‘You don’t think the Mitchells have snatched ’em do you?’ Jed asked, still holding his private parts.

‘No chance, with Frankie still inside. It’s more than they dare do,’ Jimmy replied confidently.

‘What’s going on?’ Sally asked, as she appeared at the top of the stairs.

Jed ignored her and pushed his parents out of the front door. He felt tearful now and sick with fear. He’d already lost one child and losing his other two didn’t bear thinking about.

Stanley sat open-mouthed as Thelma and Louise prepared to drive off the cliff. It wasn’t the film that was causing his state of shock, it was because Pat the Pigeon had just laid her head on his shoulder and put an arm across his belly.

Even as a lad, Stanley had been no lothario. Women had never liked him, full stop, and apart from the rare fumble with Joycie, he’d had fewer sexual encounters than a monk.

Willing Thelma and Louise to get on with it and drive off the bastard cliff, Stanley was relieved when they did so and as the credits rolled, he immediately faked a yawn and stood up. ‘Oh well, that’s me done for the night. Them bitters have knocked me out.’

‘What about your rhubarb crumble?’ Pat asked, sitting up straight.

‘I’m still bloated from that stew, love. Is it OK if we eat it tomorrow?’

Pat the Pigeon was a five-foot-two, voluptuous and big-breasted blonde. She was in her mid-fifties, but still had a lovely complexion and an extremely pretty face. With her hearty laugh and sexy smile, men had always fallen at her feet and even when she’d been married to Vic, she’d had to fight off unwelcome advances from her army of admirers. Stanley was a different kettle of fish and as desperate as Pat was to get him into bed, she knew she had to play the waiting game.

‘Slowly, slowly catchee monkey,’ her wise old mum used to say.

‘Yes, of course it’s OK to eat it tomorrow, Stanley. You get off to that nice comfortable bed in the spare room and I’ll see you in the morning, lovey.’

Desperate for his nan not to go off her head or get drunk and smash the house up like she did the last time when his grandad left home, Joey had offered to stay the night with her. Dominic, being the best partner a man could wish for, had just arrived with a big bag of fish and chips for them all.

Pleased that his nan was tucking in, Joey offered her another pickled onion.

‘I bet that’s the old bastard. He’s probably too frightened to use his key,’ Joyce said as the doorbell rang.

Positive it couldn’t be his grandad, as they hadn’t heard his car pull up, Joey put his plate down and stood up. He opened the door and could barely believe his eyes. Georgie was standing on a plant pot, which she’d used to reach the doorbell, and Harry was standing next to the pot, shivering and crying.