Joyce scowled at her mother. She saw very little of her parents, which suited Joyce just fine. They hadn’t seen eye to eye for years and Joyce would never forgive her mum for forcing her to marry Stanley.

‘No, he’s not too good to be true, mother. He’s a respectable gentleman, a lovely chap. In fact, he’s the total opposite of what you made me end up with.’

Ivy knew when to shut up. There was nothing whatsoever wrong with Stanley. Joyce had always had a high opinion of herself. Acted like Lady Dunabunk, she did, full of her own self-importance.

‘Where is everybody?’ Jessica asked.

Joyce looked at the clock and felt the first stirrings of annoyance. She’d been so wrapped up talking about the wedding, she’d forgotten Stanley had been due back ages ago.

‘Christ knows where your father’s got to. He was ready at ten o’clock this morning, had a bath and put his suit straight on, he did. Then he dragged your grandad and Raymond down the bookie’s, said they’d only be half-hour. If he’s in that pub, getting half-sozzled, I’ll bleedin’ well kill the bastard.’

Jessica felt her heart beating at double its usual pace. She was already nervous about the day ahead and the last thing she needed was her parents at one another’s throats. Please God, not today, she prayed silently.

* * *

Stanley Smith stood in the betting shop and watched in dismay as trap six came stone bollock last.

‘Stupid fucking mutt, wants putting down,’ he cursed, as he made the short walk back to his local. ‘Give us another three bitters, three whisky chasers, and a lager for Raymond,’ he told Anna, the barmaid.

Anna smiled. ‘You’re going for it today, Stanley. Who’s that older man you’re with? And why are yous all dressed up?’

Not in the mood for polite conversation, Stanley mumbled the words, ‘Father-in-law, going to a wedding,’ and walked away.

Stanley was dreading the day ahead of him. The thought of handing his beautiful daughter over to a bastard like Eddie Mitchell filled him with hatred and anger.

‘What’s the time, Stan? Hadn’t we better be getting back soon?’ asked Bill, his father-in-law.

‘Mum’ll have her broom out if you’re late,’ Raymond joked.

‘It’s OK, we’ve got time to drink these,’ Stan replied confidently.

Jock, Stan’s best mate, necked his whisky chaser and smiled. ‘Well, did you have any luck with that dog you had the tip on?’

Stanley shook his head. ‘I think the bastard mutt’s still running. My luck’s fucked at the moment, in every way you could think of.’

Seconds later, Stanley’s luck got even worse as he spotted an angry-looking Joyce stomping into the pub. ‘Shit, tell her I’ve already left,’ he said, as he threw himself under the table.