'Never mind,' Mum said. She isn't a big fan of the park's bonfire festivities as she spends the whole evening clutching her handbag in case the local feral youths snatch her purse (I'm always telling her that they'll only toss it back when they realise it holds nothing more than a couple of quid in shrapnel).
'Never mind?' Dad had roared. 'Never mind? That isn't the attitude a member of the James family!'
It's exactly Mum's attitude, actually. The toaster is on the blink - never mind. The cat from across the road has scratched a chunk out of the doorframe - never mind. The wifi has gone down - never mind. Mum just doesn't get irate like the rest of us (unless she misses an episode of Coronation Street or we forget to pick towels up off the bathroom floor and then she throws a hissy fit party for one).
'Never mind? We can't miss out. It's Bonfire Night, for heaven's sake.' I'm not sure when Dad became so passionate about the day. He usually huddles into his coat, moaning that he's cold and his feet are aching whenever we go to the bonfire at the park. But passionate he was. 'We'll have our own. In the back garden. Dougie from across the road has just put a new fence up. I'll see if he still has the old panels. He owes after that damn cat destroyed the bloody front door.'
So Dad went on a mission and filled the garden with neighbours' bits of crappy old wood. I'd never seen him as happy as they day he strode into the house brandishing a pair of battered dining chairs.
'There's a skip around the corner. I'm going back for more. Give us a hand, Delilah.'
I'd declined of course but Dad managed to rope my little brother into helping (I suspect money was exchanged). Mum worried that he'd collected far too much wood that we'd never be able to burn it off and we'd end up having to hire a skip of our own, which Dad said was nonsense.
With the bonfire going and an assortment of fireworks waiting in an old biscuit tin, our little Bonfire Night Party began.
My little brother Justin had invited a few of his mates, I'd coerced Lauren and Ryan into joining me and my sister Clara and her boring boyfriend Graham had been talked into coming too. The bonfire had taken up most of the garden but we managed to squeeze around the edges at a reasonably safe distance from the flames.
'Does your Ryan want another jacket potato?' Mum asked me as she edged crab-like around the perimeter of the bonfire with a plate of luke-warm potatoes and congealed cheese. 'I've made far too many.'
'I think he's had enough. And I keep telling you he's not "my Ryan". We're not together.'
'I don't know why not. He's a handsome chap.'
Ryan, who had nipped inside to the loo, was making his way back out of the kitchen door. I thought about grabbing one of the potatoes and shoving it into Mum's gob but settled on a hiss to keep it quiet.
'I'm only saying.' Mum gave a sniff before she shuffled away, pointing her plate of potatoes in boring Graham's direction.
'That's bad for the environment, you know.'
Ryan groaned as his mother appeared at the garden fence, wrinkling her nose at the sight of the blazing bonfire.
'Excuse me?' Mum shoved the plate of potatoes into Graham's boring hands and leapt across the garden, disregarding any thoughts of fire safety in her haste to reach the fence.
'That.' Ryan's mother thrust a finger towards the bonfire. 'It's bad for the environment.'
Despite Ryan and I being best friends, our mothers had never got along. It all started when Ryan and his family moved in twenty-odd years ago and Ryan's mother snubbed us.
'How many cars do you have?' Mum knew the answer to this. Ryan's mother and father owned a car each.
'Two.' Ryan's mother was incredibly proud of the fact that she and her husband could afford to run a car each.
'And don't you think they're bad for the environment?' Mum didn't wait for an answer as she knew she was triumphant on this one. 'Well, Ken and I don't own a car between us so we're entitled to have one bonfire a year without having our ears chewed off about the environment, don't you think?'
Ryan's mother didn't bother to answer (again). She simply pursed her lips, stuck her chin in the air and flounced back inside.
'Right.' Mum clapped her hands together as she turned away from the fence. 'Who's going to finish off these potatoes?'
