Revised Plan A
By the early hours of the morning I have decided to write a letter to the person who, according to my calculations, is the father. I post it first thing, first class, then go up to Tiffany with my news.
‘No more wee drams then, lovey! No more pill-popping! How do you feel? Apart from terrified, obviously?’
‘Truly happy. If this isn’t a raison d’etre I don’t know what is.’
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