“What is that?” Claire asks pointing to his shoulder; her nose wrinkling in disgust.
Arran cranes his neck to look at the offending item. “Ah, that would be sick,” he said matter-of-factly. “I was in the baby unit tod-“
“You need to get changed,” Claire said now glaring at the dried stain on his shirt.
Arran refrained from rolling his eyes. “I was planning on doing just that,” he said heading ...