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clear the table, or at least ask to be excused a chore. But she also acknowledged that this father and son hadn't seen each other for a week and Zac had been first down from the table challenging Tom to a PlayStation final-of-finals. So she tidied up and allowed them their quality time.
    She glanced at the clock and felt relieved that it really was nearing Tom's bedtime. Zac had worked so late the last couple of nights she felt she hadn't seen him at all. ‘I'll run your bath, Tom,’ she said.
    ‘One more game,’ Zac called to her.
    ‘I'll run it slowly,’ Pip said.
    Despite actually trying his damndest to win, Zac lost at PlayStation. Far from being wounded, his pride soared at Tom's skill and after a noisy bathtime, he cuddled up with his son for a lengthy dip into James and the Giant Peach . Pip could hear the soft timbre of Zac's reading voice. She poured two glasses of wine and organized Tom's school bag for the morning.
    Zac appeared and made the fast-asleep gesture with his hands. ‘He was tired,’ he said.
    ‘Well, It's late for him,’ said Pip, offering a glass of wine.
    Zac looked at his watch. ‘I just have a little work to do,’ he told Pip who looked instantly deflated, ‘just an hour or so.’ He took the wine, kissed Pip on the lips, squeezed her bottom and disappeared with his laptop. He's happy, Pip told herself. She looked on the bright side, which was very much her wont. At least it gave her the opportunity to phone Cat, as long as her youngest sister had been able to resist the jet lag on her first day back in the country.
    Many would say that being a high-flying accountant would have its ups and downs: financial remuneration in return for long hours and often relatively dull work; a bulging pay packet to compensate for a dry grey image. How else would accountants have become such a clichéd race? But the only things grey about Zac Holmes are his eyes which are dark slate to the point of being navy anyway, and the only dry thing about Zac is his sense of humour. If Zac's looks and his personality had dictated a career, it would have been something on the funky side of creative. But Zac's brain, with its amazing propensity for figures, decreed accountancy from the outset. Anything else just wouldn't be logical. Zac likes logic, he likes straightforward solutions and simple answers to even the most complex of problems. Consequently, he never judges anything to be a dilemma because he knows intrinsically that there is always a way to work it all out. Zac believes that problems are merely perceived as such. If you just sit down and think carefully, there's nothing that can't be solved. Problems don't really exist at all, it comes down to attitude. That goes for his personal life as much as his professional. So, when ten years ago, his on-off girlfriend announced she was pregnant a few weeks after a forgettable drunken friendship fuck, Zac welcomed the news with a shrug and easily devised a formula that would suit them all.
    2 firm friends + 0 desire to marry/cohabit
(+ never ÷ by £/♡ issues)
= great + modern parents
= 1 lucky child.
    June, the mother of his child, can never be an ex-wife or ex-girlfriend because she was neither when Tom was conceived. She's Zac's friend and Zac is her friend and for Tom to have parents who are friends is a gift. Tom also hastwo step-parents. Everyone is friends. It might appear unconventional, but it works. A large family of friends.
    Django McCabe may have trawled the sixties, trekking from ashram to commune, hiking from yurt to kibbutz, in search of the same. But he was happy to admit that his eldest niece had found its apotheosis in London NW3.
    Pip is hovering. Zac's hour at his laptop has turned into two.
    ‘Coffee?’ she offers.
    ‘No, ta,’ says Zac, ‘need to crack on.’
    ‘Tea?’ she suggests.
    ‘Nope, I'm fine thanks, Mrs,’ says Zac. ‘I have to knock this on its head.’
    ‘Whisky?’
    ‘No, nothing – I'm good.