The Family Man: An edge-of-your-seat read that you won’t be able to put down. T.J. Lebbon

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      Later that evening the Ship was full, customers spilling across the gardens and down onto the riverbank. Dom was enjoying the familiar post-exercise glow, a tiredness that felt earned, knowing that his aching muscles the next day would soon fade away. Three pints in, his potential aching head was another matter.

      ‘Another?’ Andy asked.

      ‘You’re driving home. You’re already over the limit.’

      ‘I’ll drink lemonade. Doesn’t mean you can’t have another pint of dirty.’ The Ship served a local scrumpy that they’d nicknamed dirty, an acquired taste but seemingly brewed especially for scorching summer evenings like this. After a bike ride. With canoes on the river and half the village sprawled around the pub.

      Dom held out his glass. ‘Hit me, baby, one more time.’

      Andy headed for the pub, leaving Dom sitting on the grassy riverbank staring at the water moving lazily by. He knew plenty of people here to chat to, but he was enjoying this moment of peace and calm reflection.

      He’d always considered himself blessed. He and Emma made a good team. Their daughter, Daisy, was almost eleven years old, bright and fun, growing towards her teens with grace and intelligence. Some of their other friends were having trouble with their teenaged kids, ranging from strops and long bouts of sulky we-know-better moods, to full on boozing, and in one case being hooked up with a guy ten years their senior. At twenty that wasn’t so bad. At fifteen it was an issue.

      But Dom did not fear Daisy growing up. She already seemed to have her head screwed on right, and had a great sense of humour that he put down to her confidence amongst adults. Sometimes he looked at her and loved her so much it ached.

      He blinked and smiled softly. Booze getting to his head. He’d changed a lot upon becoming a father. Softened up, so Emma said, and when he found himself sobbing watching certain programmes on TV, he couldn’t argue. But as well as softening up, becoming a father had rounded him out. Occasionally Andy’s shenanigans sounded attractive – the women, the bachelor pad, the impulsive trips abroad to climb some mountain, or kayak along a bloody river somewhere – but he couldn’t imagine being without his family.

      He and Emma had their troubled moments, but what married couple didn’t? They were comfortable, at least to the extent that they didn’t really worry about the day-to-day things. More money would always be nice. Working less would be good, too, both for him and Emma. He didn’t want to be grafting like this into his late fifties and sixties, that was for sure. But overall they were blessed.

      So he wondered just how that seed planted by Andy had taken root.

      Every time he blinked, he saw the postmistress standing outside her shop, leaning back and laughing at the sky.

      ‘Here you go, pisshead.’ Andy handed him a pint and sat next to him. He had a pint of lemonade and a couple of bags of nuts. ‘They never should have banned swimming in the river.’

      ‘It was dangerous. Young Sammy Parks almost drowned.’

      ‘Yeah, and spoiled my view.’

      ‘Not all women in bikinis are parading for your delectation.’

      Andy stared at him hard. ‘Of course they are.’

      They laughed. Drank. Two friends with an easy, undemanding friendship. Andy got on well with Daisy and Emma. He flirted with Dom’s wife, but he’d flirt with an oak tree if it wore a skirt. Or probably more so if it didn’t. Harmless fun, friendly banter.

      Andy was the impulsive one. The dangerous one, Emma had said more than once, which Dom didn’t try to take as her saying he should be more impulsive or dangerous.

      ‘That post office,’ Dom said.

      ‘Yeah.’ Andy turned suddenly serious, speaking quieter and looking around. Kids played and laughed, music rode the steamy evening air from somewhere. No one was paying them any attention. ‘We should do it.’

      ‘Huh?’

      ‘As you said, no one would suspect us.’ Andy swigged his lemonade. He’d had three pints of cider beforehand, but Dom had rarely seen him drunk. Alcohol didn’t seem to affect his friend’s opinions or judgement. It barely seemed to touch him at all.

      ‘Yeah,’ he agreed. ‘Me, an electrician. Primary school governor. I’ve СКАЧАТЬ