" With the girl he spoke to me about?" Evan asked. He picked up a picture from the side table and stared at the face of his son. The boy in the picture was in his early teens, so the picture was a few years old. A flash of anger caused his jaw to clench."That was a shitty thing you did to me!" he said."I know," Camille admitted with a sigh."How in the world could you do it?" Evan asked."Probably easier than you think," Camille answered. She had known for years that the question would come up sooner or later. She always imagined it would be Andy's accusation and not Evan's."That's bollocks," Evan said. He took great care to keep his voice level. He didn't want to get into a screaming match with Camille. He knew how that would end – with him leaving again without resolving a single thing."I made my choice, Evan," Camille said. "I turned down your proposal. If I had contacted you and told you about Andy was on the way, how would that have looked?" I don't give a great bloody damn about. “Fucking hell Mum what you doing?” I slurred as she pushed me inside, making me slam against the stairs.“Get in there and shush your gob,” she slurred.I noticed the bottle of vodka was half empty, as she closed the door behind, tutting at my wonky drunken stagger entering the kitchen and I thought ‘she need fucking talk.’“I want to talk to you,” she said, leaning against the table. “It’s about Den and our Shar.”I groaned. I wanted to piss and sleep, hopefully in that order and here she was chatting about her family. My mother has three sisters, two younger than her and Sharon was the oldest aged about fifty-two I think. She’s married to Den, a lazy, gambling drunk. They lived in London. Whenever they came to stay with us, she and him occupied my room and I slept on the sofa in the front room, because my sisters had their twin beds in the other room. It was almost six months since I had last seen Aunty Sharon and as Mum carried on talking, my brain was tuned into her big tits...I sat.
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