How the hell had they ended up at the pub for dinner? His last memory was from hours ago, just after lunch. He’d opened the package with the DNA results, alone in the cabin while Kai was at school. A short report had already been sent to him online but this package contained extra detail and a few brochures, including one on counselling. His mouth had been as dry as four months ago, when he’d been trying to work up enough saliva to fill the tube. Even though the report told him little more, the physical sight of it had him reaching for the whisky bottle. With the alcohol burning in his throat, he typed out an email, double-checking each word, hoping Juliet would answer this time. She must have received her report by now—it would indicate if his DNA was a match. Pressing send, he noticed a new message from head office pop up. He slammed the laptop shut, but it was too late: the sounds from the Kenya project flooded his brain. He’d slugged another whisky, blocking outwork. And another.