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“I want orange juice, iced, not from concentrate, no bits. That’s what men drink,” he announced rather loftily to his sister. She glared at him, probably wanting to elbow him but deterred by the knowledge that her vanilla cola was at stake.I frowned studiously at my book. I had the weirdest feeling of déjà vu. Could I possibly know this family?“Okay,” the father said. “One vanilla Coca-Cola, and one orange juice, iced, not from concentrate, no bits.”It hit me then. I looked up but it was too late. He’d already turned and was heading for the nearest café. I saw him catch his wife’s attention, communicating wordlessly with her in the way only couples can. She glanced over at her kids, gave me a once-over, decided I wasn’t a threat and took another small sip of her drink.Harry Lawson. Or, Mr Lawson, as I’d first known him. How many years had it been now? Ten? No, eleven. Things had changed. I could hardly believe it’d taken me so long to recognise him. But back then, he’d been clean. He retrieved a towel from the drawer and laid it on her chair. "There. That will keep your chair dry, my dripping pet."She almost resented how calm his voice sounded until he helped her sit back down on the now towel-covered chair. His soft lounge pants were tented, proving him not as unaffected as he pretended to be. She reached out for him, hoping to entice him to end the game now, but he twisted away, dropping a quick kiss on the top of her head, before moving to his own seat across the table."We should eat, pet," he said with an easy smile, reaching for a serving spoon. "You especially. You'll need your strength for the rest of tonight." He winked at her.She took a deep breath and reached for her wine glass, taking a long drink of the rich white wine, and tried not to glare at him. ***Supper eaten and cleared away, they were now snuggled together on the couch watching an episode of Forbidden History. Or rather, he was watching an episode of Forbidden History and she was.
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