‘She’ve never struck me as someone with a dicky ticker,’ Huw said, glasses firmly on his nose, hands firmly on his steering wheel as they trundled conservatively down the M4, two miles an hour under the speed limit.

‘Well, exactly,’ said Liz. ‘I mean, she’s hardly fat, is she, Huw? I wouldn’t call her fat …’

‘Noooo, not fat as such – but not skinny neither. I’d call it …’ He struggled to find the right word. He didn’t want to be too complimentary in his description of Patricia Harris, because if truth be told he’d always found her quite attractive. In a dirty, sluttish, Jackie Kennedy-esque kind of a way. ‘I’d say she was … well-proportioned.’

‘Pfffff, makes her sound like a sideboard!’

‘Er, OK … comely?’

‘Comely??? What, like a comely wench?’ Liz laughed.

‘Let’s say curvaceous then!’ Huw finally conceded, regretting it instantly and going bright giveaway red.

‘Oh my good Lord, do you fancy her, Huw?’

‘Excuse me, this conversation is hideous,’ Catrin interrupted, much to Huw’s relief. ‘That’s Judith’s mother you’re talking about!’

‘Sorry, yes, sorry,’ said Liz, crossing herself. ‘God rest her mean-spirited soul.’

‘And she’s not dead!’ Catrin exclaimed. Her parents were unbelievable sometimes.

‘The point is,’ Liz continued, ‘all your father is sayin’ is that Patricia Harris don’t look like your usual candidate for a heart attack, do she, Huw?’

And once again they were off, discussing various people they knew who had suffered heart attacks and comparing their physical stature with that of Patricia Harris, before launching in to discuss numerous diets, Liz fixating on the merits of the F-plan when it came to shifting the pounds. ‘I’m telling you, Huw, it’s baked potatoes morning, noon and night and the woman lost three and a half stone!’

An hour later, Catrin and Lana were sat in the airport lounge, miserably drinking their second coffee, staring at the information board and waiting for the revelation of a gate number. Lana suggested there was no point in all of them waiting, and maybe Mr and Mrs Kelly would like to be heading home. But Huw wouldn’t hear of it. ‘And what happens if the flight is cancelled and me an’ Liz are merrily wending our way back over the Severn Bridge, leaving you stranded on some airport bench?’

Lana wondered if Catrin’s parents would be happier if the whole trip was cancelled. But more than that, she wondered if Catrin herself wished it was cancelled. ‘It just all feels wrong, Larn,’ whispered Catrin forlornly. ‘Like it’s doomed or something.’

‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ Lana said, though without much conviction.

But suddenly she was interrupted by a familiar voice. ‘Girls!’

They looked up and were met by the strangest of sights: walking towards them was … Gareth! And walking alongside him, passport in hand, rucksack on back, beaming smile on face, was Judith.

‘Oh my God, Jude! You came!’ screeched Catrin.

‘Babes! I don’t understand … what about your …’ stammered Lana.

‘Long story,’ interrupted Judith.