“Edwina Curry too?” exclaimed Martin. “Where’s little bro…? There he is.”
The drunken attempts to unlock the door then a stumbling entrance gave the clue.
Inspired, Helen sat upright. “Where the hell’ve you been? I’ve been worried sick.”
“I’m old nuff… gesh back when I wants…
“Ungrateful shite. Mum’s called the police.”
“I SAID, I’M… “What?” Mother and brother had curled up, gasping with laughter.
It was a decade before Peter too, found it amusing.