Kellie finished dinner, still feeling slightly disorientated. She considered calling her girlfriends and telling them she didn't feel up to clubbing, but pulled herself together. You're getting old, Kellie, she thought. Had it really been sixteen years since she graduated from high school - thirteen since she left law school as a fresh-faced thirty-year-old? Of course, women moved up the totem pole slower; it was only natural, but it still felt like yesterday she'd been a young thing like - what was her name? Holly. Yes. That was the babysitter's name.
Kellie appraised her reflection as she got ready to go out. At 43 she was still a good-looking woman; a few crow's feet around her eyes, but nothing any young-ish professional woman of her age wouldn't have. She selected a moisturising cream from the wide range on the counter - and rubbed it in, blinking and peering at the results. It was so unfair, she thought, that women took so long to get to maturity, and when they did only had a narrow window of opportunity to find a man before they got too old. She was glad she had Katie, but her father had been a mistake, and a 43-year-old woman with a child would naturally find the dating scene harder than a thirty-something co-ed, footloose and fancy-free. At least her figure was still good, Kellie thought, vamping in front of the mirror in her bathrobe. She had the biggest boobs of her circle of friends; that's got to count for something, right?
The bell rang. Kellie froze mid-pout, then sprang downstairs, hair still in a towel. "Just coming!", she shouted.
"Someone's a' the door, mummy!" called Katie, kicking her heels on the edge of the sofa. The 12-year-old protagonist of her TV show was learning about different animals with a comedy pirate.
Kellie opened the door. Holly was there, dressed modestly in a white shirt and jeans, with her schoolbooks tucked under her arm.
"Hi Holly," Kellie said, still feeling oddly like she had never met the babysitter before, though she must have if she had planned to go out for the night. Was this a premonition - should she really trust her with Katie? She noticed Holly was wearing makeup. "Planning to hit the books?"
"Yes, Mrs. Robertson. I have to hand in a big paper next week." She looked vaguely confused too.
"Well, OK," Kellie said. "You know - er - where everything is," - the babysitter nodded, without conviction, "and Katie has to be in bed by 7.30pm sharp, OK?" As she said it, it struck her as impossibly draconian, but she re-assured herself; Katie was just a little girl and needed her sleep.
A car outside tooted its horn.
"That'll be my ride, and I'm still not dressed!" shouted Kellie, charging upstairs.
Holly closed the front door and peered into the sitting room. Katie was still absorbed in her programme. Cute girl, but at 8 probably a bit young to be left with a babysitter. When I have a kid of my own, Holly thought, I'll wait until she starts school before I go back to work.
"Hello Katie!", said Holly. "You won't give me a hard time tonight, will you?"
Katie didn't seem to understand what Holly meant but shook her head anyway. Holly came in and sat down beside Katie; then thought better of it and decamped to the kitchen table, which still offered a view of her charge but with significantly less possibility for distraction from the TV.
Kellie re-emerged in a black top that showed off her considerable assets - the way they jiggled as she came downstairs suggested she wasn't wearing a bra - and a skirt that, while not indecently short showed a good amount of leg. She was, Holly thought, quite blatantly on the pull.
The car outside honked its horn again and Kellie grabbed her handbag.
"Erm, Mrs. Robertson, about my fee?" Kellie had a strong feeling she wouldn't be seeing her until much later.
"Oh - of course," said Kellie, rooting through her bag. "Here's a check for, er, made out to..." she trailed off, suddenly struck by the alarming thought she didn't know the babysitter's last name. 'Jackson' flashed briefly into her mind, and she dashed off the name with the miniature pen clipped to her checkbook.
"Just, er, fill in what you think sounds right. Have a great night - bye!" The door closed.
Holly Jackson, who moments ago had been Holly Bainbury, was left holding a literal blank check in a house which seemed oddly unfamiliar.