Her dad took the phone. ‘For God’s sake woman, stop blethering. Fi, it’s me. Your mother is becoming more insane by the minute. She somehow has got into her dippy head that something bad’s about to happen. I think it’s all the cheese she had at lunch with, I might add, most of a bottle of claret.’

Fiona heard a yelp of indignation.

Her father continued. ‘But just to put you in the picture, Fi, we are okay. Beautiful weather, unseasonably mild. And we’ve only had one heavy shower.’

‘Great. Everything’s fine here, house still in one piece.’

‘Is the Little Prince out doing the rounds with my broomstick?’

‘Yeah, he went out with Jack and his two cousins.’ Fiona glanced at the clock. ‘Nearly an hour ago. I’m expecting him to ring our bell soon.’

‘Give me the phone, Stru!’ Dorothy was strident. ‘Fi, take care, will you. I can feel it in my waters, there’s something…’

‘Hell’s teeth, woman. Will you stop worrying the girl. She’s not a child.’

‘Mum, Dad, I’m fine.’ She grinned. ‘There’s a howling gale outside but we’re nice and snug here and – oh, and I’ve had the heating on all day and all night in case of frost.’

‘What? That’s bloody ridiculous!’

‘Ha, got you, Dad. Don’t worry I’ve not had to move the timer from your three stingy hours morning and night. Yet.’

‘You should see our heating bills, Fi. Anyway, got to go, but we’ll speak tomorrow. Christ, stop trying to grab the phone, Dot. Here she is, Fi.’

‘Can you phone the surgery tomorrow please, darling. Your dad’s actually not been great – tired, bit breathless. I want him to see Dr Stobie on Wednesday afternoon when we’re back. The last appointment if you can.’

Fiona could hear muttering in the background. ‘You don’t need to top up your dram, Stru! Sorry, Fi. Is that all right, sweetheart? That busybody receptionist’s there for a couple of hours on a Saturday morning.’

‘Okay, will do.’

The doorbell rang. ‘That’ll be the guisers at the door now,’ said Fiona. ‘Got to go.’

* * *

‘So, Jamie, time for your joke please.’ Four boys stood at the door, under the front light. It was pitch dark outside and the wind had got up. The boys were all holding on to their hats and Jamie’s bin-bag costume flapped around him. Jack’s cousins were dressed as ghouls, with impressive face painting, and Jack was another wizard. Fiona had to admit, he was wearing a wonderful outfit. Why could she not sew like the other mums? The other three boys had done a poem and a couple of songs.

‘Okay, here goes.’ Jamie stepped forward and grinned broadly. ‘Why was six afraid of seven?’

‘I don’t know, Jamie. Why was six afraid of seven?’

‘Because seven eight nine!’