One Night Only (29 page)

“Sh
e
shoul
d
ea
t
mor
e
carrots,
”
sai
d
Frankie
.
“They hel
p
yo
u
se
e
i
n
th
e
dark
,
o
r
s
o
yo
u
grown-up
s
tel
l
me
.
I
hav
e
a
feelin
g
it
’
s
a
bribe
.
An
d
wh
y
can
’
t
yo
u
tel
l
him?
He
’
s
jus
t
o
n
th
e
sof
a
righ
t
there.
”

Franki
e
pointe
d
i
n
bewildermen
t
a
t
hi
s
fathe
r
wh
o
lay
wit
h
hi
s
fee
t
u
p
watchin
g
Th
e
Simpsons
.
Th
e
ver
y
sigh
t
of thos
e
yello
w
face
s
o
n
televisio
n
wer
e
enoug
h
t
o
drive
Poll
y
batt
y
.

“B
e
a
goo
d
bo
y
an
d
pas
s
o
n
th
e
message,
”
sh
e
sai
d
in
defiance
.
“Grann
y
need
s
–
”

“
I
hear
d
you,
”
sai
d
James
,
starin
g
a
t
th
e
T
V
.
“Doesn
’
t
you
r
mothe
r
loo
k
a
bi
t
lik
e
Marge
,
Frankie
?
Al
l
sh
e
needs
i
s
th
e
blu
e
hai
r
.
”

H
e
smirke
d
an
d
sh
e
thre
w
a
cushio
n
a
t
him
,
regretting i
t
a
t
onc
e
becaus
e
sh
e
shouldn
’
t
hav
e
acknowledge
d
his
presenc
e
a
t
all
.

“H
e
say
s
h
e
hear
d
yo
u
an
d
tha
t
yo
u
loo
k
lik
e
Marge,” sai
d
Frankie
,
stil
l
a
bi
t
pu
t
ou
t
b
y
i
t
all
.
The
n
h
e
giggled
a
s
h
e
realise
d
i
t
coul
d
b
e
fun
.

“
T
el
l
you
r
da
d
tha
t
make
s
a
change,
”
Poll
y
snapped, no
t
thinkin
g
i
t
wa
s
fun
.
Sh
e
ha
d
t
o
mak
e
he
r
point
.
“And
I
d
o
no
t
loo
k
lik
e
Marg
e
Simpson!
”

“Mu
m
say
s
tha
t
make
s
a
change.” “Wha
t
make
s
a
change?
”
aske
d
James
.

“Wha
t
make
s
a
change?
”
aske
d
Frankie
,
hi
s
littl
e
head to-in
g
an
d
fro-in
g
lik
e
a
bal
l
bo
y
a
t
a
tenni
s
match
.

“Hi
m
hearin
g
me!
”
sai
d
Poll
y
,
raisin
g
he
r
chi
n
in
defiance
.

“
T
ouché!
”
sai
d
James
.

“
T
ouché,
”
sai
d
Frankie
.
“Wha
t
doe
s
touch
é
mean, anyhow?
”

An
d
s
o
i
t
wen
t
o
n
fo
r
tw
o
whol
e
days
.

Poll
y
reluctantl
y
gav
e
i
n
o
n
Thursda
y
mornin
g
when
sh
e
couldn
’
t
fin
d
th
e
A
T
M
car
d
an
d
neede
d
i
t
t
o
ge
t
her hai
r
done
.
Afte
r
th
e
Marg
e
comment
,
sh
e
neede
d
t
o
make
hersel
f
fee
l
bette
r
.
Sh
e
needn
’
t
hav
e
bothere
d
speakin
g
to hi
m
directl
y
because
,
a
s
always
,
sh
e
ende
d
u
p
findin
g
it
hersel
f
an
d
whe
n
sh
e
di
d
sh
e
als
o
cam
e
acros
s
Ruth Monaghan
’
s
busines
s
card
.

“Rut
h
blood
y
Monaghan,
”
sh
e
said
,
fingerin
g
th
e
card
.

Fo
r
a
spli
t
secon
d
sh
e
contemplate
d
callin
g
he
r
,
jus
t
for
a
cha
t
an
d
t
o
fin
d
ou
t
wha
t
ha
d
becom
e
o
f
th
e
school
bull
y
o
f
S
t
John
’
s
wh
o
lef
t
wit
h
bab
y
bum
p
when
everyon
e
wa
s
studyin
g
fo
r
thei
r
exams
.
Wha
t
o
n
earth ha
d
mad
e
Rut
h
retur
n
here
?
Wha
t
wa
s
makin
g
he
r
so sad
?

Sh
e
wante
d
t
o
cal
l
but
,
rememberin
g
T
ess
’
s
reactio
n
to th
e
ver
y
ide
a
o
f
it
,
sh
e
pu
t
th
e
car
d
int
o
he
r
pocke
t
and
decide
d
t
o
slee
p
o
n
i
t
fo
r
a
da
y
o
r
two
.
Sh
e
woul
d
keep Rut
h
Monagha
n
a
t
a
health
y
distanc
e
fo
r
a
while
.