" He heard the back door open and close. Carol, of course. Smelled her before he could see her. He’d never asked them when the affair began but always presumed it ran along invisible tracks parallel to his parents’ marriage. Mum had the painting and he had Carol. Truce.
/It’s hard being born here, breathing this air. It becomes part of you, whether you want it to or not. Those lights become dawn and dusk.
Mum used to say that.
Did she? We were friends once.
I never knew that.
In the early days, we were. But the she seemed to withdraw. Rarely went out with your dad anymore. Maybe it was being a new mum. I reckon you were enough for her. Lucky Dora, we used to say.
Ellis put his arm around her shoulder./
It was hard for us, wasn’t it? Getting to know each other?
We know each other now, said Ellis.
Yeah.
And you know you’re too good for him.
I know, said Carol, and they laughed.
Do you think he’s alright? said Ellis, looking back to the house.
Course he is. He’s just used to being a bastard. He’s one of them men who discovered later on that he’s got a heart. "

― Sarah Winman , Tin Man