"This could be - ah - awkward," remarked Richard, eyeing the three onlookers. They were walking back from the park, Amy and Abigail hopping on and off Anita's wheelchair as they went."What could be, dear?" asked Wendy.
"Well," began Richard, taking a deep breath, "it appears we're just about to run into our estranged son who tried to murder our other children, in the company of my megalomaniac incontinent mother, and my witless father who refuses to admit that he married the most evil woman on earth."
"Oh, Richard!" Wendy smiled. "I'm sure you love them really!"
"Let's just presume that's true for the next five minutes, shall we? It'll probably be safer. Hello, Brandon!" Richard said quickly as the group approached.
Brandon looked down at the plastic slotted-together pavement and kicked his ball sulkily. "Dad."
"Brandon, love!" Wendy rushed forward and threw her arms around her son. "Look girls, it's your brother!"
Anita stopped the wheelchair dead. She pulled Amy and Abigail on to her lap and held them tightly.
"Come on, girls," coaxed Wendy as Brandon struggled to free himself from her. "Come and give your brother a hug."
Richard leaned towards her. "He tried to kill them, remember?" he said out of the side of his mouth.
Slowly Wendy let go. "I'm sure he didn't mean it, did you Brandon?"
At last Granny Gold, who had been watching with interest, spoke. "Of course he did, you doting idiot!" she cried exultantly. "He's my grandson!"
"Hmmm," said Wendy in a noncommittal way, remembering the liaison with Goran the tennis professional at the Holiday Inn Express fifteen years ago.
"You just don't like me because I'm not ginger like those three!" Brandon burst out, pointing at Anita, Amy and Abigail. "It's reverse discrimination!"
"That's not true, love," pleaded Wendy. "And besides, you can convert. I've got some ginger hair dye at home. You'll look just like one of the family."
"You fool!" shrieked Granny Gold. "Don't you realise? You can't change here. Nobody can change. We're stuck like this, forever! We've looked into the abyss and seen the future. There is none. Plastic St is our past, present and future!"
There was a stricken silence. Brandon opened his mouth to supply another dramatic a cappella soundtrack, but met Granny Gold's eye and closed it again. It seemed nothing could heighten the drama of this moment.
Until Grandad began rummaging frantically in his jacket. "It's my Elton John glasses!" he wailed. "I think I dropped them into the abyss!"
