Eddie pulled his son into his arms and slapped him on the back. ‘I love you, boy, now jog on outside and get the others before I make a complete fucking prick of meself.’

Joyce was on tenterhooks as she peeped through the corner of the curtain, waiting for Stanley to arrive. He was fifteen minutes late and she prayed to God that he hadn’t had a last-minute change of heart. Finally, his car pulled onto the drive and Joyce jumped away from the curtain, ran into the kitchen and began sweeping the floor with her broom.

‘One minute,’ she shouted as Stanley rang the doorbell.

Stanley stood patiently on the doorstep. He hadn’t asked Joyce if it was all right to bring his pigeons back home and he hoped she wasn’t annoyed that he had just presumed it would be OK. His pigeon shed was still in one piece in the back garden, thank God. Once, years ago when he’d walked out briefly, Joycie had smashed his old shed to smithereens with a massive bloody hammer.

‘Oh, it’s you, Stanley,’ Joyce said with a surprised expression on her face.

‘Are you expecting somebody else?’ Stanley asked politely. Surely she hadn’t forgotten he was coming home today.

‘No, I just didn’t remember what time you said you’d be back,’ Joyce lied.

‘I hope you don’t mind, love, but I brought me babies home with me. Is that OK?’ Stanley asked cautiously.

‘Yes, I suppose so. Walk them around the back, though, I don’t want them coming through the house any more.’

Stanley obediently did as he was told, then returned to the car to unload his clothes and other bits and bobs. ‘Shall I take these straight upstairs to my old room, love?’

‘Yes, in a minute. Come and sit down first. I’ve made us a pot of tea and I want to go through my list of house rules with you.’

Stanley felt like a naughty schoolboy as he sat on the sofa opposite his wife.

Joyce cleared her throat. ‘Rule number one. I am not getting in that stinking, pigeon-shit-infested car of yours any more. Keep it to use for carting your pigeons about by all means, but I am going to choose a car out of the money we have in my bank account and I expect you to take me anywhere I wish to go in it, any time I ask.’

‘Yes, dear,’ Stanley replied immediately.

‘Number two. I don’t mind cooking for us on weekdays, but unless we’re having guests over, I expect to be taken out for meals at weekends in future and I expect you to pay.’

‘Yes, dear.’

‘Number three. I want you to apologise to Jock for what you did to him. You were bang out of order blaming that man, he’s been a good friend to you, Stanley.’