeeping or something, knowing my luck. So anyhow, what’s happening lately round your way? Weather nice?

Yeah, weather's lovely, still full of tourists for this time of year, so some days the cafe is incredibly busy, but other days we are quite quiet, so...

Her mum suddenly interrupted with the news of a Lidl opening up around the corner, before quickly moving onto how her dad got drenched wet through in the rain. It was a such a huge thunderstorm, came out of nowhere. I could hear all the dogs barking on our road and I sent your poor dad to the new Lidl to have a nosey and pick me up some sanitary towels. Poor thing came back with a pack of tea towels and the flu!

Is dad ok? Asked Lia, full of concern.

Yes, he’s fine, I let him have a few days in bed where I answered his every beck and call, then I lost all sympathy and told your dad to get his arse out of bed and put the kettle on himself. Lia could hear her mum smile as she spoke. She was always terrified that she would get a phone call that something serious had happened to either one of her parents and she would regret the choice of living so far away.

Anyway love, I’ll let you get on, thanks for calling. I'll pass your love on to dad. Be safe and take care of yourself, won’t you? Bye! And with a click, she was gone.

Lia stared at a doodle of a star on the wall. She didn’t say it. How could she not say it, she can’t possibly have forgotten? Lia slowly replaced the phone in its cradle and let the tears fall down her face. She never said Happy birthday. We never used to be this way. Placing her hands over her face to hide her tears, Lia sobbed until there were more tears than she could wipe away fast enough and her breath began to shudder. Her 25th birthday and they couldn’t care less. The quickest conversation ever and she couldn’t wait to get off the phone and not even a text from dad. Fine, well fuck them. Realising she had no tissues in the pocket of her apron, Lia had no choice but to untuck her short sleeved black t-shirt from her trousers and use the hem to blow her nose. Desperate measures and all that. Taking a deep breath Lia tried to get her hiccupping breath under control. Tucking her t-shirt back into her trousers, eeww, she used a finger to wipe under her eyes.  Realising there was no way Laura her manager, would not see straight away that she'd been crying; Lia had no choice but to just take a deep breath and pull open the door of the tiny cupboard or 'the phone booth' rather, and step on outwards. Praying the cafe was still quiet apart from that rather lovely old man by the window, Lia straightened her apron and with a shake of her head and a smile on her face, walked out onto the cafe floor.

In a semi-detached house, 150 miles away, a middle-aged woman was sitting on the second from bottom step of her staircase. Sobbing into her hands, Elizabeth Bright was still recovering from her conversation with her daughter. Why didn’t I just say, We love you and we want you to come home thought Elizabeth as she used her palms to wipe her cheeks. Why are you so far away? Do you hate us that much? She thought bitterly. Waves of heartbreak swept over her as she recalled her daughters couldn’t -care-less-tone of voice. I wanted to say, Happy birthday my little Lia, but she couldn’t wait to get rid of me. With another sob that racked her body, Elizabeth couldn’t escape feeling abandoned by her daughter. Was it my fault? Did I drive her away? Oh my darling daughter, I miss you. Elizabeth brought her knees up close to her torso and knew she would not tell her husband the conversation that had just passed. My little Lia, don’t you know how much you're loved?

Lia stood behind the till and surreptitiously slid Laura's compact mirror out of its hiding place and checked her reflection. Grateful that Laura was the type of woman who would do one last check of appearance before wiggling her hips over in the direction of a cute customer, Lia could see that apart from a little bloodshot around the eyes, she looked okay. She could pass that off as hay-fever. Her breathing had calmed but every so often a great big shuddering sigh would overtake her body and take her