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Sally went on, ‘You never know, we might be jumping to wrong conclusions. That photograph was tatty, like it had been through many hands, and it was black and white. Maybe it wasn’t H. Perhaps it was Elizabeth’s father. Sometimes family resemblances jump a generation. So, we don’t want to give Owen any more reason to dislike his mother or to think mistakenly he has a relative alive somewhere.’
‘I know both his grandfathers are dead, he told me.’ George looked mournfully at his mother.
‘He told me that too.’ Sally stood up and went to the cupboard for another Glencairn. ‘Now,’ she said. ‘I’m going to take a drink through to Owen, see if he needs company. You go to the pub and see your Millie. But please promise me, you won’t tell Owen about that letter.’
‘All right,’ George stood up and turned away, almost relieved not to have to look at H’s writing again. ‘I won’t be home late, Mum. Millie’s flatmates are back.’
‘No overnight sleep-over?’ Sally teased.
‘No, not tonight, never, so far.’
‘George.’ Sally hid a smile as she picked up the whisky bottle. ‘Millie will love you more for your patience.’
‘Will she? She won’t think I’m a wimp incapable of making my girl happy?’
Sally laughed and shook her head. ‘Of course not. There’s more to making a girl happy than sex. That’s just a bonus, when it works out.’
