Just passing
Zoe cracks the curtain in the bay window and watches as he bounces from one foot to another in the cold.
Tap, tap, tap, he goes at the letterbox. But she shouldn’t even let him in. He’s trouble.
He throws his arms out and shouts through the glass: “Sweetheart, please.”
When she opens the door, he hits her with his big smile and says: “Bloody hell, you’re making me feel like a Jehovah’s Witness.”
“Dad? What are you doing here?” But he doesn’t answer, just heads on through to the living room, bringing a waft of cold and Lynx. He even smells like a womaniser.
He always sweeps in over-attentive, like the best dad in the world, only to disappear when he’s got what he wanted
“Dad?” she tries again as he flops down on the armchair.
“Freezing out,” he rubs his
