Darren was on early shifts for that week, so when Jayden came on Friday evening to find both cars present, but the house quiet and Pog dozing happily across the full length of the sofa (cats were stretchy, Jayden was learning) he decided that something was definitely up. The kitchen hadn’t been assaulted by Hurricane Rachel, even though her coat and shoes were by the front door, and Darren’s work bag with its million-and-six forms, folders and ‘fools’ (f*****g tools, Jayden was informed) was by the coffee table, conspicuous without its grumpy owner.
Jayden headed upstairs, following the faintest flickers of light.
Rachel’s bedroom door was open, and her TV muted. The culprits were both dozing on her bed, Rachel under the covers and apparently in her underwear, judging by the visible bra
