After the Storm

G. D. WRIGHT

AFTER

THE

STORM

Published by AVON

A Division of HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd

1 London Bridge Street

London SE1 9GF

Copyright © Gary Wright 2024

Cover design by Holly Macdonald/HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd

Gary Wright asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

A catalogue copy of this book is available from the British Library.

This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this ebook on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.

Source ISBN: 9780008702403

Ebook Edition © August 2024 ISBN: 9780008702410

Version: 2024-07-03

Praise for After the Storm

‘Tense and emotional…A dark beating heart of a novel. A murder mystery but also an examination of the pressures of the police and justice system: those who come up against it, but, more importantly, those who work in it and bear the consequences of that trauma…’

GILLIAN McALLISTER

‘A beautifully written, emotional thriller about

loss and consequences. So compelling and tightly

plotted I couldn’t put it down.’

CLAIRE DOUGLAS

‘What an absolute rollercoaster ride of a book. Reminding me of Broadchurch, with its small town feel and its taut, propulsive plot, After the Storm is truly gripping.’

JENNIE GODFREY

‘Compelling and accomplished, I raced through it!’

B. A. PARIS

‘An emotional and compelling read. Fantastic writing that

kept me gripped until the last page. I loved it.’

D. S. BUTLER

‘A devastating, all-consuming beast of a book… will have every reader questioning themselves and how they would react. The sign of a great story. Unforgettable.’

CHARLIE GALLAGHER

‘This book made me cry; gripping, haunting, devastating.’

JACKIE KABLER

‘A tense and emotionally charged story with a narrative that pulls you in like the tide, dragging you out to sea.’

MORGAN GREENE

To Florence and Sully… Daddy loves you

more than you’ll ever know.

Contents

Cover

Title Page

Copyright

Praise for After the Storm

Dedication

Part One Before the Storm

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Part Two During the Storm

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Part Three After the Storm

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Part Four Those Left Behind

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Chapter 40

Chapter 41

Chapter 42

Chapter 43

Chapter 44

Chapter 45

Chapter 46

Chapter 47

Chapter 48

Chapter 49

Chapter 50

Chapter 51

Chapter 52

Chapter 53

Chapter 54

Chapter 55

Chapter 56

Chapter 57

Chapter 58

Chapter 59

Chapter 60

Chapter 61

Chapter 62

Chapter 63

Epilogue

Acknowledgements

Keep Reading

About the Author

About the Publisher

Content Warning:

After the Storm, although fictional, tackles some events and issues that some may find distressing. If you’d like to find out more, please read the ‘Content Warning’ note at the back of the book but be warned it does contain spoilers.

PART ONE

Before the Storm

Prologue

Thirty-five Years Before

‘MUMMY!’

The rip dragged him away, but not under. Not yet. It was playing a game, toying with the little boy it held in its grip. It pounded and crushed him, tearing the air from his lungs as the safety of the shore grew distant.

His arms burned as his muscles fought against the Goliath that was trying to seize him, to claim him. His legs trod just like he’d learned. Primeval instinct, perhaps. Intuition. Survival, come what may. But still, he couldn’t find any traction.

‘MUMMY, MUMMY!’

More energy used, and the sea didn’t like it, pummelling him with bigger waves. Punishment. That’ll teach him for trying to escape.

‘ANDREW!’

He opened his mouth to shout back, but nothing came. Instead, sea brine kissed his lips. He could taste it. Salt, like when he sweated. Salt, like on his dinner. He knew the taste but, just like his mummy’s voice, in the grip of the sea and the lap of the Gods, it was wildly different.

‘ANDREW! SOMEONE, HELP!’

The shore was getting further and further away. His eyes burned as the waves struck his face, licking him with acidic verve. Blinking didn’t work. Instead, he screwed his eyes shut, closing out the beast. All he wanted was his mummy.

‘MU—’

It was one wave too many and it flooded his open mouth, squeezing every last breath from him.

He went under.

His fingers reached for the surface but there was nothing to grab. No purchase. No toehold, no footing. Nothing to cling on to as he clawed for something. Anything. It was just a thin dividing line between above and below.

The violence above contrasted with the calm just inches underneath. The crashing of the waves was replaced with a melodic thudding. He knew he needed to breathe, to fight, to overcome, but it was too hard. He was exhausted, his reserves empty. Now, he didn’t feel pain. Now, he wasn’t scared.

It was almost peaceful.

Almost.

His eyes stayed shut as darkness consumed him.

Chapter 1

ANDREW

One Day Before

Saturday brought sunshine. Warmth. Andrew stared from the kitchen window and, as far as his eyes could see, the sky above was a uniform, strikingly blue canvas.

‘Brekkie, kids,’ Sophie shouted upstairs.

‘Alright, Mum!’ Maria shouted back. Sophie was no longer Mummy, and Andrew no longer Daddy. Their little girl had trimmed their names long before any child should. Six going on sixteen, they had said. Both parents missed it, though they’d never say it out loud. The difference two letters made was profound. It was just one syllable, but was yet another sign that their baby was growing up so much faster than they wanted her to.

It wasn’t a light pitter-patter of feet on the stairs that announced their imminent arrival, more a herd of elephants on the rampage. Maria barged through the kitchen door with Joe following close behind. Though they were just best friends, they may as well have been brother and sister. He was there often enough, after all. They wore wide smiles on sun-kissed cheeks. The innocence of youth abounded from every sinew, overflowing from every pore as they glowed with excitement.

‘Alright, bud?’ Andrew said to Joe, their knuckles meeting in a fist bump.

‘Yeah, Ange!’ Joe replied.

Ange. It was Joe’s nickname for him, and Joe’s alone.

‘Ready for it?’ Andrew asked, as he ruffled Joe’s thick blond hair.

Joe might have been Maria’s best friend, but the bond between man and boy was a powerful one. In the absence of a son of his and Sophie’s own, Joe was a more than worthy void-filler. Joe smiled, and nodded until his head looked like it might separate from his shoulders.

‘Ready…’ Andrew said, offering his hand in the air at just the right height for Joe to slap it three times.

‘One, two, three.’ Their hands met.

‘Four, five, six,’ Joe continued as their fingers gripped each other’s, and rose and fell in perfect harmony.

‘Seven,’ Joe said, as the handshake turned into another high-five.

‘Eight, nine, ten,’ he concluded, as the high-five evolved into three more fist bumps.

It was their secret handshake, their special greeting, their moment, each time they saw one another.

‘Again!’

Andrew met the boy’s smile with one of his own. How could he say no to a grin as broad as that?

‘One second,’ he said, as his phone vibrated in his pocket. He pulled it out, and fumbled to unlock it. Andrew might have only been up for an hour or so, but Chris had been at work since the sun had begun its slow ascent across the horizon. 9 a.m. was a safe time to check in.

Morning mate, hope you’re all alright? Let me know what you’re up to, and give Joe a big squeeze from me x

Morning, all good here. Do I really need to tell you where we’re going…? Surely it’s obvious on a day like today X

Was it a rhetorical question? Maybe. Probably. Of course it was.

Andrew looked beyond the kitchen and into the garden through the bifold doors that led onto the patio. The sun bore down, its rays shining a spotlight on everything they touched. His eyes diverted to the neat row of begonias that Sophie had spent so much time and care sowing, and were now blooming in the midst of summer. The flowers positively glowed, their colours radiating as if given new life by a little bit of vitamin D. And yet, as he took in the majesty of the images his eyes sent to his brain, he still looked for the shaded areas, for the shadows.

‘Alright, love?’ Sophie asked, nudging Andrew as she brushed past him.

‘Course, sweetheart,’ he replied, nodding his head a little too vigorously.

‘Working out a plan?’

He knew what she was talking about. His eyes darted to the patio itself. Bluntly, it was a state. In a garden where everything else was prim and proper, it stood out like a Vespa at a Harley convention.

‘I told you I’d do it,’ he replied. ‘You haven’t got to ask me every six months.’

It wasn’t a nudge that greeted him this time, more a firm dig in the ribs. Sophie smiled as their hands came together and their fingers interlocked.

‘Bloody builders,’ she said. ‘You can never rely on them.’

‘I’ll get on it soon.’

‘Soon,’ Sophie replied, raising her hands and using two fingers on each to make speech marks in the air.

Andrew turned away, suppressing a laugh. He grafted all week long. No way was he giving up a weekend to do yet more work at home. His body was honed from all those years on the tools and the gym, but that didn’t mean he didn’t get tired. Time waited for no man, and he could feel it creeping up on him day by day, week by week, month by month. Then, a brainwave.

‘Unless you’re alright to take the kids on your own sometime?’ he said, turning back to face his wife.

Her face was granite.

‘Okay, okay,’ he said, resigned to his fate.

Their beach hut occupied a prime spot on the promenade that sat a few feet above Beachbrook main sands. Beachbrook was a typical tourist town; packed to the rafters with holiday makers in the summer, but deserted and left to the locals in the winter. Local businesses prospered in the warm months but were shuttered in the cold.

In those summer months, though, the town lived and breathed as if she was alive. She was beautiful, her vistas and horizons postcard perfect. Her perfume was vinegar from the chippy and sugar-dusted doughnuts. She played a melody of seagulls squawking and excited children running on her golden sands while, behind them, the drum of the breaking waves thumped just like a beating heart.

Today, those drumbeats were quiet. They couldn’t really be called waves, more a ripple as they steadily enveloped the feet of the kids who frolicked at her shoreline. Today, she was tired. Today, she was holding back. Today, Andrew could breathe.

He assumed his usual position on a fold-out chair outside the beach hut, tapping his feet on the ground. The concrete nestled into the soles of his trainers like an old friend. Those four metres of promenade that separated the hut from the sands had been the clincher when Sophie had looked at him with doughy eyes all those years ago when they’d talked about acquiring a base on the beach. It was a four-metre barrier in his mind, a safety net protecting him from what had befallen him all those years before.

He might have been dressed flamboyantly, but he hadn’t put swimmers on. He never did. His gaze went to Maria and Joe as they raced down the three-stepped ladder that Andrew had propped from the promenade down onto the beach, and chased across the sand, footsteps in tandem as grains of golden dust were kicked up in their wake.

‘Alright, love?’ Sophie asked.

‘Yeah, fine,’ he replied. He didn’t look at her, keeping his focus entirely on Maria and Joe. Though the two kids were only about twenty metres away from him, it took a knowing eye to be able to differentiate them.

Both blonde and with matching orange wetsuits, a passer-by would probably assume they were related and, in truth, they were just like twins.

They ran to a pool of water that was set a good fifteen metres away from the sea in a direct line with the beach hut. It was a permanent, natural feature of Beachbrook main sands, and filled every time the tide washed over it, but was disconnected from the sea itself. They’d christened it the ‘little sea’, way back when Maria had barely been able to waddle on the sand and, as Andrew watched, he knew what they wanted to do. Call it a father’s intuition. Even from a distance, he could sense their eyes twitching as, around them, parents tended to toddlers and babies, giving some of them their first experience of toes in water. He watched as Maria and Joe whispered to each other, their conspiring now obvious. He knew what they’d be saying. This is the baby pool. We’re not babies. So predictable, he thought and, just as he stood up, they began to edge away from the little sea.

Andrew walked to the edge of the promenade and jumped onto the sand below, ignoring the ladder and instantly regretting his choice. It may have only been a three-foot gap separating above from below, but his joints ached when he landed. Old football injuries coming back to haunt him, or simply a body getting old? He’d go with the former, but he knew it was more than likely the latter. Though the sand was dry and powdery underfoot, it felt heavy. It always did with shoes on. Barefoot, it’d form and mould around the skin but not with trainers. He looked up and quickened his pace, feeling his heart rate spiking. The kids shared mischievous grins as they edged backwards. As Andrew reached them, their feet were being swallowed by the trickling waves of his old enemy.

‘Maria, what have we said about going in the sea without me or your mum being here?’

‘You are here,’ she replied. ‘You were watching us, weren’t you?’ Typical Maria, Andrew thought. Even at the age of six she had, somehow, turned his questions into an interrogation of her own.

‘Of course I was watching you, princess,’ Andrew said, trying but failing to prevent his eyes from rolling back into his head. The truth was that he’d been wrapped around her little finger since the first day he had laid eyes on her. ‘One of us has got to be here by the water if you want to go in. You know that.’

‘Okay, Dad,’ she said.

She turned away from him to look at Joe, and the cracks of her lips rose upwards. She’d won, and she knew it. Joe didn’t say anything. Confrontation just wasn’t his bag, particularly where Andrew was involved. Andrew and Joe were the best of mates, and these mates didn’t argue.

Andrew watched, his gaze never diverting from the target of his focus. Maria didn’t go past her knees. Though she loved to push boundaries, she knew that there was a firm line in the sand. To everyone in the water around them, and to the parents who formed a line adjacent to Andrew, watching their kids frolic and splash to their hearts’ content, it was utopia. The sun blazed. The birds sang. The sea sent glittering shards of light reflecting in a million different directions as it eased in and out on the tide.

Yet, to Andrew, it was anything but easy. The sea was wearing a mask, constrained by a leash. When it broke free, it was an entity that simply couldn’t be contained. He knew it, and the twenty minutes the kids spent splashing and playing in the shallows felt like an hour to him. When they came out, Maria ran straight past him and back to Sophie who was waiting for her with an open towel.

Andrew’s shoulders finally relaxed as Joe’s hand slipped into his and he forced a weary smile. Another day had passed without incident. They made their way back towards the beach hut, Joe’s bare feet growing heavy as dry sand clung to his wet skin, and Andrew’s trainers leaving deep craters behind them.

He heard gentle waves trickling into the shore behind him, and turned to face the sea one last time before they packed up and headed home. Today, it had behaved, and he nodded towards it. It wasn’t reverential, and it wasn’t respect. No, it was just a sense of acknowledgement. It had been those waves and that tide all those years before that had tried to claim him. Today, it had toed the line.

As Andrew trudged back to the beach hut, he climbed the ladder and kicked his trainers together, knocking clumps of sand from his soles as he felt welcome, solid ground underfoot. Maria was already in the hut, and he took a second to look at the two women in his life. He didn’t like the beach, that much was a given. Still, it was worth it if they were happy. Sophie was busy drying Maria off and he could hear familiar protestations coming from his daughter.

‘I can do it myself, Mum.’ Maria took the towel from her mum and was swallowed up in it.

‘You’ve got to get the sand off,’ Sophie said.

‘I WILL!’ Maria shouted.

Sophie held her hands up and walked away towards Andrew, knowing better than to try to help her anymore. He put his arm around her as they watched Maria wrestle with the towel. Andrew stroked Sophie’s stomach with his spare hand.

‘You’ll be easier to manage than your big sister, right?’ he asked, with a smile.

‘For a few years, maybe,’ Sophie replied.

Andrew looked down as a football came to rest against his heel. He turned around; Joe was standing a few yards away, bare-chested and with his wetsuit tied at the waist. He was wearing the goalkeeping gloves that he took everywhere with him. One day, he said, he was going to be between the sticks for England. In Joe, Andrew had a kindred spirit. Though well past his prime, the feel of a ball at his feet still evoked happy memories. All of a sudden, his joints didn’t feel quite so sore.

With the flick of a foot and a touch of experience, the light foam ball floated on the breeze back towards Joe, who caught it with steady hands. It had taken months of practice, but they’d got there. The boy was coming on leaps and bounds. Joe threw the ball back, and it landed perfectly at Andrew’s feet.

‘Cantona takes it down,’ Andrew said, pivoting one way before swivelling the other.

‘Who?’ Joe asked, dropping his hands to his side.

Andrew shook his head ever so slightly.

‘Lays it off to Scholes, takes it up the centre,’ he continued, flicking the ball from one foot to the other as he dribbled it across the promenade.

‘Who?’ Joe repeated.

‘Ronaldooooooo,’ Andrew shouted, digging the ball out from under his feet and lifting it towards Joe.

Game on. Joe knew that name. The ball swerved in the air, but, with the spring of youth in his step, he dived onto the ground, and deflected it with the very tips of his fingers.

‘Joe!’ Andrew shouted, his face contorting as the boy’s body scraped along the concrete.

‘RAMSDALE,’ Joe shouted leaping to his feet and running rings around Andrew. The graze on his side didn’t matter. Not to Joe, anyway. Nothing mattered. He’d made the save. He’d won.

Andrew grabbed hold of him, bringing his victory lap to a halt. He looked at Joe’s side, at where the skin had been scraped and grazed, and winced. It was going to be a sore one, alright.

‘You alright?’ he asked, setting Joe back down on the concrete.

‘I won,’ Joe replied, continuing his victory parade.

Andrew smiled. Momentarily, he could forget the sea. For a few, fleeting seconds, he could live in the moment, alive in the present, basking in Joe’s exuberance. It was moments like that which made the beach tolerable.

The sun had passed its peak and was on a slow descent towards the horizon. Home time. For Andrew, the best time. They packed up their beach hut and, as the shadows of late afternoon crept across the sand and began to encroach upon the promenade, made their way up the slope that took them to the top of the white cliffs. Those chalky summits surrounded the beach and gave it that picture-perfect finish. Andrew looked all around him. Was it really that bad, he wondered?

As he drove, Andrew tried to listen as Maria and Joe spoke in hushed, excited voices in the back. He couldn’t make out what they were saying, but whatever it was, it sounded like mischief was afoot. Home was a mere five minutes away, and they arrived to find Chris and Linda waiting for them in the garden, drinks prepared and barbeque lit. Linda had even donned the marigolds and done the washing up that had been left on the side.

‘See, this is why we gave you a key!’ Sophie said, hugging Linda. Sophie glowed with the sheen of an expectant mother who didn’t have to work, who had everything under control and who was enjoying her pregnancy.

‘You know me,’ Linda replied, ‘OCD with the cleaning!’

Joe charged up to his parents and cuddled them both.

‘Daddy, Daddy!’ he shouted. ‘You should’ve seen my save today!’

Chris scooped his boy into his arms.

‘Ball’s the wrong shape,’ Chris replied, blowing a raspberry on Joe’s cheek.

‘Bloody egg chasers,’ Andrew said. In the world of sport, there were football lovers and rugby worshippers. Andrew and Chris were deeply entrenched in their own camps and, to Chris’ eternal chagrin, Joe was drifting towards Andrew’s way of thinking.

‘Good day?’ Linda asked, stealing Joe from her husband and gripping him in an embrace of her own. She licked her finger and wiped Joe’s salt-stained cheek.

‘Best EVER!’ Joe replied.

‘What, ever ever?’ Linda asked.

‘EVER EVER,’ Joe replied, as he nuzzled his nose against his mummy’s. Linda tickled him on his side, but he recoiled, wincing as he did.

‘What’s up?’ she asked, setting Joe down and lifting his t-shirt, revealing an angry-looking graze on his side.

‘You should’ve seen my save, Mummy,’ he said.

Linda wasn’t listening. Andrew could sense that the paramedic in her had taken over.

‘How did you do that?’ she asked, moving in closer for inspection.

‘Andrew was shooting and I saved it,’ he replied. ‘OUCH!’

‘Sorry, love,’ she whispered, pulling her prodding fingers away. She looked up, and caught Andrew’s gaze. Her eyes had begun to fill with tears. He’d been making his excuses in his head, but her weary look of displeasure had caught him off guard.

‘It was a great save,’ he mumbled. It’s all he had managed to come up with. He turned around, and with a face turning to a shade of puce, walked back to Chris.

The two husbands stood and watched as their respective wives sat on the plumply cushioned rattan sofa that hugged the edges of the patio, bookended by pot plants that were blooming in all the colours of summer. If the house was a work of art, then so was the garden. It was just one of those evenings, where everything was perfect. Everything, that is, except the patio. Sophie and Linda spoke in hushed tones, but Andrew knew what the topic of conversation was. They were staring at the ground, and Sophie was pointing at the deep cracks and broken edges that stood out in glorious technicolour.

‘I told you, I’ll do it,’ Andrew called across to his wife. Sophie rolled her eyes in response. ‘Soon,’ he added, but it didn’t placate her.

While the ladies sat, with their conversation quiet, Andrew turned to Chris. The chat was easy. It always had been.

‘Nice shirt,’ Chris said, smirking.

‘Sod off,’ Andrew shot back, as they clinked glasses.

‘Tourist,’ Chris said.

‘Just blending in,’ Andrew replied.

‘If I had your guns, I’d have them out all the time,’ Chris said.

Andrew looked down at his biceps. The building game lent itself to acquiring a certain physique.

‘You can always come and lay some bricks with me,’ he said, knowing exactly what the answer would be.

‘On your bike,’ came the response, as it had done a thousand times before. ‘Although, if it means I get a house like this…’

‘You can have the mortgage as well, if you like,’ Andrew replied, laughing. ‘You cooking then?’

‘No chance, day from hell,’ Chris replied. ‘It’s all yours.’

‘Every day’s a day from hell, isn’t it?’ Andrew said, smiling. ‘I’ve known you, what, six years, and I can’t remember you having a good one.’

‘You don’t want to know,’ Chris replied.

‘Try me,’ Andrew said.

‘Alright then,’ Chris said. ‘So I’m out single crewed, and I get the duff car with knackered air con. I mean, it’s not like the old bill to have many perks, but these uniforms are hideous enough in the heat.’

Andrew smirked, and waved his hand over his nose.

‘Sod off,’ Chris said, smiling. ‘Anyway, I get asked to go and back up one of the younger lads at a sudden death. Easy job, you know, old person died in their sleep, neighbour called it in, not been seen for a while, yadda yadda yadda. Anyway, the probationer is already there, key in the key safe, door open, ambulance called to confirm life extinct, undertaker called to collect body, but the copper is new so the skipper asked me to check it all out.’

‘Right…’ Andrew said.

‘So I get there,’ Chris continued, ‘I check the paperwork, all good. I check they’ve searched for meds and that, all good. Then I ask whether they’ve checked the body.’ Chris took a deep breath, shook his head and had a deep gulp of beer.

‘Go on…’ Andrew said.

‘Well no, apparently he’s never touched a dead body before,’ Chris said, rolling his eyes. ‘I mean, fair enough, right? Fair enough. But still, it’s part of the job. So we go into the bedroom…’

‘And?’ Andrew asks.

‘And,’ Chris said, ‘I tell matey boy to gently take down the covers, I mean, I’ve got a real thing about us respecting the dead, you know. We’ll all be there one day. But anyway, he gently pulls down the covers, and…’

‘Aaaaaaaand?!’ Andrew was dying to know what happened.

‘Old bloke opened his eyes and asked us what the hell we were doing in his house,’ Chris muttered.

‘You’re kidding,’ Andrew giggled.

‘On my life,’ Chris said. ‘Obviously pretty funny in hindsight, but you should have seen the mountain of paperwork I had to fill in.’

He dropped his warrant card and keys on the table next to his beer.

‘Hilarious,’ Linda smirked, hearing Chris’ appraisal of his day. ‘You think your day was bad, I had someone collapse at the top of a block of flats, and the lift was broken. Had to get the fire brigade in to help get them down.’

‘You chose the green uniform…’ Chris said, baiting his wife. The banter between the police and the ambulance service didn’t just stop when they clocked off.

‘We can’t all be heroes,’ Linda said, smiling.

Andrew sat down, waiting for the coals of the barbeque to smoulder. He closed his eyes, savouring his beer and drinking in the peace around him. His mind transported him far away and, in that moment, he could’ve been sitting on a veranda in the Mediterranean without a care in the world.

Andrew’s moment of serenity was brought to an abrupt end as whoops of laughter pierced the air. In an instant, his cheeks were slapped with a burst of water. He opened his eyes. Maria and Joe had Super Soakers in their hands and malevolence written all over their faces.

‘Little shits,’ Andrew said under his breath, provoking an ‘Oi!’ from his wife.

The kids didn’t stand a chance. Andrew and Chris sprang into action and wrestled the weapons from their children’s hands, making them regret picking a fight they couldn’t win. The two adults looked smugly at each other as the kids skulked away to the back of the garden, soaking wet and beaten. The mums looked at each other with a knowing glance. Once kids, always kids. Their husbands sat down next to them, each basking in the glory of a water fight well won.

‘So, what’s the plan tomorrow then?’ Linda asked.

‘Not sure yet,’ Sophie replied.

‘You know how much we appreciate you having Joe, right?’ Linda said. Her voice was quiet, her words reserved and uttered with delicate awareness of the burden she was sure she was placing upon Sophie and Andrew.

Andrew opened his mouth to speak, but Sophie beat him to the punch.

‘We love having him!’ she replied, smiling and stroking Linda’s arm, putting her at ease. ‘Besides, someone’s got to keep us all safe, right?’

Linda smiled but Andrew could tell it was laced with doubt. She’d told him before, that if they could afford it then she’d give up work in a heartbeat. This was another whole weekend that she wouldn’t be able to spend with her son. Andrew knew how he’d feel if he wasn’t able to spend time with Maria often enough. Time was precious, he knew, but Linda and Chris’ situation was different. They couldn’t afford not to work.

Joe appeared next to his mum and sat on her lap. He was still soaked wet through, but Linda wasn’t giving up the chance of a cuddle.

‘My boy,’ Linda said, as she held her cheek to Joe’s.

Six years since the kids were born had passed by in the blink of an eye. Nursery had been and gone and, now, another school year was nearly over.

Andrew watched, sensing Linda’s misgivings. ‘What do you fancy doing tomorrow, Joe?’

‘BEACH!’ Maria shouted, appearing as if from nowhere.

‘Oi, miss, I was talking to Joe,’ Andrew said.

‘Whatever Maria wants,’ Joe said. ‘Beach sounds good.’

Again, Andrew