Joyce hadn’t heard a word from or about her philandering husband since the day Raymond had gone round to see him. She had been devastated when her son had returned home and told her that Stanley was staying with the old slapper, but her devastation had now turned to anger. She still had her off days where she would burst into tears but, overall, she was coping. Stanley had made her look a laughing stock and she would never forgive him for that as long as she lived. One day Stanley would come crawling back with his tail between his legs, and if Joyce allowed him to move back in, she would make his life hell.

Finishing her cuppa, Joyce stood up. She hated those shop-bought mince pies – her own were much better and she was determined to impress Polly’s parents. The doorbell stopped her in her tracks. It was ever so early and she certainly wasn’t expecting anyone. She had recently changed all the locks and briefly wondered if it was Stanley.

‘Surprise!’ two voices said in unison, as she opened the front door.

Joyce stood with her mouth open. Rita and Hilda were her oldest friends and had been brilliant since the Stanley episode.

‘Ain’t you gonna invite us in?’ Hilda asked, waving a bottle of sherry in the air.

‘Course I am. I’m just shocked to see ya both, especially this bleedin’ early.’

Rita laughed and handed Joyce a big bouquet of flowers. ‘My Albert has gone to see his witch of a sister in Ockendon, so he dropped us off on the way. Me and Hilda would like to come over Jessica’s grave with ya. That’s what the flowers are for.’

Smiling, Joyce led them into the lounge. She had a lovely family, wonderful friends and Stanley could go and fuck himself.

Half-an-hour later, the postman’s arrival turned Joycie’s newfound happiness into despair. ‘Oh, my giddy aunt,’ she cried.

‘Whatever’s the matter?’ Rita asked, as Joyce sank to her knees.

Joyce waved the letter in the air. ‘It’s Stanley. He’s filed for divorce.’

Over at East London Cemetery, Jed and Sammy sat down on a grave opposite Harry Mitchell’s and admired their handiwork. Jed always kept a load of crap in the motor for when they did odd jobs for old people whom they later conned, and he had just decorated Harry’s grave in red and blue paint. Sammy had joined in by smashing the headstone with a big hammer and Jed was now ready to put the icing on the cake.

‘Why don’t we trash his old woman’s grave an’ all?’ Sammy suggested. Harry had bought his own plot years before his death so he could be laid to rest beside his beloved wife.