And Jackson?

One minute he was sitting between an irate lawyer and a confused realtor, trying to get some sense out of the pair of them. The next there was a flash of green against the beige carpet, his lawyer’s polished brogue raised to strike-and a mop-headed, mini-skirted young woman launched herself through the door and down at the carpet in what he could only describe as a rugby tackle.

His lawyer’s foot fell, but there was no longer a frog underneath-instead there was a pair of hands, grasping and cradling and protecting one small green frog as Roger’s foot stamped down.

‘Ow!’

‘Molly!’

‘What the-?’

‘Did you get him?’

‘He stomped on him. He stomped on Sam’s frog. Oh, you brute!’ Sophia Cincotta, breathing fire, was first into the room after Molly, and she took one look at what was happening and raised her handbag. She swiped at Roger Francis. ‘Murderer!’

Angela came next, gazing down in horror. Molly was lying full-length on the carpet, clutching Lionel as if her life depended on it. ‘Molly-your hand. Your hand’s bleeding.’

‘He’s broken her fingers!’ Sophia’s handbag swiped again, and the lawyer retreated fast to the other side of Trevor’s desk.

‘Is Lionel okay?’ Angela demanded.

‘He’s squashed,’ Sophia retorted, bearing down on the hapless lawyer. ‘Of course he’s not okay. Didn’t you see this brute step on him?’

‘I thought those things were protected,’ one of the cleaners volunteered.

‘It’ll be a toad, stupid,’ someone else retorted. ‘You’re supposed to kill them.’

‘Not on my carpet.’ Trevor’s voice rose in bewilderment. ‘Is this a frog? A frog? Molly, is this your doing?’

‘Of course it’s my doing,’ Molly managed, peering between her bleeding fingers. ‘And it’s not a cane toad. Oh, heck, his leg looks… His leg looks broken.’