12 – ONE NIGHT STAND

He's 47 when he acknowledges that he's one argument away from a midlife crisis.

The boys are well and truly into the dreaded adolescent years. Brad's middle name has been overused in the yelling, as he proudly causes havoc everywhere he goes. Jill says Randy's provoking all authority figures he stumbles upon, whilst Tim states blatantly that the kid's running his mouth off. Little Mark isn't so little anymore, and between that and the voice cracking and the endless stream of black, Tim's starting to wonder where the hell his little boy has gone.

But it's not only them, it's Jill and Al and Tooltime too. No one is immune to the dark cloud hovering over the Taylor house. Not even the hotrod apparently, whose motor quite happily fizzled out not ten seconds ago.

He slams the garage door close, and storms into the kitchen. Jill stands behind the stove, swapping angry words with Brad.

"Jill."

She turns to face him, and Brad quite sneakily, makes his escape.

"What, Tim? I'm a little busy."

"I'm going to the auto shop, the hotrod-"

Unbridled rage, deep and burning flashes in Jill's brown eyes. "Don't you dare, Tim! You know I'm having some colleagues over for dinner tonight-"

"What!" He strained, when had this been arranged?

"I told you-"

"When?"

But he doesn't wait for a reply, he's already grabbed his jacket and is heading for the front door.


His journey doesn't take him to the auto shop like he'd originally planned, no, twenty minutes after storming out on Jill he finds him at a stingy little bar in God-knows-where.

Four beers later, a fresh set of blue eyes flash in his direction. There's a bat of the eyelashes, a burst of pale skin, a cocky giggle and suddenly there's a young woman by his side.

"Hey there, stranger."

A southern accent leaks through, and Tim remembers the first time he met Jill.

"Haven't seen you round here before."

"Nah, not my sort of thing really."

There's a small hand clutching his shoulder, another one resting on his knee. "Then what are you doing here?"

"Moment of passion. Had a fight with the wife."

This doesn't deter her hands though, as one sneaks up his thigh. "Yeah? Maybe I could cheer you up." She says, pouting cherry-painted lips.

"Happily married." He says, thrusting her hand off his leg, desperately ignoring the rush of blood.

"Then why'd you fight?"

Tim doesn't respond. The woman is very young really, can't be older than 25.

"I could make you forget her, and she won't ever know."

He stares some more, she's really very pretty. Kinda reminds him of Jill, only…

"No." He says, stands, and leaves the bar.


It's three in the morning when he gets home.

Jill's awake, flicking through a book on the sofa.

"Hi."

She doesn't look at him, doesn't respond.

"Did I miss anything?"

"Only dinner." She states, matter of fact.

"Sorry."

He moves to sit next to her, and she puts the book down, laying her head on his shoulder.

"Jill…" She grunts in response, "Is this as good as it's gonna get?"

Lifting her head, she stares at him wearily. She looks tired and old, and it's really quite strange that she's still so beautiful.

"It'll get better, Tim. It always does."

And really, what else is there to say?


Next up: 13 - Food