Michael
“I know you're upset, but do you really think that making Charlotte cry is the answer?”
“She's crying?” His back turned, James’ voice is dull.
“Yes, she’s crying. Look at me will you.” He turns. “Want to talk about it?”
“No.”
“Want to get drunk?”
He meets my eye then looks away. Then he meets my eye again. “Yes,” he admits.
“Good, we'll do it together. A man drowning his sorrows shouldn't get drunk by himself. Fetch your coat.”
Outside, Francis is still feeding tissues to Charlotte, albeit at a slower rate. I snag Richard by the elbow. “Favour to ask. Could I leave Charlotte in your hands overnight? I want to get James out, and I doubt either of us will be fit to drive by the time we’re done.”
He doesn’t hesitate. “Of course. I'll call Elizabeth.”
“Thanks. You’re a friend
