Without pausing to think the thing through, I started singing the first song that came into my head, ‘Jingle Bells’, in a stupid voice, squeaky one minute and fake deep the next. Quite loudly. Everybody looked at me and I looked back at them all in turn, still singing. No two expressions were the same. Amelia had her that-doesn’t-compute face on. Caleb shrank from me in angry alarm. And Xander was grinning. Meanwhile, Innocent was shaking his head at me, mouthing, ‘Stop!’ and Patience’s round eyes had narrowed to a glare as the guy in the Manchester United shirt took a step forward and aimed his gun right at my head.

‘Over the fields we go, laughing all the way!’ I yelled. Forcing each word out was like coughing up a stone. Out of the corner of my eye I could see one of the other men’s shoulders shaking. I turned to him and grinned manically as I sang. He was carrying a long bamboo pole with a noose dangling from it. By the time I got to ‘Oh what fun it is to ride …’ he was laughing openly, jiggling the rope.

Out of nowhere, Xander joined in, but with a different song and in a completely flat tone, more droning than singing: ‘Oh come all ye faithful, joyful and triumphant …’

Manchester United shouted ‘Silence!’ – in French it came out seelonce – but the main man also advanced, waving at him to put his gun away. There were big sweat patches under the main man’s arms and the buttons on his shirt were taut around his belly.

‘Bells on bobtails ring, making spirits bright!’

‘Sing choirs of angels, sing in exaltation!’

The leader’s face was hard to read. His brow was furrowed, but more in disbelief than anger. Would he explode or walk away? Neither yet. He glanced back at Innocent for an explanation, and Innocent thought quickly enough to raise one hand and spin his forefinger next to his head, the international sign for ‘beats me, they’re mental’.

Amelia, having solved the quadratic equation of the situation, now chimed in with a screechy, ‘Silent night, holy night, all is calm, all is bright!’ and on the three of us went, murdering those carols in broad daylight.

I felt curiously weightless, as if I’d taken a leap and gravity hadn’t bitten yet; I had no idea where I was about to land. The pot-bellied leader put his hands on his hips and looked to his friend with the snare, who was still trying not to laugh. I think this tipped the balance in our favour, as a smile flickered on the face of the main man himself. Not wanting to give in to it either, he puffed up his chest, shrugged, and said something I didn’t catch, but that didn’t matter because his body language spelled it out: everything about him said, This really isn’t worth it.

Innocent, catching his attention, mimed a further apologetic what can you do?