He put on his clothes, stepped out into the landing, and she toweled his hair dry. “You won’t drink again, will you, love?” He shook his head no. “A curfew on Fridays. Home by five. You hear me?” “Fair enough.” “Promise me now.” “Cross my heart and hope to die.” His eyes were bloodshot. She kissed his hair and held him close. “There’s a cake downstairs for you, love.”
