“Ah, Jack, once she gets where she wants to be, she’ll not want to leave to do parenting.”

“She might not be the one who leaves.”

Jack realized that he’d said this almost without thinking. He wasn’t even sure where the thought had come from—him being the one to give up work and look after kids—but, once he’d said it, he really didn’t mind how it sounded.

“Mags skips to work—I don’t. It’s my fault. I need to focus and get into the swing of things in London. Don’t tell Mum right now, she’ll only worry and, in all honesty, there’s nothing to worry about. Me and Mags are strong. It doesn’t matter who does what, as long as we’re together.”

Charlie took an age to get his key in the front door, partly because he was pissed and partly because it was 11:30 and he was tired from all the meds he was currently taking. They sniggered like naughty schoolkids, thinking they were being completely silent when, in fact, they were making a terrible racket.

Two cling-filmed plates of food sat on the kitchen top, already pierced and ready for the microwave. The kitchen table was set, complete with two glasses for water and two glasses for whisky. Charlie heated the food and Jack filled all four glasses. While the microwave was on, Charlie said, “I’ve got something for you, lad,” before disappearing. By the time he came back, the piping hot food was on the table.

Charlie put a dog-eared file down in front of Jack. At first he thought it was probably filled with the legal stuff that would have to be dealt with after Charlie had gone; but this file was as old as Jack, by the looks of it. He opened it up and, inside were several yellowing pieces of paper and tons of old photos. Charlie ate in silence as his son slowly took in the enormity of what he was looking at—a birth certificate, adoption papers, photos of a young woman holding a baby. Jack slammed the file shut. Charlie spoke before Jack could.

“You’re my son. You took my name, you have my mannerisms and I’d swear that you’ve got my nose, even though that’s impossible.”

“I’m not interested,” Jack snapped, before stuffing his mouth full of chicken.

Charlie laughed for a second. “And when you sulk, I’d swear on my life that you’ve got your mum’s frown.” He suddenly seemed to sober up. “You’ve never asked where you’re from, Jack, and you don’t have to ask now. Just know that you’re not disrespecting me or your mum if you choose to find out.”

“Why would I want to, Dad? I don’t need . . . You think I’d want to call someone else ‘Dad’? You think I want anyone else calling me his lad?”

“People come and go, that’s life—and we make the most of them while they’re here. If you want to look into your past, all I’m saying is . . . you have my blessing.”