Page 57 of An Unholy Affair
Jack replaced the cup and resealed the box. Why did his parents evenhavekids? Were they just doing what was expected of them? He looked around the attic space as if it were an Escape Room, holding clues as to why his childhood had been the way it was. Maybe if he could work that out, he would finally be free.
‘I found this.’Jack held a shoebox out to his mother. ‘It’s got old photos inside.’
Patricia was sitting in bed again, staring at the television.
‘Do you want to look through them?’ he continued.
‘Why has CBeebies stopped? Don’t these channels run twenty-four-seven?’
CBeebies?Jack bit his tongue. ‘I think it’s because it’s past seven, and pre-schoolers are usually asleep by then.’
‘Oh.’ His mother lifted the remote and changed the channel.
‘Do you want to go through any of these photos?’
Shaking her head, she continued to channel-hop.
He gazed at the box in his hand. Should he bury it? Burn it?
‘Okay,’ he said. ‘I’ll be downstairs if you need me.’
She nodded, but didn’t look up.
Downstairs,Jack put the box on the kitchen table and went to find a drink. When he’d arrived the previous week, he’d discovered two bottles of wine and half a litre of whisky in a cupboard.
They hadn’t lasted long.
He’d planned to stock up with booze that afternoon, but after meeting Isaac, he’d gone straight home.
After a thorough search, Jack finally found a bottle of sloe gin under the stairs that had been an unwanted gift his parents received when he was still a kid. He took it to the kitchen and poured a slug into a water glass.
Knocking it back, the burn was soothing. He’d already flicked through the photos when he’d been up in the loft so knew they were of his father, taken before he’d married his mother. But now he had to go through them again, and work out which ones they would use to celebrate his dad’s life at the funeral.
Jack put the bottle of gin to his lips. There seemed little point in using a glass right now.
* * *
Eveline openedthe front door of the rectory the following morning, and a prickle of panic ran across her skin. Jack may have been smiling, but it was a poor mask for the emptiness she saw underneath. A faint smell of alcohol hung about him, and her unease grew.
‘Morning!’ she said with forced cheeriness. ‘I was just about to feed Pinky and Perky. Want to join me?’
He raised an eyebrow. ‘That’swhat you called your pigs?’
‘These ones, yes. The last two were Priscilla and Hamlet.’
His smile strengthened into something that looked real, sending a surge of pleasure straight to her heart.
He held out a shoebox. ‘I found this in the attic. Photos of my dad from years ago. I’ve flicked through them but can’t face a closer look. Would you mind helping in a bit?’
‘Not at all. It would be my pleasure. Come in.’
‘How’s the arm?’
‘Oh, fine. I’ve only got the sling and bandages on to please the doctor. It should be off by next week.’
Jack followed her through the house, and Eveline passed him a pair of wellies. ‘These should fit.’
He gazed at them. ‘Whose are these?’
