The doorbell rang just as he and Carlene were tucking into the pizza he’d bought on his way home from The Lido.
‘It’s probably Jo,’ Carlene said, getting up from the couch. ‘She said they might call in on their way to their Christmas party.’
Jo and Wayne seemed to have an in-built radar for the most inconvenient visiting times. Reuben imagined them with a huge satellite telescope set up on their top balcony, reading signals from his and Carlene’s home ten kilometres away. ‘Quick,’ Wayne would shout, rubbing his hands together gleefully, ‘they’re having dinner (or an argument, or a nookie). Let’s go! And don’t forget the kids because they’ve got runny noses and the whinges!’
Reuben braced himself for the onslaught. A familiar voice floated through the front door. ‘Ho ho ho! Merry Christm
