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Denise wanted a family portrait to hang in the hallway of their new house, and every so often she would hand Cam a leaflet for a professional photographic studio and urge him to check for discounts online.


โ€œWe should do it before the girls get too old,โ€ she would say, referring to their daughters: Rosie, six, and Esme, who had just turned four.


Cam disliked the staged happiness in the photos of the families he saw on the websites. He hated the idea of wasting a day trooping his family out to some studio where they would pose together under bright lights. It would no doubt mean sacrificing one of his Saturdays, which he liked to spend playing football then having a few drinks with his friends. Besides, his preference was for something more natural.


An opportunity presented itself at the wedding of Deniseโ€™s sister, Faith, one sunny day in late May. Stepping outside after the ceremony, Cam noticed how pretty the church gardens looked. The grass has been recently mown and the cherry trees were full of white blossom, some of which had been blown free by the breeze and lay strewed about the ground.


โ€œQuick,โ€ Cam called to Denise, who stood to one side of the doors chatting to an older woman in a wide hat. โ€œNowโ€™s our chance.โ€


Denise gave a little puzzled shake of her head. Cam pointed towards the cherry trees.


โ€œPhoto opportunity.โ€ When Denise continued to look blankly at him, he added,


โ€œFamily portrait.โ€


โ€œWhereโ€™re the girls?โ€


Cam rounded up Rosie and Esme, who were today both wearing lacy pink dresses which they had miraculously managed to keep clean. Denise wore a strapless floral print dress with matching hat in which she looked stunning, and Cam himself of course wore the grey slim-fit Moss Bros suit heโ€™d bought for himself on a trip to London. It was the perfect opportunity.


The woman in the wide hat offered to take the picture, but instead Cam sought out his nephew Tyrone, who he knew was now at college doing media studies. This wasnโ€™t going to be a point-and-shoot, he wanted it done properly.


โ€œIf this doesnโ€™t save us a trip to a photography studio,โ€ Cam said as he stood with his family under the cherry trees. โ€œI donโ€™t know what will.โ€


โ€œSmile,โ€ Tyrone said, holding up Camโ€™s phone.


Rosie and Esme wanted to look at the picture straight away, but Cam knew that if he gave them his phone he would have a hard time getting it back so he slipped it into his jacketโ€™s inside pocket in the hope that they would forget about it. He told them to find some other children to play with. After this he spotted his uncle, Jamel, who he hadnโ€™t seen for years, standing on the church steps so he went to talk to him. He didnโ€™t look at the picture Tyrone had taken until they arrived home that evening, at which point the smile fell off his face. The picture was perfect in every way heโ€™d hoped it would be. He, his wife, and both his children were all smiling and looking into the cameraโ€”a minor miracle in itselfโ€”and the church gardens, sunlit and picturesque, were full of colour. The only problem was that a man had been caught in the left hand side of the frame, standing a few feet behind Denise. The man was clearly not one of the wedding party. He had a long scruffy beard and wore a knee length camouflage jacket and a peaked cap with a purple sweatshirt hood pulled over it.


โ€œWhere the bloody hell did he appear from?โ€


โ€œEverything all right?โ€ Denise asked.


โ€œThereโ€™s a strange man in our picture. A bloody homeless man by the look of him. Must have wandered in off the street. For Christโ€™s sake โ€“ thatโ€™s the last time I trust Tyrone to do anything.โ€


Pausing as she buzzed about the kitchen, Denise leaned into him to look at the phone.


โ€œThatโ€™s a shame. I didnโ€™t notice him at the time.โ€


โ€œItโ€™s ruined. We canโ€™t hang that on the wall with some random tramp in the background.โ€


But it was more than the manโ€™s presence in the photo that bothered him. The way the man had been caught in the picture made him look as if he belonged there, as if he were a part of the family, and it was this that irked Cam the most. It almost appeared as if he himself were being edged out of the righthand side of the frame, whilst the stranger muscled into shot next to his wife, not smiling but brazenly looking down the camera as if he were the photographerโ€™s intended subject.


โ€œWhat the hell was he doing there?โ€ Cam said. โ€œWhy didnโ€™t anyone say anything? Ask him to leave?โ€


Denise stopped to glance again at the phone. โ€œYou canโ€™t stop people walking in the church gardens.โ€


โ€œWell, they should. Faith doesnโ€™t want some crackhead in her wedding photos.โ€


โ€œYou donโ€™t know heโ€™s a crackhead,โ€ Denise said. โ€œTheyโ€™re not all on drugs. Itโ€™s just bad luck. Anyone could end up homeless. You could.โ€


โ€œNever,โ€ Cam said.


Denise moved her face closer to the phone. โ€œYou know he looks kind of familiar.โ€


A week later, Cam was driving past the church where Faithโ€™s wedding had taken place on his way to play football; something he thought of as his Saturday treat after a week spent at work. It was another sunny day, and again he noticed the cut grass and the cherry trees in full blossom; and this led to him remembering the ruined family portrait. Heโ€™d been meaning to speak to Tyrone and tell him he hoped his college projects didnโ€™t all have stray homeless people in them.


His momentary distraction in looking at the church and thinking about that photograph meant he wasnโ€™t watching the road in front of his car and by the time he noticed something ahead of him it was too late. He hit the brakes and was jolted forwards, but he heard something thump against the car bonnet and roll away to the left.


That wasnโ€™t a person, he thought. Please donโ€™t let that be a person.


When he sprang the driverโ€™s side door, he saw what looked like a bundle of rags lying in the gutter, but when he heard a groan he was dismayed to realise that it was indeed a human being. A man.


โ€œIโ€™m sorry, man. Iโ€™m so sorry. Are you okay?โ€


The prone figure had already begun climbing to his feet, and it was only now that Cam recognised the camouflage jacket and purple hood. As if to confirm his identity, the man turned his face towards Cam and muttered through his straggly beard: โ€œWhat the hell you doing, buddy? You blind?โ€


โ€œIโ€™m sorry,โ€ Cam said. โ€œI didnโ€™t see you. What were you doing in the middle of the road?โ€


โ€œTrying to get over there,โ€ the man said, pointing in the direction of the church. โ€œWhat do you think I was doing?โ€


Seeing the man lurch unsteadily onto the pavement, Cam moved to help him. He put one arm around the manโ€™s back, trying his best to ignore the filthy, unwashed smell that came off him, and helped him to sit down on the low wall bordering the church gardens.


โ€œAre you sure youโ€™re okay?โ€ Cam said. โ€œAnything broken? Maybe I should drive you to a hospital?โ€


โ€œIโ€™m fine,โ€ the man said. โ€œJust bruised and banged up probably.โ€


Cam gritted his teeth against a pang of guilt. โ€œCan I drive you somewhere? Do you have a home I could take you to? Aโ€ฆ?โ€


The man raised soft brown eyes to Cam. โ€œUsed to have a home. A very nice home in fact.โ€


โ€œWhat happened?โ€


โ€œLost my job, didnโ€™t I? Then my wife told me she wanted a divorce. The kids stayed with her, so she got the house. There was a man in the background too. She moved her new man in as soon as I was out. Into my house! Tried to stay afloat for a while on my own, but everything just seem to crumble away beneath me.โ€


โ€œYou have kids?โ€


The man nodded. โ€œTwo.โ€


โ€œDo you see them?โ€


โ€œNot lately. Donโ€™t want them seeing me like this. Iโ€™ll go back one day. Soon as I get on my feet. Iโ€™ll go back in a nice suit and tie and Iโ€™ll say: Do you remember me? Iโ€™m your daddy.โ€


Cam glanced away, feeling another rush of guilt. So the man wasnโ€™t a tramp or a crackhead. He felt bad now for saying those things about him. Denise had been right: it was just bad luck; it could happen to anyone.


โ€œWhat did you do? In your job I mean?โ€


โ€œI used to program computers.โ€


โ€œI program computers,โ€ Cam said. โ€œFor Reed Solutions. You know it?โ€


The man jabbed a finger to his chest. โ€œI used to work for Reed Solutions,โ€ the man said, his expression becoming hard. He squinted at Cam and pursed his lips. โ€œMaybe youโ€™re the son-of-a-bitch who stole my job out from under me.โ€


โ€œNo, no,โ€ Cam said. โ€œI just started there last month.โ€


The man continued to look at Cam from under his brow, until he finally dropped his gaze. โ€œYou know what I miss the most, out of all of it? A nice hot shower. I sure wish there was somewhere I could go now and have a nice hot shower. You know?โ€


Cam sighed. He glanced along the length of the street, thinking of the afternoon he could have spent playing football with his friends. Then afterwards, a few drinks in the pub across the road from the playing fields. If heโ€™d kept his eyes on the road he couldโ€™ve been there now, fastening up his boots.


He shifted his gaze downwards. The manโ€™s shoes looked like they were on the brink of disintegrating, the jogging bottoms he wore were stained, and the camouflage jacket was torn and frayed.


โ€œWellโ€ฆโ€ he said, at the same time thinking: no donโ€™t do it, donโ€™t say it, Denise will have a fit if you take this guy home. Just leave him here. Heโ€™s fine. The guys are waiting for you. But he knew he couldnโ€™t do that. Heโ€™d knocked the man over with his car. Run him down. The least he could do was offer him a hot shower. That wasnโ€™t much to ask, was it? โ€œThere might just be a place.โ€


Denise didnโ€™t say a word except โ€˜Oh?โ€™ when he arrived with the homeless man whoโ€™s name, as heโ€™d learned during the drive home, was McKenzie although he insisted on being called Mac. She remained mute when they stood in the kitchen, listening to the sounds of the shower running and footsteps clumping about the bathroom above, but he could tell she was angry from the way she pressed her lips together and avoided his eyes.


โ€œLook,โ€ he said, โ€œIโ€™ll give it a good clean after heโ€™s gone, okay? What was I supposed to do?โ€


Denise sucked air through her teeth, another indication that she was less than happy.


โ€œHeโ€™s not a druggie or anything. Heโ€™s just a guy down on his luck. Wife screwed him over. Apparently, he used to be a computer programmer at Reed just like me.โ€


โ€œJust like you, huh?โ€ Denise said. Pushing past him, she went to watch over the children in the lounge.


Throwing up his hands, Cam trooped upstairs and began looking through his wardrobe. Selecting a bright orange hooded sweatshirt given to him by his mother-in-law for his birthday which heโ€™d never worn because, as heโ€™d told Denise, he didnโ€™t want people mistaking him for a traffic light, he threw it down on the bed. He also took from the wardrobe a pair of jeans heโ€™d never liked the cut of, a brand new pair of briefs and a thick pair of socks. There was also a black, waterproof jacket he hadnโ€™t worn in a while. He added this to the pile on the bed.


Hearing the shower shut off, he went to the bathroom door and knocked.


โ€œMac,โ€ he said. โ€œIโ€™ve got some clothes here for you. To replace your old ones.โ€


โ€œWhat now?โ€ came the voice from the other side of the door.


โ€œIโ€™ve got some clothes for you. Nothing fancy, just some things I havenโ€™t worn for a while. Weโ€™re about the same size, right? Iโ€™ll leave them outside the door. I might have some boots too, hardly worn. What size shoe do you take?โ€


โ€œEleven,โ€ Mac said after a pause.


โ€œPerfect. You get dressed and Iโ€™ll see you downstairs.โ€


Denise and the children sat together on the sofa. Denise still refused to meet his gaze, but the children watched him with their eyes full of questions.


โ€œDaddy, whoโ€™s that man?โ€


โ€œJust a man I accidentally hit with the car. I thought it might be nice for him to come and have a shower because he doesnโ€™t have a house of his own.โ€


โ€œWhy doesnโ€™t he have a house?โ€ Rosie asked.


โ€œHeโ€™s just had some bad luck, thatโ€™s all.โ€


โ€œHe can live in our house,โ€ Esme said.


โ€œNo he canโ€™t,โ€ Denise snapped.


โ€œGive him a break,โ€ Cam said. โ€œHeโ€™s harmless.โ€


Denise jerked upright, suddenly aghast. โ€œDid you close our bedroom door, Cam? I donโ€™t want him going in there. My jewellery.โ€


โ€œYour jewelleryโ€™s fine.โ€


โ€œBut, Camโ€ฆ?โ€


โ€œShush,โ€ Cam said, hearing feet on the stairs.


He blinked when he saw Mac stood looking sheepish in the hallway, wearing the clothes heโ€™d picked out for him. It was as if years had been stripped away. Originally heโ€™d thought Mac must be in his late fifties or early sixties, but now he realised that Mac was closer to his own age, perhaps even younger.


โ€œSit down,โ€ Cam said. โ€œIโ€™ll make you a cup of tea.โ€


โ€œYouโ€™re being very kind,โ€ Mac said. โ€œI donโ€™t want to intrude.โ€


โ€œNo really, itโ€™s the least I could do.โ€


As he boiled the kettle, he smiled, listening to the children quizzing Mac in the lounge. There were feet on the stairs, and he realised Denise had probably gone to survey the mess in the bathroom. When she returned and joined him in the kitchen, she had a bemused look on her face.


โ€œHow is it?โ€ he asked, wincing at the thought of having to bleach down the shower cubicle. โ€œBad?โ€


She shook her head. โ€œThereโ€™s no mess. He must have cleaned up after himself. It actually looks better in there than it does after youโ€™ve had a shower.โ€


โ€œMe? What do you mean?โ€


โ€œYou normally leave it in an awful state.โ€


โ€œI do not,โ€ he said, but seeing the look on her face he fell silent.


โ€œYou know,โ€ she said. โ€œThereโ€™s something strange about that man.โ€


โ€œStrange? What do you mean strange?โ€


She thought a moment. โ€œIf he shaved off that beardโ€ฆโ€


โ€œWhat?โ€


โ€œYou could almost be twins.โ€


Cam couldnโ€™t remember whose idea it had been to let Mac stay the night in the extension. Perhaps Denise had suggested it. Could that be correct? Camโ€™s plan had been to send Mac on his way after the tea, but the man appeared to have a natural affinity with children and had been getting on so well with Rosie and Esme, answering all their questions and making them laugh, that Cam felt bad about asking him to go. Then when Mac began telling Denise all about how heโ€™d lost his job and been kicked out by his ex-wife, Cam knew heโ€™d end up having dinner with them. After that it had seemed cruel to send him out on to the streets as it had started to pour with rain. So, somehow, Mac had ended up spending the night in the extension. Mac even insisted that Cam lock the door between that and the main house, given that he was a stranger and they had two small children to think of, something which Cam had planned to do anyway but which he was nervous of explaining to Mac.


โ€œIโ€™m sorry,โ€ Cam said. โ€œItโ€™s a bit of a mess in here. We were planning to turn it into a guest room, but we just never got around to it.โ€


โ€œDonโ€™t you worry,โ€ Mac said. โ€œIโ€™ll be okay. Itโ€™s better than the NCP.โ€


Closing and locking the door, Cam realised that he was only making it harder on himself by allowing Mac to stay. Tomorrow the man would be back on the streets, and Cam would think about him every time he went into that useless extension which Candice had originally planned to turn into a flat for her grandmother whoโ€™d passed away the previous winter, much to Camโ€™s relief.


Here we are with this space weโ€™re not using, he would think. And thereโ€™s Mac out there on the streets. Cold, wet, hungryโ€ฆ


Perhaps this was the reason why, after a week, Mac was still living with them. Then a month went by. Then two months. Mac knew how to make himself useful, helping Denice with the housework whilst Cam was at work, even once or twice picking the children up from school. He also knew how to make himself scarce, retreating to the extension when he sensed the family needed space. After three months, Cam stopped locking the door between the extension and the main house. It was around this time that Denice finally convinced Mac to shave off his beard.


โ€œItโ€™s like I said,โ€ Denise told Cam one night when they sat up in bed together. โ€œHe looks just like you.โ€


Cam sneered. โ€œYou think so? I donโ€™t see it. Not at all. Heโ€™sโ€ฆโ€


โ€œOh, yes,โ€ Denise said. โ€œItโ€™s remarkable really. Only heโ€™sโ€ฆโ€


โ€œWhat?โ€


โ€œHeโ€™sโ€ฆwellโ€ฆโ€


โ€œWhat is he?โ€ Cam said.


Denise shrugged. โ€œMore handsome, I suppose.โ€


โ€œMore handsome?โ€


โ€œYes. And more thoughtful too. Definitely more thoughtful.โ€


โ€œMore thoughtful now?โ€


Denise smiled to herself. โ€œYes, heโ€™s just like you, only with an upgrade.โ€


Cam turned to her, his mouth hanging open. โ€œI canโ€™t believe you just said that.โ€


She gave a little titter then lay down on her pillows, half turned on her side away from him. โ€œโ€™Night,โ€ she said, and switched off the light.


One day when Cam arrived home from work, he opened the door to the sound of girlish laughter. Following the sound to its source, he was surprised to find that it came from Denise. She and Mac were sat at opposite ends of the dining table, both cradling mugs of tea and smiling. He wondered why heโ€™d not recognised the laughter as Deniseโ€™s. Had he never heard her laugh so freely before? And what had Mac said or done that had made her laugh like that?


โ€œWhat are you so happy about?โ€


โ€œMac got a job.โ€


โ€œReally?โ€


โ€œItโ€™s true. And itโ€™s all thanks to you two.โ€


Cam took the letter Mac held out to him. A few months earlier, he had decided to try and help Mac get back into the computer programming business. Together, they had searched for vacancies online; then when the invitations for interview arrived Cam had even lent Mac his Moss Bross suit; though heโ€™d regretted this when Denise remarked that Mac looked better in it than he did.


Cam studied the letter. โ€œSenior Computer Programmer? Senior?โ€


Mac nodded, still grinning. โ€œThatโ€™s right. It wasnโ€™t the job I was interviewed for, but I must have impressed them so much they offered me the senior position instead.โ€


โ€œThatโ€™sโ€ฆโ€


Glancing up, Cam noticed Denise reach across the table and place her hand over Macโ€™s. She removed it almost at once, but the image lingered in Camโ€™s mind.


โ€œWhereโ€™re the girls?โ€


โ€œTheyโ€™re in bed already. Mac took them to the park after school, and they had so much fun they were tired-out by the time they got home.โ€


โ€œYou should have kept them up. I havenโ€™t seen them today.โ€ Cam heard the blunt tone of his own voice. Even he wasnโ€™t sure why it was there.


Denise looked at him askance. โ€œThey were exhausted, Cam. I just managed to get some dinner in them before they fell asleep on the sofa.โ€


โ€œI could have taken them to the park.โ€


โ€œSince when do you like going to the park?โ€


โ€œI take them. I enjoy taking them.โ€


โ€œI can count the times youโ€™ve taken the girls to the park on one hand,โ€ Denise said.


Cam huffed. He switched his gaze to Mac. โ€œNew shirt?โ€ he said, noticing the elegant blue designer dress shirt the man wore.


โ€œYes, sir. Your wife bought it for me. As a way of saying congratulations, I guess. She says blue is my colour.โ€


โ€œDoes she now?โ€


โ€œWhatโ€™s got into you?โ€ Denise said. โ€œMac has been such a help around here, itโ€™s the least I could do.โ€


We gave him a roof over his head, didnโ€™t we? he wanted to say. We fed him, didnโ€™t we? And all heโ€™s done isโ€ฆisโ€ฆ


What he actually said was: โ€œIโ€™m going for a shower.โ€


Upstairs, as he changed out of his work clothes, Cam noticed that the hideous orange sweatshirt his mother-in-law had given him was back in his wardrobe. It rankled him, seeing it there. Then when he looked at his face in the bathroom mirror, he didnโ€™t recognise himself. It had been a busy couple of weeks at work, heโ€™d put in so much overtime, and heโ€™d been in such a rush in the mornings that he hadnโ€™t bothered to shave. Now he had the beginning of a beard. As he stared into the mirror, an odd thought passed through his mind that he was not looking at his own face at all, but at Macโ€™s. He remembered the letter: Senior Computer Programmer. A few months ago, the man had been sleeping in carparks and rummaging through skips behind the supermarket for things to eat. Now not only did he have a job, he was moving into a position that Cam had been trying to move into for years. Camโ€™d done the work. Heโ€™d put the hours in. He deserved it. He deserved it more than that man whoโ€™d let his life go to ruin and ended up living on the street. Cam would never let a thing like that happen to him. He was stronger and more resilient than that.


As he showered, he began thinking about the picture on his phone; the one taken of his family at Faithโ€™s wedding; the one that had been ruined by Mac. When he emerged, he took his phone and searched for the picture. He remembered the impression heโ€™d had when he first looked at it; how Mac had appeared to be muscling in from the left next to Denise, and edging him out of the picture on the right. When he brought it up on his phoneโ€™s screen, he saw now that this wasnโ€™t the case. The homeless man in the background behind his family had a forlorn look, as if he thought he belonged in the picture but had not been allowed to stand central with the others. And the more he looked at it, the more he became convinced that it was not Mac who stood there in the ratty camouflage jacket and purple hood, face obscured by unruly beard, but himself. Those were his eyes, werenโ€™t they? He could see in them the fear and confusion he was feeling at that very moment. And that proud looking man with his arm around Rosie and Esme. Wasnโ€™t that Mac? It had to be. Somehow Mac had usurped him that day, taken his place in the picture, in his life.


After dressing he stormed downstairs. Heโ€™d thought Denise mightโ€™ve had his dinner waiting for him, but she was still sat at the dining table with Mac, drinking tea and talking and laughing. Denise had been reaching across the table, covering Macโ€™s hand with her own again. She removed it when Cam entered the room. The two stopped talking and looked at him. Cam saw it all then, in a flood of images. Denise telling him, stony faced, that she wanted a divorce. Him moving into the extension, whilst Mac moved upstairs into the marital bed. One day he would arrive home from work to find his bags had been packed for him. He would kiss the children goodbye, and they would say, โ€˜Is Mac our new daddy?โ€ Then, a bedsit, which would be all heโ€™d be able to afford after the monthly child maintenance payments left his bank account. Weekend visits with the children, during which they would increasingly look at him as if he were a stranger. He would ask them what theyโ€™d been doing and theyโ€™d talk about Mac. Mac took us swimming. Mac read us a bedtime story. Mac taught us to ride a bike. Mac. Mac. Mac. Whilst he, Cam, would just be some man to them. Some man in the background of their lives. Some man they were forced to spend the weekends with in a grotty bedsit where they didnโ€™t even have a room of their own. And what if he lost his job? Thereโ€™d been a round of redundancies already at Reed. They were always cutting back. What if they decided to get rid of him? What then? Who would he rely on? What if he couldnโ€™t afford the bedsit anymore? He would end up homeless. Homeless and on the street. Sleeping in carparks. Searching through skips behind the supermarket forโ€ฆ forโ€ฆ


โ€œGet out,โ€ he said.


โ€œWhat?โ€ Mac and Denise said in unison.


He fixed his gaze on Mac. โ€œGet out. Youโ€™ve been here long enough.โ€


โ€œIs this about the job?โ€ Denise said. โ€œYouโ€™re not jealous, are you?โ€


โ€œOf course Iโ€™m not jealous. I want him out of my house. He was only supposed to come here for a shower, but heโ€™s been here five fucking months already.โ€ He turned back to Mac. โ€œGet out.โ€


โ€œCam!โ€


โ€œNo,โ€ Mac said, holding his hands palm outwards and rising from his chair. โ€œHeโ€™s right. Iโ€™ve overstayed my welcome. You people have been more than kind, youโ€™ve helped me get back on my feet, and now itโ€™s time for me to let you have youโ€™re home back.โ€


โ€œDonโ€™t be ridiculous,โ€ Denise said. โ€œYou canโ€™t go.โ€


โ€œYes he can,โ€ Cam said.


Mac nodded, briefly catching Camโ€™s eye. โ€œIโ€™ll get my things together.โ€


Denise glared at Cam. โ€œWhatโ€™s the matter with you? You canโ€™t make him go now. Not whenโ€ฆโ€


โ€œItโ€™s my house, isnโ€™t it?โ€


โ€œItโ€™s our house. And I want him to stay.โ€


โ€œPlease,โ€ Mac said. He had made it as far as the dining room door and turned back. โ€œDonโ€™t fight over me. Iโ€™ll be okay. Just say goodbye to the girls for me. Iโ€™ll miss them.โ€


โ€œNo,โ€ Denise said, her face suddenly distraught. She shook her head. โ€œNo.โ€


It took some time for life to return to normal after Macโ€™s departure. Denise wouldnโ€™t look at Cam for a week, wouldnโ€™t speak to him for two. Rosie and Esme sat around the house, silent and wall-eyed; and when Cam suggested they do something, go to the park perhaps, they would look at him in bewilderment and shake their heads. In time, though, things returned to normal. Denise seemed to appreciate the extra effort Cam made around the house. He said no to overtime at work and spent the time he gained helping the children with their homework and teaching them to ride their bikes; and Saturday football with the guys and a few beers afterwards was replaced with family swimming lessons at the local pool, or trips to the park. That image still haunted him; that image of himself as a homeless man dressed in a frayed camouflage jacket, never seeing his children, and eating out of skips.


From time to time, when he entered a room, Deniseโ€™s face would light up, only for a moment. But as soon as he spoke, some other expression would appear on her face and she would glance away, her eyes straying to the window. She was thinkingโ€”he knewโ€”of someone else. โœฆ



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Tim Jeffreys' short fiction has appeared in Supernatural Tales, Not One of Us, The Alchemy Press Book of Horrors 2 & 3, and Nightscript, among various other publications. His novella, Holburn, a ghost story set in an exclusive girlsโ€™ school, was published by Manta Press in August, 2022. Follow his progress at www.timjeffreys.blogspot.co.uk.



Speculative fiction & POETRY ZINE
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