‘I’ll try not to, promise. I know you’re desperate to be a granny.’ Jazz hugged her mother, who rolled her eyes.

‘Hardly, not with that big baby I have asleep in the other room. This is about you.’

Jazz nodded. ‘Anyway, Mum, I’ll pop in on my way back and say goodbye.’

Chapter Twelve

David had woken up on Sunday morning still on the sofa, where he’d fallen asleep the night before. He groaned as he remembered the incident in Foltesham High Street yesterday.

He lay there, studying the cracks in the yellowing ceiling, berating himself for letting himself slip down the slope again.

He slid off the sofa and stumbled to the loo, whereupon he vomited the contents of his stomach into the pan.

He went to the cupboard in the kitchen and switched on the immersion heater. He needed a hot bath, a thorough shave and some decent food in his belly.

If that Julian arsehole was going to be a fixture in Angie’s life, then he had no choice but to smarten up his act. He’d half expected the police to turn up on his doorstep last night and arrest him on some kind of trumped-up verbal abuse charge. As for Rory, if Julian was going to be his eventual stepfather, Jesus, David would have to mind his Ps and Qs or he could just imagine his visitation rights going smartly west.

He had to get his act together. For the sake of his son, if not himself.

Starting from now.

After a long bath, and running through the positive thought mantra that AA had taught him, David felt a little better. There was no doubt he needed to get out of this depressing dump of a house as soon as he could. A well-balanced person would suffer depression living here. And he had enough money to be able to rent something a lot better. He just hadn’t got round to it yet.

He looked through the cupboards for something to eat and, finding nothing, drove off to the local Spar to buy some supplies.

An hour later, he was just about to tuck in to a hearty fry-up when there was a gentle knock on the front door. Terrified it might be the police, he peered through the kitchen window.

Another timid knock. Heart beating, David walked towards the front door. Gingerly, he opened the letter box and peered out. A pair of eyes stared back at him, making him jump.

‘Rory! My God, you scared me to death!’ David opened the door, and his son, dressed in pyjama bottoms, school jumper and trainers, fell into his arms.

‘Dad, oh Dad!’ Rory sobbed into his father’s chest.

David stroked his son’s tousled hair as he cried. ‘Come on, old chap, it can’t be that bad.’

‘But it is! It is!’

David managed to steer Rory onto the sofa, then sat next to him with his arms around his thin shoulders. ‘Is it Julian?’

Rory looked up at him questioningly. ‘Who?’