Flora and Dora sat on the floor, their noses twitching to scent the air, and then Flora, who was the more adventurous of the pair, decided to scamper towards Emily.

Emily screamed, scrambled to her feet and was still screaming as she ran to Martin and clutched at his legs. Not to be outdone, Rose swiftly followed suit.

Dora fled beneath the table, but Flora shot across the room to sit on top of the gramophone box where she let out a high-pitched screech and a stream of stinking poo.

The smell hit them all, and the two children carried on screaming and would not be calmed even when Martin bundled them into his arms. Daisy folded her arms and rolled her eyes in world-weary disgust at her cousins’ behaviour.

Ron quickly got to his feet, deciding Dora could stay where she was, but Flora needed rounding up before she did further damage. He was just reaching to grab her by the scruff when the door opened and Fran’s Robert stepped into the room.

‘Shut that door,’ shouted Ron.

But it was too late. Flora had seen her chance to escape, and before Robert could react, shot like lightning across the room, through his feet and out into the hall.

Ron turned swiftly to find that Dora had disappeared from beneath the table, so had no doubt followed her sister. ‘Quick,’ he shouted. ‘After them.’

Andy, Robert, Jack, Frank and Ron dashed into the hall with Peter limping behind them and little Daisy running to catch them up. Martin, with his arms full of small, sobbing girls, was left behind to deal with them.

There was no sign of the ferrets, and with his heart in his mouth, Ron could only pray that Robert had shut the back door behind him. If they got outside, he’d never find them in the dark.

The door was, mercifully, closed, and Harvey quickly sniffed out Dora who was wedged beneath the large kitchen dresser and spitting venom. Harvey danced on his toes, barking excitedly, as Daisy clapped her hands and laughed.

‘Shut up, Harvey,’ snapped Ron. ‘Go and find Flora. Seek. Seek.’

As the dog galloped off back into the hall, Ron ordered Robert to keep Daisy out of harm’s way and shut both doors while he tried to get Dora out of her hiding place. He quickly shoved the table and chairs to one side, and then stretched out on the floor to plunge his arm beneath the dresser. His fingers scrabbled for her scruff.

Dora was having none of it. She didn’t want to come out, and as she reversed deeper beneath the dresser, she hissed and spat, her needle-sharp teeth snapping at his fingers, her eyes gleaming with fear and fury.

‘Here you go, mate,’ drawled Peter, handing him a gardening glove he’d plucked from the top of the dresser. ‘I reckon you might need this before you lose a finger to those teeth.’

Ron grunted his thanks, pulled on the glove and eased his arm beneath the dresser again. ‘Come on, Dora, wee girl,’ he soothed. ‘There’s nought to be afraid of.’