When I woke the next morning it was with the hangover from hell and a sense of intense and crippling guilt. Even before I'd opened my eyes I was assaulted by memories of the night before – how things with Martha had got so out of hand, the sex, and then breaking down in her arms.

Not exactly a lesson in how to take care of a vulnerable young girl.

And when I opened my eyes and found myself naked and alone in Martha's bed, and with the opportunity to take in my surroundings for the first time, things got all the worse.

She did have posters of the boy from Coronation Street. They adorned her baby pink walls along with those of Orlando Bloom and several other young men I didn't recognise. There were teddies – several teddies – scattered all over the floor, obviously having been pushed off the bed during our hours of passion the night before.

I instantly felt sick to my stomach, and it wasn't just the hangover.

Then I saw them. My favourite pink Agent Provocateur French knickers hanging from a silver photo frame on the bedside table, only half obscuring a photograph of Gina and Elliot.

Bile rose in my throat, and only the luck of the draw that was a sink in one corner of the room prevented me from being violently ill all over the butterfly duvet cover.

I knew in that instant that I had to get out. And never ever go back.

I dressed as quickly as my hangover would allow me to and left the room, wondering both what the hell had happened to Martha and whether it would be rude to leave without saying goodbye. In any event, as I made it down the stairs and reached the hallway, the questions were both answered.

She was in the living room. And I didn't have a choice.

"Cons. I'm in here."

I steeled myself and entered the room where only 12 hours earlier the whole mess had begun to find Martha, and, in a 'this is your worst nightmare' twist, Elliot, sat reading the morning papers.

Elliot smiled as I entered, "Connie. How can I thank you?" I must have looked confused because he continued, "Martha told me what happened last night." I realised instantly that Martha must have created a whole new version of 'last night' because Elliot would have hardly been thanking me for it if she hadn't. I looked at her questioningly, hoping she might avail me as to what this fantasy night had entailed and she quickly came to my rescue.

"I told dad that you popped by, and I got upset so you stayed with me. It really was nice of you."

She was a cool little customer, I'll give her that much. I'm not adverse to the odd white lie myself but she carried it off amazingly – more amazingly than I did when I mumbled an embarrassed response.

Elliot offered me breakfast but I declined, by that point desperate to get out of the house. He thanked me again and then Martha rose to show me out. I argued that I knew the way, but that didn't stop her and before I knew it we were in the hallway, only a closed door between us and our awkward silence and Elliot.

I looked at her, guilt flooding through me all over again, "I'm sorry."

Without a word she pulled me to her, gently kissing me in a way that far from feeling strange now felt familiar. Like coming home. I tried to pull away, aware of Elliot in the next room but she wouldn't let me, only breaking the kiss a few moments later on her own say so.

"Don't be."

"But…" I went to remind her of all the things I had to be sorry for but she was having none of it.

"Did you feel lonely last night? Did you sleep better for having me there? Did you," she leant forward to whisper in my ear, "enjoy making love to me?"

I sighed, "No. Yes." I hesitated over the answer to her final question, knowing full well that the answer was yes, but not wanting to admit that to a girl in Little Miss Naughty pyjamas.

"You can say it… because I enjoyed it too. And," she added as she cuddled closer to me, "I didn't feel lonely either – I had the best nights sleep I've had since mum died." She smiled a cheeky grin that threatened to melt my heart all over again, "We should do it again sometime."

I leant over and kissed her then, but it was an empty gesture – it was just the only way I could think of to avoid having to tell her that we would never do it again.

It was a one night stand.

It could never have been anything more.