The One

Damn it, I wasn't even a better lover than a fighter.

His handsome face didn't look as pretty any more, his blood splattered lips twisted into a hideous scowl. He was taller, heavier and had a longer reach than me, but I had taken a few punches in the last month or so and was prepared to give as good as I got. I considered my beating would be cathartic. He held his fists up too, comfortably, moving his feet well as he circled me, our eyes focussed warily on each other. Damn, he was probably coached at public school and may have regularly kept up practicing since.

"Roger!" the shout came from nowhere and took his attention away from me just for a moment. He looked to his right, then a flash of silver hit him hard in the face. This time he went down for the count. Natalie knelt sobbing by her prone lover.

I turned to face Lesley. She held up my mangled laptop.

"Sorry, I'm right-handed," she said, by way of apology.

"Nothing that can't be replaced." I shrugged as I relieved her of the wreckage.

"I'll call my next appointment and reschedule for the morning." She hauled out her phone from her bag. "I expect your Mum still serves up fish fingers and alphabet spaghetti for the kid's tea?"

"Almost every time," I said, "Perfect comfort food."

"I haven't had a fish finger sarnie with ketchup for years. Does she... you think... keep a large stock in the fridge?"

"There's an Iceland store on the way to the multi-storey. We'll stock up. Better safe than sorry."

"Great." She found the entry she sought in her phone directory and launched the number.

"Don't make that appointment too early in the morning," I said.

"Mr Jones? Lesley... Look, something unexpected's come up, so sorry... Same time tomorrow afternoon?... Great. See you then... Bye!"

She put the phone away and looked at me with those soft grey-blue eyes again.

"Introductions are in order, I think," she said. "Meet Hubby, otherwise known as Roger, my husband, soon to be ex-husband. Roger? Oh, he's still out for the count. Perhaps, Alan, you can recommend a good solicitor?"

"I have her card on me somewhere," I said. "I look it out for you later."

"Thanks," she smiled.

"So, he wasn't 'the one', then?" I ventured as I held out the crook of my arm for her. "Still looking?"

"He wasn't 'the one'. Not for a millisecond, never in a million years. I settled, Alan," she said as she tucked her slim elegant arm in mine and we moved purposefully towards the exit. I took out ten, changed my mind and made it fifteen, and handed it to the hovering open-mouthed Rosamund.

"Am I still looking?" Lesley continued, "I've never stopped... for twenty years I've tried to find 'the one'... again."

The end.