Eddie started to laugh. Stan didn’t have a clue, bless his cotton socks. ‘No, course not. They’re talking about their new toys – Milky, the Marvellous Milking Cow. Drove me mad for ’em, they did. All the toy shops had sold out and I spent a whole day driving around looking for ’em. I got two in the end, had to drive all the way to Southend to pick the bastard things up. The things you do for kids, eh?’

Stanley said nothing. Eddie was a good dad, a good husband, but there was still something very sinister about him that Stan couldn’t put his finger on.

Hearing the front door slam, Joyce and Jessica grinned at one another. No words were needed, but both of them were absolutely thrilled that Stanley and Eddie had got over their little differences and become friends.

‘Is it OK if me and Ricky go out the back and play football? We won’t go near the swimming pool, I promise.’

Jessica ruffled Gary’s hair. ‘Of course you can. Mind the flowerbeds, though.’

Joyce helped Jessica take the dirty dishes into the kitchen. ‘I’ll wash up for you, love,’ Joyce insisted.

Jessica giggled. ‘There’s no need, Mum, I’ve got a dishwasher.’

Joyce looked at the metal machine with interest. She’d heard about dishwashers, but had never seen one up close before. ‘You sure it cleans them properly, Jess? I mean, it ain’t like human hands, is it?’

‘Of course it cleans them properly. Now, if you wanna make yourself useful, Mum, pour us both another drink.’

Frankie poked her head around the kitchen door. ‘Grandma, where’s our presents? It’s after dinner now.’

Topping up her glass with sherry, Joyce followed Frankie into the living room. She delved into her big black shopping bag. ‘Here we go. You’ve got a jamboree bag each and me and Grandad clubbed together and bought you both a new toy.’

‘What is it? Can we have it now?’ the twins asked excitedly.

‘Have the jamboree bag now and as soon as Grandad gets back, you can have your toys.’

‘Oh, I want mine now,’ Frankie said, sulking.

‘Do as Nanny says,’ Jessica shouted sternly.

Joey was a polite kid, but her daughter could be a stroppy little cow at times.

Ten minutes later, an ashen-faced Stanley walked back into the house, alone. ‘Jesus Christ, drove like a lunatic, he did. Nearly killed us on that bend down the road there. I think I’m gonna bring me dinner up,’ he moaned.

Raymond got himself a lager and poured his shell-shocked father a large Scotch. ‘Eddie always drives fast. Get that down your neck, you’ll be fine,’ he told his dad.