Fenny hummed along with the Spinal Tap song as her pen scratched along her father’s cast. She liked to think it was the painkillers he’d been given that had caused her father’s sudden need to watch cult movies, but she had to admit to herself that it was probably just her father using his injuries and heartbreak over the camera to do things he wasn’t usually allowed to do. Like watch Monty Python movies, which was how he’d spent his time since he’d been discharged from the hospital, along with ordering around his wife and asking Fenny to draw on his cast.

“’Keeping the Plaster of Paris industry alive since 1960’,” David read aloud, finally noticing the little plaque Fenny had drawn on his arm. “What does that mean?”

“Isn’t that when you did your Rocky the Squirrel impersonation and jumped out of the tree and broke both your arms?”

“Yes. Although I think it was more of an im-cartoon squirrel-ination than an im-person-ation. Performance art.”

“Right, sure. And need we count how many other times you’ve had other limbs casted?”

“I can’t wait to show the guys at work your latest piece of art,” he chirped, changing the subject from his own stupidity and running a finger over the permanent ink. He grinned proudly at his daughter and she rolled her eyes at him.

“You’re sure the doctors read the right brain scans?” she asked as she capped the pen, but he was already engrossed in watching Derek Smalls pull a foil-wrapped cucumber from his pants at the airport metal detector. She wandered to the kitchen to see if her mother needed help cooking dinner. The kitchen was empty but for Sully, who was grating cheese. “Need some help?” she asked.

“I didn’t know that phrase was in your vocabulary,” Sully sneered.

“God, how is it we’ve never managed a civil conversation in our lives,” Fenny moaned.

“I’m not the one lacking any sense of human decency or family loyalty.”

“You’re still on about me quitting?”

“Actually, yeah, I am. It never occurred to you that maybe the firm needed you?”

“If you’d have told me that from time to time instead of shoving mindless work at me, maybe it would have.”

“But admit it Fen, ‘mindless work’,” he said, complete with a derisive smirk and quotation mark gestures in the air, “was a hell of a lot better than your piss ant freelancing and babysitting your precious boyfriend’s illegitimate child.”

Their mother appeared and sauntered to the oven where she briefly inspected the casserole inside, smiled at her children who were diligently grating cheese and folding napkins, and wandered out. Fenny dropped the napkin and glared at Sully. “Well at least I’ve got a steady stream of work and a loving family. Sort of.”

“Shit, Addie’s right,” he chuckled, “you just can’t let go of your Hollywood dreams, can you?”

“What the hell does that mean,” Fenny sighed, beginning to get exasperated with him.

“You used your job with me to bag yourself the first famous guy that paid you any attention so you could get out of suburbia to the lights of LA and now you can’t let go, even when your little dream is falling apart because of this Lilly kid.”

“What are you on about? You think I’m using Brad because you seem to think he’s famous?”

“Well for a comedian he’s pretty good, ain’t he? Something you could never do, be a successful comic, or even a successful artist. You can’t be a successful anything, so you latched on to a successful guy instead.”

Fenny’s face fell as Louise appeared again to grab a soda from the refrigerator. Sully was grating the block of cheese so harshly he was likely to lose a finger, and Fenny just wrung the napkin in her hands. As soon as Louise left the room, Fenny tossed the napkin at her brother. “Well screw you. What does a deluded, judgmental prick like you want with a gold digging failure anyway.”

She headed out of the kitchen but ran into Addie. “Mom says to set the table and microwave the beans, dinner’s almost ready.” Fenny marched back to grab the napkins, silverware and plates to set the dining room table.

“So how are you guys doing?” Danny asked around a mouthful of food. “What’ve you been up to lately, other than making up?”

“Making up?” Gina asked.

“I saw Paul’s note in the other room. Staying together for the kids’ sake?”

“You should see how it tears up Troy and Archie when we fight,” Paul shrugged.

“I’m so over it,” Gina declared.

“I’m not,” Paul pouted. “Where’s the kinky makeup sex?”

“Oh?” Danny raised an eyebrow. “You want me to leave the room for a minute or two?”

“Wouldn’t even take that long,” Gina chuckled.

“Oh, now that’s cruel,” Paul pouted. “You’ll pay for that later.”

“I’ve been a bad girl,” she smirked with a lecherous grin and what Danny was certain was an under the table grope.

“I’m suddenly going off my food,” Danny teased, pushing his half finished fish and chips away. “Getting off the topic of your plans for the evening—”

“Aww,” Paul whined.

“—you heard from the others? Fen and Brad, Greg, Ritza, Beven, any of the homicidal maniacs who tried to kill us?”

“Fen and Brad are in Vegas with his kid,” Gina shrugged. “Brad’s been getting drunk, Fen’s been performing with the guys, and Lilly has probably driven Fen to the brink of insanity.”

“Ritza’s with ‘em,” Paul added around a chip.

“Oh yeah, turns out her son’s father has suddenly decided to take over, which she’s not happy about.”

“And Greg’s in Vegas too, abandoned by his wife for some reason. Sulking like a little girl,” Paul smirked.

“Don’t think anyone’s heard from Beven, which I’m not sure is a good thing or not. And as far as I know, no homicidal maniacs plotting revenge. Not that they have a habit of warning us, though.”

“So with you two at each other’s throats off and on between bouts of makeup sex and me without a job because of an imaginary Spanish model, things are pretty much normal for our little crew,” Danny smiled.

“If you count Greg’s showgirl fetish and Paul’s rapidly growing collection of freaky friends normal, yeah,” Gina shrugged.

“Shh, they’ll hear you,” Paul shushed her, gesturing to the next room where Troy and Archie were still staring blankly at the wall.

“So, Gina, working at the Herald again?”

“Nope, newsreader for Channel 10, and don’t ask me to help you get a job because I’m going to be in enough trouble after I beat Freya with a boom mic, I don’t think they’d be too open for my suggestions.”

“Really? Freya’s there too?” he chuckled. “Man are you ever paying some killer karmic debt.”

“Let’s not discuss it,” Gina sighed.

“Well then, you could always write me a letter of recommendation, tell the paper what a fabulous job I did for you back in the UK regardless of the fact I got fired.”

“What fabulous job,” she teased. “How many reviews did I get from you by the end of the festival?”

“Oh come on Gina,” Danny sighed dramatically. “Only because we were kidnapped and you’re better at bullshitting reviews than I am.”

“You spent half your time trying to get into my married best friend’s pants.”

“And I succeeded once, too,” he beamed.

“I don’t think you’re helping matters any, mate,” Paul pointed out.

“Then do it because I put up with Greg Proops in an effort to save your arse. That’s gotta be worth something, yeah?” Danny asked.

“You’re right, you’ve been though enough. I’ll think about it.”

“Thanks, you’re such a great pal,” he perked, patting her on the shoulder and wiping a bit of the grease from his fried fish onto her sleeve.

“Do that again and I’ll tell them about the Spanish model too. Maybe add a Puerto Rican pool boy for good measure,” Gina chuckled.

“What about me?” Paul asked. “Aren’t I a good friend? I know I wouldn’t let you touch Archie, but he’s shy around strangers, no offense.”

“You’re a great pal too, McDermott, but if you do anything to hurt Gina again I have no qualms about taking out your prostate with a cocktail fork.”

Paul raised an eyebrow at him. “Don’t you have someplace to go?”

“Yeah, yeah, I can take a hint,” he chuckled, standing up from the table. “Enjoy the makeup sex, and thanks for the bed. And don’t think I’m kidding about the fork,” Danny warned as Gina headed to show him out with a head nod to Paul to clean up.

“So Addie, what are you studying this semester?” Louise asked. The silence at the table had been almost overwhelming for the last few minutes as none of the children seemed willing to look at each other and David occupied himself with trying, unsuccessfully, to eat with his left hand.

“You’re paying for her third go through college and you don’t even know what she’s studying?” Fenny chuckled.

“Is it really your third?” Louise gasped, not having thought of it before. “I guess so – four if you count that stint in the ambulatory services program at the junior college, but you didn’t finish that either.”

“Hey, just because I’m not like everyone’s golden girl Fenny, doesn’t mean you have to imply I’m an idiot,” Abbie sulked.

“Pft, golden girl,” Sully scoffed. “With the bastard child, I’m so sure.”

“Anyone want more beans?” Louis perked.

“Can we not discuss it?” Fenny sighed.

“I don’t see anything wrong with discussing beans,” David declared. “Domesticated in South America don’t you know, along with potatoes. Wonder why potatoes don’t show up more in Mexican food. Next time you make this enchilada casserole, toss in a few potatoes.” He gestured across the table to Louise with his fork. The tortilla he’d so gallantly managed to scoop up slipped back to the table and he pouted at it.

“Maybe I’ll talk Sully into giving me a job,” Addie grumbled. “Then I could be like Fen.”

“You could probably do a better job than she did,” Sully shrugged.

“Kids,” Louis warned.

“Of course I couldn’t, ‘cause Fenny’s so perfect isn’t she? I mean I get in a little car accident and I’m the family laughing stock, Fen disappears from the country for months at a time because she’s having a mental collapse from screwing up everyone’s lives, but she’s a goddess, isn’t she?”

“Addie, you were trespassing at the barranca looking for frogs and you drove into the stream,” Fenny reminded her, eyebrows raised. “Then you let the frogs get loose in the tow truck and nearly caused an accident on the freeway.”

“They were nice frogs though,” David pointed out.

“So sorry I know how to go out and live a little,” Addie snapped. “Just ‘cause we can’t all date television stars…”

Fenny dropped her fork against her plate and pushed back her chair as she stood over her family. “You are such a spoiled little bitch, Addie. And you Sully, you’re a selfish dickhead. You both just really need to get over yourselves.”

“You get the feeling all’s not well in the world?” David asked, looking up at Fenny with a grin.

“Daddy, you just need to be committed, if not for your own good than for the good of humanity.” She stepped back and pushed her chair under the table harshly as she headed for the front door. She paused at the dining room doorway and turned back to the table. “And by the way, Mom, Brad and I got married in Australia. Something else to go into denial about.”

The others at the table stared at each other as they heard the front door slam. “Well that was—” David began, but was interrupted by the door opening again. Fenny’s quiet footsteps moved through the house, past the dining room and back again having retrieved her purse. The door closed again, more gently.

“There goes the family portrait,” Louise sighed.

“Who’s gonna help me get my camera fixed now?” David pouted.

“For fuck’s sake,” Addie groaned.

Gina let out a tiny pleased moan as she pulled Paul down on top of her on the mattress and captured him in a kiss, tangling her hands in his hair. His fingers made their way under the hem of her shirt and she giggled a bit as his light touch tickled her stomach. “What was that?” she gasped suddenly.

“Your belly button, I believe,” Paul breathed against her neck before kissing it.

“No, that noise,” she said, sitting up slightly as if that would somehow aid her hearing.

“What noise?” he sighed, deciding it wasn’t so much fun trying to have sex by himself and flumped down next to her. “I didn’t hear anything.”

“It was a weird groany noise.”

“You sure it wasn’t just the sound of you enjoying yourself? Or maybe me enjoying myself; I’m trying to use parts that I haven’t been able to use in a while, they’re likely to be a little bit creaky.”

“Sshh,” she hissed.

They listened. Paul began to get impatient. As he leaned over to try to kiss her again, he jumped back. “What was that sound?”

“Told you,” Gina smirked.

“Think it was the wind? The house settling maybe? Gremlins in the floorboards?”

“Maybe it’s Don’s ghost, come to seek revenge from beyond the grave,” she perked. “That or a possum.”

A gust of wind from outside whistled in the old chimney flue and decrepit ventilation system, a low eerie howl that moved through the house and caused them to flinch and hold each other a bit tighter, followed by a skittering from directly overhead.

“It’s a possum,” Gina declared. “So?”

“So what?” Paul asked.

“So, aren’t you going to do something about it?”

“What? Why me?”

“Well, you’re the man, isn’t that your job?”

“This is the twenty-first century, we’re supposed to be working towards a society free of gender stereotypes.”

“I like gender stereotypes. Means I get to clean and you get to check out the freaky noises coming from the roof.”

“Genie, you’ve taken on gun wielding maniacs, surely you can take on a possum.”

“Paul, just go and deal with the stupid possum.”

He scowled at her a moment before it occurred to him that if he didn’t deal with the stupid possum he wouldn’t be able to deal with his sexy wife, so with a heavy sigh to let her know just how displeased he was but he was doing it anyway because he loved her, he slipped out of bed, grabbed a paint roller as a weapon, and headed up into the rafters while Gina snuggled herself smugly under the covers.

“Are you drunk yet?” Greg asked.

“Totally toasted,” Brad agreed, giggling a bit at his tongue twister. “What about you? Totally toasted yet?”

Greg looked around the room a moment. “Yeah. Good thing too, we’re outta booze.”

“Well there is a fully stocked bar downstairs,” Brad pointed out. “This is Vegas, after all.”

“I don’t like Vegas,” Greg pouted. “Unless I get a woman in a showgirl outfit. Gina said she’d put one on for me.”

Brad smiled at him. “When she does, you’ll invite me right?”

“Won’t Fen get upset?”

“We’ll get her to put one on too.”

Greg let out a harsh laugh. “I’d pay to see that.”

“What about your wife, is she coming to our showgirl outfit party?”

“Nah, she already said she wouldn’t put one on for me. I was kinda hoping I could get her drunk enough to agree anyway. But she wouldn’t come here with us.”

“You were gonna call her weren’t ya?” Brad asked, laying down on the bed.

“Yeah. And you’re gonna call your wife. Fenella.” He chuckled to himself as he reached for the phone. “Me first.” He dialed sloppily, pausing halfway through to refocus on the number pad. He hung up in frustration.

“What?” Brad asked.

“I called a patio furniture store.”

They pouted at themselves a moment. “Your wife isn’t a patio furniture store,” Brad pointed out.

“I know,” Greg sighed. “Told you she abandoned me, she’s pretending to be a patio furniture store to avoid me.”

“Did you do the area code?” Brad asked helpfully.

Greg looked over at him for a moment before dialing again. “Oh, hey Pookykins,” he grinned into the phone, giving Brad a thumbs up. “No, not Ry and Drew, Brad. He is not a bad influence. No, you’re thinking Paul, he’s the one that’s gonna give me psoriasis, no, um, not, er, sa – cirrhosis, and you say I’m not allowed to play with him anymore. You like Brad. Well then I like Brad. His wife’s gone too. All the beautiful women’s family members are dying, leaving the beautiful men to pout and drink. Don’t laugh like that. Oh, you know, not much, Brad bought champagne and we emptied out the minibar. I know. But if you had come with me you could have chaperoned.” He let out a sigh. “I know, it’s okay, I just miss you. And the showgirl outfit. Sorry pumpkin. Shows? Oh, right, shows. Pretty good, pretty good. Just another day at the office, only Drew’s lost all sensation in his left foot and women were throwing underwear at Jeff. Course not, only get insults thrown at me. Although I bet panties would be nice… Yes ma’am. Well Brad’s still got his minibar, we were thinking—right, I’ll go to bed, promise. I miss you. Right, the airport. Love you pookums. Night.” With a sigh Greg hung up the hotel phone and glanced over at Brad.

“That went well,” Brad smiled.

“I’m not allowed to drink anymore, I have to go to bed.” Greg pulled back the bedspread and covered himself with it. “There, I’m in bed. Your turn.” He grabbed the phone and handed it to Brad who prided himself in remembering the area code. Greg listened as Brad waited and bopped his head to imaginary music.

“Hey Fen, what’re you up to? Oh, that’s sweet, I’m sure Lil will love anything you bring back, she’s been pouting since you left. Well she’s asleep now, with Ritz. Me? Hanging in Greg’s room. What makes you think we’ve been drinking? No, champagne mostly, not tequila. Not yet, but Greg’s singing voice is shit anyway. But he does want to put you in a showgirl outfit.” Brad giggled and turned to Greg. “She says to tell you ‘fuck you too’.”

“Hey, if she’s offering,” Greg shrugged.

“He says he’s thought about what he said and he’s sorry,” Brad relayed into the phone with a drunken chortle. “How’s things with the family? I’m sure it’s not as bad as all that. Oh. Oh. Oh. Really? Oh. Does that mean we can finally get our wedding presents? Oh. So you don’t think we’re invited to the next family reunion then? Well I never liked macaroni salad and volleyball anyway. Except for when it’s on ESPN with the girls in the little biki—no I guess not. Right. The show was good, I got to spend half of freeze tag on the floor just like you like it. Wish you were there. How I wish you were here. Did you exchange a walk on part in a war for a lead role in a cage. Sorry, just thinking about you in that Zeppelin shirt. Right, Pink Floyd, I knew that. Right, you sound just like Proops’ wife. She sent him to bed after she said she wouldn’t wear the showgirl outfit too. Right, not the same bed. Not the same outfit either. Love you too, sweetheart.”

Brad hung up the phone with a sigh. “What’s Fen’s problem now?” Greg asked.

“Her family makes her want to kill things and she snapped at them. They know we’re married now.”

“It took you that long to tell them?” Greg gasped.

Brad shrugged. “Fen’s weird. Everyone I know’s weird. And you’re drunk.”

“Not as drunk as you.”

“Don’t care. I’m going to go wake up my ex-girlfriend, put my daughter to bed and sleep until one of them wakes me up again.” Brad got up and headed a bit wobbily for the door to Greg’s room.

“Hey, you owe me for that phone call.”

“But I bought you expensive champagne,” Brad reminded him as he slipped into hallway.

“Oh. Fair enough then. Night.”

A skittering of little clawed feet across the floor caught Paul’s attention as he sat hunched on all fours in the loft reflecting on how miserable his life was, stuck chasing out a possum instead of finally getting some quality time alone with Gina. He turned towards the sound, swiping the paint roller at it, but only managed to hit a beam of some sort.

He began to wish he’d had the common sense to bring a flashlight up with him before realizing there probably wasn’t one in the house, and it was difficult to fight the local fauna with a lighter in one hand and home improvement supplies in the other. Another shuffling noise, another lunge from Paul. He let out a yelp as he found himself engulfed in a spider web of monstrous proportions. This was getting ridiculous. Pulling the webbing off himself with one hand, he let fly a random barrage of swings with the roller. “Fucking possum.”

A dark form scurried out of a small opening, allowing moonlight and the glow from nearby streetlights to shine in. He quickly felt around for anything to block the hole with, and stumbled upon what he hoped was a discarded plank of plywood and leaned it against the makeshift possum door as he heard the escaped animal rustling in the bushes outside.

“Take that you fucking rodent. Rodent? Whatever you are you’re ugly and you’re staying out of my house. So there. Thus shall it always be when the creepy noises scare the wife and disease-ridden crawly things sabotage the house, Mongoose Man shall always prevail.” Momentarily forgetting the low ceiling he puffed himself up with pride, smacking his head against one of the rough wooden beams. “Dammit,” he hissed, slamming the paint roller down in frustration. It smashed through the floor, leaving a roller-sized hole in the ceiling of what he realized as he looked through was the living room, bits of plaster snowing down onto Archie and Troy. “Sorry fellas, everything okay down there?”

“Paul?” Gina’s voice called.

He crawled a bit to the side and changed his angle so he could see her through the little hole he’d made, standing in the doorway. “Hey Genie.”

“Look what you’ve done, something else to fix,” she sighed.

“What? If you hadn’t told me to come up here and…” He stopped himself, not wanting another argument. “Are the boys okay?”

She glanced at the mongoose and the gnome before turning her attention back to Paul’s eyes glinting through the hole. “Nothing a bit of dusting won’t cure. Come down here and let’s go to bed. And do try not to hurt yourself.”

“You owe me that kinky underwear you were hinting at,” Paul called through the little hole as she retreated back towards the bedroom. “I could have gotten mauled by rabid wildlife.”

“We’ll see,” Gina called back in a sultry tone that had Paul scurrying from the loft as quickly as he could.

Danny let out a groan as he was reluctantly woken up, not yet cohesive enough to know why. All he knew was it was still too early, regardless of jetlag, and he wanted to sleep more. His body jerked convulsively and he snapped reluctantly awake as he felt fingernails trailing down his abdomen under the covers. Surely he was still dreaming. Cat burglars didn’t typically didn’t try to arouse their victims, or he didn’t think they would.

The warm fingers slipped innocuously under the band of his boxers and slid from his side to the center of his stomach, then decided to head downwards. Danny jumped up, away from the hands and away from the dark figure that was reclining on the other side of the bed. He fumbled with the unfamiliar bedside lamp, not quite figuring out how to work it before jumping up to flip the switch for the overhead light.

A relatively attractive woman was sprawled on the bed, smiling nakedly at him for a moment before she suddenly realized she’d made a bit of a mistake. She jumped up and scrabbled for the bedclothes which she pulled up around herself. “Who are you?” she shrieked.

“I could ask you the same thing,” he countered, a bit more at ease that she seemed as startled as he was.

“This is Paul’s apartment,” she declared.

“Yeah, and I’m staying here because his wife owes me a huge favor. What are you doing here?”

“Oh, I thought you were Paul.”

“Well I’m not, might wanna check next time you put your hands down a guy’s pants.” Danny nodded, the pieces coming together. “And you’re Freya, right?” She’d looked a lot different when they’d briefly met at the pub in London where she had had all her clothes on. Same desperate look on her face, though.

She beamed at him. “He’s told you about me?”

“Well, mostly I heard about you from his wife and a friend of his, but yeah, you’re the woman who won’t get the hint. Knew I should’ve hunted out my cricket bat.”

“What?”

“Just get dressed and get out,” Danny huffed.

“You won’t tell Pauly will you?” she pleaded as she reached for her clothes at the end of the bed.

“No, I won’t tell Pauly,” he assured her as he slipped out of the room to let her get dressed in private. He shrugged as he closed the door and headed for the kitchen. “Gina maybe, but certainly not Paul.”