Claude quickly moved to his mother's side and took her arm. "Com'on Mom, let's get ya inside okay? Far to cold out" Anything to get away from his father at the moment.

Years ago, there used to be a hurt look accompanied to those words. There was a reason (or ten) she all but pickled herself in wine (well, gin these days – how long had that been?): it was so much easier to see the good in Harry this way! Or, well, forget the bad.

“Oh, no,” she sighed, and once upon a time she might have cried about it.

But she had learned long before the drinking that she could do no right – why worry over anything?

“Oh, Noah,” she smiled and crinkled her nose, letting him lead the way.

Noah was the curly one, right? Oh well. Close enough.

Harry followed them in, because he wasn't done venting. "Ye can't even keep yer own children apart. Do us a favor and go back to sleep, will ye!"

“Pa, she can’t sleep with you yelling at her....” Claude responded quietly, but truely wanting to tell his father to piss off. The man did exactly the same thing with his children. In truth, Claude was probably the only one who knew them all.

Truth be told, she liked Claude all the better because of his lack of relation.

There was a squint, as though she were struggling to decide whether her husband had worn out her benefit of the doubt yet (somehow drinking, clearly, he hadn’t).

“I was just about to,” she smiled, then tripped without moving.

Harry turned to Claude and poked his finger into the young man's chest. "Shut yer gob or get out, will ye?"

But just then there was the sound of Anita crashing down on the floor and Harry swore loudly. "Look what ye've done to yourself, now." He walked over to help her up by the elbows.