"When you're free some night...when it's a quiet night...you fancy supper?"

I really wanted to see Terry away from the confines of the pub but I wasn't sure how to go about it without giving him - or anyone else for that matter- the wrong idea. So I had been wracking my brains for a few days trying to work out how to do it. I thought we needed to talk. Not about anything special, but just talk together, without anyone else listening in. There is a limit to the depth of conversation when you're pulling pints behind a bar full of men all hanging around and making inane comments.

But the answer came to me. The Rugby. The Tri-Nations Rugby League competition was hotting up and England were meeting Oz in the rematch. Perfect. An opportunity without any need for the word 'date' to raise its ugly head. So I went for it.

"What I was thinking was...lay you odds that we beat you in the rematch. The one who loses cooks supper..." I suggested. Terry raised one eyebrow. He's such a clever dick that he can probably see through brick walls, never mind a rather obvious little schemer like me. So I ran on. "...I can't risk cash, you see. I'm a bit short this month after last weekend's gambling fiasco..."

He was onto that straight away. "You're a bit short this month? It's November 2nd..." He bloody makes you work for everything.

"So I live beyond my means...so sue me...you up for this bet or what?" I replied tartly and slammed his pint down messily. "Or are you just gonna start lecturing me on managing my finances sensibly?"

He grinned at that and wiped his hand where the beer had splashed on a bar towel.

"You're on... except you can't bloody cook so I either lose or I lose..." he answered smugly. 

I was not letting him away with that. "You can't bloody cook either...so we're both gonna luck out...Except you'll order out and do something fancy...you smarmy bugger..."

"And you'll open a tin of baked beans, masterchef...which, fortunately, I'm very partial to... Let's shake on it? To the winner the spoils, hey...? Or possibly indigestion...

Ever thought of using a recipe book?" He was on a roll now. ".. I believe there are some great online ideas these days....or would that spoil your reputation as the world's worst homemaker?"

Gauntlet thrown, Terry. Watch out. Pride comes before a fall.

Which is why I was eagerly anticipating the outcome of the match, which was going to work for me either way - and I was not above getting as much mileage out of the situation with him either.

Match day

"Oi!!! Tez? Don't you forget the bet...It's High Noon, mate. Remember...Your place or mine? I feel luckyyyy..."

Terry had just walked into the bar and settled smoothly on a high stool, eyes sparkling at me in that way guaranteed to make any human woman's womb do back flips. "I'd better get some indigestion tablets before the kick off then...anyone know a good pharmacy near here, lads?"

Jeff shouted across that he should know - he used more rubber than Good Year Tyres. Terry gave him his sour lemon face and ignored the comment that had got most of the young men leaning on the bar laughing at the big guy's expense. Something they, of course, all loved to do.

"Either way. I never forget a bet. Rarely lose one either, love. Although this time I lose whatever happens...

Victory is sweet. Roma victor. 24-12 to England. "Oh, Ter-rence....!"

Monday night. 7.30. Apartment of one T. Thorne.

He opened the door and stepped back, surveying me with his head tilted to one side. "Well, if it isn't the high roller herself. Nevada trembles at the mention of your name, Uma..." I pulled out my tongue and waltzed in plonking some plonk into his hands. He took my coat, grinned and kissed me affectionately.

"Someone's in a good mood," I answered. "Considering his team was just annihilated. By England - and France." I referred, of course, to the other major international this weekend - Rugby Union in Paris where Oz was creamed 27- 14. But he could take that Gallic reference anyway he chose.

"I've declared an Entente Cordiale these days, love. As you know..."

I gave him the eye. "That why you're in such a good mood tonight? Feeling all laid back and loved up?" I teased.

Terry waved a finger at me as if I was a naughty girl. "Ladies never ask gentlemen personal questions. But then perhaps I'm mistaken...do we have any ladies present?" He looked about him. I thumped his arm.

"Can't see many gentlemen either. Stop showing off about your over-active love life. Some of us are on a diet..."

He led me into his beautiful lounge that, despite its tendency to minimalism, is also rather eclectic and faultlessly chic, if you discount the Oz flag that was flying at halfmast. He is such an idiot at times!

I settled down with a Cosmopolitan and snorted at his added comment. "The Cranberry juice is good for what ails you..." Can you imagine any other man but Terry Thorne getting away with a cystitis joke?

But it wasn't all smart talk. We both eased back then and the conversation started to flow freely. Aided by a few top ups to my cocktail and his couple of beers, naturally. He looked good. Even better than usual. He'd dressed casually - just a pair of worn black jeans and a grey T-shirt, V-necked. His feet were bare and he was slightly stubbly, probably hadn't shaved since the morning. They should lock men who look like him up.

I had taken hours to decide what to wear, as you always do when you want to look like you just threw something on. I doubt men do that. They just throw something on. Finally I had settled for a pair of white jeans and a filmy blouse with a black bra underneath. I'm a woman. The fact that I do have breasts needs to be advertised. Especially in my case. I kicked off my sandals and stuck my bare feet up on his elegant mahogany coffee table. He was sitting across from me, sprawled out on the facing couch. It felt relaxed. Natural. Nothing at all like a date when you are wondering when 'the move' is going to be made and what you ought to do when it does. I rather like these non-dates...

"I'd better go check on dinner," he said after awhile. I watched him walk out and disappear into the kitchen. Whilst he was gone I wandered around looking at some of his things: unusual artifacts, some native art, others more expensive rare pieces, no doubt gathered on his many and varied travels. On a book shelf filled with a wide range of eclectic literature, was a photograph of his son. I realised it was a still from his film and wondered where it had come from. Imagine that, hey? Was that all he had left of his child now? The thought brought a lump to my throat.

"Dinner is served!" His deep voice brought me back and I gently replaced the photograph. Terry observed me but didn't comment. I was relieved. In the dining room with its glass table and elegant setting, the plates were set out under domed silver covers. Terry helped me to sit down and then like a waiter in a classy restaurant, with a white cloth stuck in his waistband apron-style, he raised both lids at the same time with an "Et voilà!" I laughed in delight at the meal beneath.

Shepherd's Pie. 

"All my own work..." he announced with a pleased-with-himself grin.

"I LOVE Shepherd's Pie!" I screeched. "Comfort food!"

Terry pulled a face. "My talents are limited but I can mash potatoes. Back to my army days this...eat up...there's plenty more in the kitchen if you want it. And you need feeding up. Are you planning on disappearing sideways on?"

I shrugged. It has been one of those times recently. If I'm under stress, I always lose weight. I just can't eat. But tonight I felt like pigging out. "I was looking forward to beans on toast actually..." I complained.

"Well, so was I," Terry replied with a smarmy grin but Heather tells me you suffer from flatulence something shocking..." I threw my napkin over at him and we both giggled. "To go with this fine dish, I thought a bottle of Burgundy..." He poured a few glasses of wine from a bottle that probably cost more than my weekly food budget. I noticed it wasn't the one I had brought.

It was a great meal. We both had second helpings and then he brought out this chocolate fudge cake and served it with ice cream AND fresh cream. Totally sinful. I was surprised what a sweet tooth he has. Finally we finished with strong coffee and a shot of good cognac. It was a mellow evening indeed. The CD played Diana Krall softly in the background and we just sat amidst the remains of the meal and talked about everything under the sun.

As friends do.

I excused myself to go to the bathroom and slipped into the chic little guest loo with its glass wash bowl and masculine accents. I could tell that he had designed this himself and that it wasn't just some interior decorator's theme. There is a sort of feminine masculine side in his makeup that fascinates me. He is interested in style and décor and loves to hear women talk about women's things - it is an aspect of him that never seems to be at odds with his dominating virility. What a man he is, so secure in himself in one way and then curiously fragile in another.

I took a look in the mirror and smiled at my reflection. Not bad. I posed a few expressions, sensuous, lively, seductive, goofy...and laughed. Naw...not with Terry. Just me. He'd see though anything else at the drop of a hat.

When I came out, he was in the kitchen clearing away. I drifted in. "Hey...let me help..." I shouted.

"I lost the bet. Washing up is part of it..."

I giggled. "Go on...budge up...let me rinse and you load the dishwasher...you are so bloody anal, aren't you? Everything is so neat and tidy. I'd go bloody nuts living here. Imagine how I would drive you mental...Heather nearly kills me and she's not exactly Miss Domestic Goddess either...Dino likens our place to a pigsty although he thinks that could be a bit hard on pigs..."

Terry smiled as I chattered on and we cleared up together. Then with the remainder of the coffee and our brandy we floated back to the lounge; he put on some jazz and we talked some more.

"So...that's Hando and Scarlet, Bud and Marie, Jack and Angel, Biebe and Clarity Cassie and Lach, East and Wildie, Egan and Tulip, Arthur and Angharad...all the lovers. Then there are the off and ons...Max and Eris....Bou and Cort, Esme and her vibrator - more on than off there...the new girls and Ross and Col...Carol and Zack and the strange thing going on with SID...now, who have we left out? Let me see...well, there's my old mate Red and his girl, Heather..."

I rolled my eyes. "No chance. We are off limits. I don't kiss and tell..." I began.

He snorted. "That's only 'cos you're on the wagon these days...come on...you've got to have your eyes on someone....Truth of Dare...bet you, you won't have the guts..."

I eyed him up. Truth or Dare with Terry Thorne? Now I know I must be completely stark staring mad....

"Me first." I demanded. He bowed in mock courtesy. "Truth or Dare?" He smirked at me knowingly. There was no way he was prepared to say truth. He knew exactly what I would ask him about.

"Dare," he answered with a cocky swagger.

"Woo hoo...someone's brave tonight...!" I teased. I looked about me and then got it. "OK...go on the balcony. And take a piss off it."

He rolled his eyes. "This is a good neighbourhood, Ums..."

"Exactly... Chicken? Cluck, cluck, cluck..." Terry stood up and walked to the glass door, opening it back and stepping out into the November night. "Brrrr..." he shivered hammily.

I stood up to follow him; but he turned and waved a finger at me. "Oh no...you didn't say you could watch. Avert your eyes, love..."

I complained noisily. "How will I know you did it then?"

"Listen..."he answered smartly. And he turned his back. I heard the metal of his zipper and then the tinkle of water as he apparently watered the plants before high arcing over the balustrade into the night. Fair play...he'd won that one.

Jesus....what do I get now?

Terry zipped up and turned back, shuddering in that way men have when they've enjoyed a leak. "That was good...now...let's sit back and see what lies in store for you, shall we...?" his eyes glinted wickedly and I was already regretting my decision to engage with the master. I got this mental picture of myself sitting there naked. There was no way I was going to do a dare with Thornie.

"Truth or Dare, love?" He announced. I bit my lip and went for it.

"Truth..."

He raised his eyebrows as if he were surprised. I held my breath. What the shit would he come up with?

"OK...here's the deal...I want the truth...the whole unexpurgated truth....about you and..." He appeared to be searching for a name but I knew he was just putting it on. He knew exactly what pressure point to go for "...Maximus... And don't lie. Because I know enough already to tell if you're faking it..."

Jesus Christ! Who had fucking spilled? Jeff? Possibly, after a few beers too many. Heather? Pillow talk that had crossed the male frontier later? Surely Dino wouldn't? He might... There was no way I was about to discuss that disaster with any living soul. Mate or otherwise.

"I changed my mind. Dare" I countered.

"You can't," he shook his head and lit up a cigarette.

I dragged it from him and took a drag."Who says? You didn't say I couldn't..."

Terry raised his hands in defeat. "OK. Stop whining. Dare then... Are you sure you're quite ready for this?" I handed back the fag and rubbed my hands together as if in anticipation. "Bring it on, mate..." I said as if I didn't give a shit. In fact I was groaning inside at my stupidity.

"You have been warned, love. Right-ee-o...come out onto my balcony..."

I snorted. "A bit old that. Now I have to piss off it? You'll have to hold me so I won't fall..." I acted like peeing in front of a bloke was a daily occurrence.

"I haven't finished yet," he smiled in scarce concealed glee, leading me out into the blustery chill. "See that apartment opposite? The one with the statue on the balcony? Fifth floor....corner apartment, facing east...." I followed his arm until I could see where he meant. "I'll give you ten minutes to get onto that balcony and wave over..."

"What? How am I going to do that?" I exclaimed in horror..

"Talk your way in. Think something up. Thought you were the one with all the ideas...On the other hand, if you would rather back down, I don't mind winning..."

I looked at him. The bastard! But he was not having this one. "OK...start your clock...." I grabbed my coat and ran for the elevator all the while trying to think of what I might say to the poor unsuspecting tenant in the other block. "Excuse me, sir, I have just been sent to test the safety of your balcony rail to see if it adheres to BST regulation 237/2a..." At 10-15 on a Monday night? Come on, Uma, THINK!!

Out of his block and then dashing across the road, almost mown down by a speeding car, through the glass doors, skittering up to the elevator...fifth floor...jumped up and down trying to work out which was which - I am shit at directions. Then I took a chance. Rang a door bell. A rather attractive woman opened it warily. "Yeah?"

"You got a statue on your balcony?"

"No...that's Mick's place...across the hall...."

"Thanks!" I shouted as I charged to his flat and hit the buzzer.

There was a pause and then the door was opened by a thickset guy with black hair and clear blue eyes. He was rather cute, dressed in sweats and a basketball shirt. Rather hairy. Yum...

"Yeah?" he said unpromisingly. Am I losing it?

"Er...." My mind went blank for a moment and then the verbal diarrhea took over. "My parrot escaped... and it's on your balcony...It's very rare.....an Ethopian jade many crested parrakeet..."

"Do they have parrots in Ethiopia?" 'Mick' asked in surprise.

I didn't blink an eye. "I told you it was very rare," I countered blithely. Mick shrugged and stepped back. I ran through, nodding at the two other men who were sitting in the lounge drinking and obviously in the middle of a card game. Sliding back the balcony door, I ran out and waved. Terry was standing there across the void, grinning widely. Mission accomplished.

Feeling pretty smug, I stepped back into the room. "Thanks, mate..."

"Your parrot?"

"...Must have flown off...well, never mind..." I replied, eager to get out and suddenly feeling a bit uneasy with three strange men in an apartment. "I'll be off then...thanks..."

"Not so fast, love...Sit down...have a drink...join the party, why don't you....?"

Oh bugger, I thought. They're probably perverts who think this is like a scene from their favourite porn film. Pretty girl knocks on your door and asks for her parrot. Then happily strips off and gets it on with the 3 studs....Actually I think I've seen that one...or was it the jacket cover for the DVD in the Lost and Found Box back at the pub?

"Er...I'd love to...but I have to dash...I've a plane to catch..." Well, I was flustered. You can't expect me to be clever as well, can you?

"I don't think so, sweetheart. Sit down. Have a drink. Let's have some fun..." Mick leered.

I jigged about, trying to back towards the door and escape. "No....if you don't mind....I'd like to take a rain check on that....please?"

I was trying all the while to send mental signals to Terry to come over and rescue me, imagining him kicking in the door and decking them all before sweeping me up and carrying me to safety. How long would it take him to work out all was not well? Then I got an idea. I pretended to sit down near the window and asked for a beer to put them off guard. While 'Mick' went to fetch one and the other two cretins ogled me, I waited for a chance - then I ran back onto the balcony shouting..."TERRY! HELP!!!" dramatically.

 But he wasn't there. His window was closed and the lights in his apartment were off.

"Who's this Terry, then?" Mick was standing in the doorway of the balcony holding a glass of beer watching me make a tit of myself.

"Er....Nobody...I just made it up..." I mumbled.

"Like everything else, hey, love? Or perhaps not. Wouldn't happen to be Terry Thorne, hey? The bloke you've been stalking for months?"

My mouth fell open. "What?"

"Maybe I should introduce myself. Chief Inspector Michael Bailey, CID. I think we need to talk. The squad car's on its way, darlin'..."

"WHAT?" I just stared from one to the other in shock. But this Bailey bloke produced his warrant card. He was kosher. Bloody hell. Thorne - you total bastard! What had he said? I'll bet he called this guy while I was on my way over...the bastard...! I shall kill him for this. Painfully. Over and over again...

But I had to laugh. No one does it like Terry.

No one.

Just then the doorbell rang, Mick went to open it  and Terry sauntered in. Well, what do you know? They were all mates.

 "Hiya, Mick...Steve....that you, Karl? Got the madwoman under control?" he grinned.

I just glowered malevolently.

 "Here she is, Terry, me old mate," Mick answered. "Wouldn't mind her stalking me, though..."

"I am not stalking him!" I shouted. " He told me to come over. It was a dare. He is just...just... evil!!" I blustered.

The three men laughed and Terry looked smug. "Darlin', you've got balls bigger than his if you take him on....Sorry about the joke though. No squad car on its way. No charge. I was just helping out a mate." Mick rubbed his hands together  and passed around the beers. "But if you still want that drink....? I owe you an apology, sweetheart..." Actually Mick is a really nice bloke. We're having dinner next week. Terry will probably arrange for the dessert blow up in our faces or something...

We finally said our good nights to the three blokes who were still laughing and obviously regarded Terry as the 'bloody good bloke to end all bloody good blokes'. Sort of laddish version of canonization, you know?

Strolling back over to his place, Terry did have the decency to apologise. He said only a girl like me could have done it. I was a bloody good sport and he wasn't laughing at me. He said he was laughing with me. And then he thanked me for being the best bloke he knew. And the best looking one too.

We went back up to his apartment for a night cap and the evening began to wind down in harmony and friendship.

 "Better call a taxi, Terry...it's late..."

"I'll drive you home..."he offered.

"You've been drinking. I'll get a cab. No worries."

He didn't like the idea but gave in and called for a cab when I insisted. Together we went downstairs to wait for it in the foyer of his building. 

"Thanks, Terry. It was a great meal and a really fun evening. Must do it again sometime...my shout?"

"Next time you lose a bet, hey?" he grinned.

I nodded. "But now...you go upstairs and call your girlfriend, okay...? Make sure she knows I've gone, hey?"

"....What...?" he asked with a laugh.

"Get real, Terry. If I was her, I'd have killed you. Do it...!" I warned him. He shrugged and rolled his eyes.

The taxi rolled to a halt and Terry opened the rear door, helping me inside. Then he looked at the driver. "Straight home. And I've got your number, mate, okay? Understand?"

Typical Terry. Scary as fuck when he wants to be. The driver raised his hand in surrender. "Got it, boss..." and we moved off. I turned back and watched him wave in farewell. I waved back.

"He the possessive type, love?" the driver asked watching me in the mirror.

"Who?" I asked absentmindedly, still staring at Terry as he turned to walk back into his building.

"...Yer boyfriend..." he indicated Terry back there.

I lay back on the leather seat and smiled to myself contentedly. "He's not my boyfriend..." I answered with a grin.

"No? Who is he then?" the driver asked jauntily.

I drew a breath, a feeling of peace washing over me. He was happy and settled at last. I was looking forward to the future. There had to be something interesting out their waiting for me. Everything was right in the world.

 "My big brother..."