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I found myself panting and sweating at that mental image.Then I fell asleep again.I awoke with a puddle getting cold on the bed sheet, between my widely parted thighs. And disappointed that Brianna wasn’t actually in the bed with me.After a shower, I got dressed and headed to campus. I found myself next to Brianna in English class again.“OK,” I smiled at her.“OK?” she looked astonished. “About what we discussed?”“Yes,” I whispered. “Teach me, Professor Brianna.”“Now?”“My, aren’t we the eager one!” I laughed. “After our last class.”“Where?” she grinned.“Hmm, well, can’t go to my place, I live with my parents, they could come home.”“Same problem here,” Brianna sighed.“Motel 6 is only $30 a night. We could split the bill.”“I can’t stay out all night in a motel with you. I wouldn’t mind at all, but my parents would ground me.”I laughed. “We check in after school, like around 4 pm. We mess around for about three hours. Then we check out and go home to our parents.”“It’s a date!” Brianna. Just leave him alone."Christmas dinner was the usual fare, with roast turkey and the all thetrimmings. Smaller portions were served to the three children, who hadorange squash rather than wine. The meal went well, with jokes from thecrackers and general all round friendly conversation. Peter wondered howa certain subject failed to be mentioned for the rest of the visit."John and his family were here yesterday," said Helen. "He would like toend this rift with you." Not while he stands by 'her'," he said."You'll never change, will you?" said Helen."Why should I?" muttered Adam."You mean Uncle John?" asked Sandra. "We've never met him." Yes, your Uncle John," said Helen.John was Adam's older brother. He and Adam had fell out over the sisterthat Adam stubbornly refused to acknowledge. They rarely spoke andperhaps it was good that John now lived many miles away up north. Adam'schildren knew of him, but as Sandra had mentioned, had never met him orhis family.When the time came for them to.
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As it turned out, it was useful background when I got a call from her. She was planning to set up in the UK, she said, and thought we might be able to let her have some pieces for her household over here. I said we could probably help. We agreed to meet. I suggested a restaurant in the West End; she came up with an alternative, "The Rose By The River Hotel." I hadn't heard of it but then I'm like a lot of taxi drivers — I hardly ever go south of the river.When I got there, I realised I'd been missing something. It billed itself as a boutique hotel. Not far from Tate Modern and the Globe Theatre, it was a short walk from Borough Market and the City itself.I got to the sixth floor and the restaurant. Daphne was already there. As I walked in she was chewing on a mouthful of food that had her face stuffed as well as the gags that we use in the Prep Centre. She barely paused in her eating and waved me across to join her. The remains of a rump steak, half a pile of chips, a smear of pepper.

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