If only they weren’t intent on destroying the world!

Still, for now they were asleep and she was feeling as if a miracle had occurred! She took herself back to the kitchen, kicked off her shoes and put her feet up in bliss.

‘Here’s to a miracle,’ she told herself, raising her wine glass in a toast to the evening. ‘Here’s to an excellent night.’

Back in their bedroom, Henry and William’s plan was working like a dream.

They’d strung thread from the kitchen door to the top of their bedroom door. Then they’d tied their stuffed toy, Tigger Tiger, to the thread, and they’d frayed it so it’d break at the first movement of the kitchen door.

The plan was perfect. If Erin left the kitchen, the thread snapped and Tigger fell to the floor. Unless the thread tangled in Erin’s feet-which would have been really, really unlucky-she’d never notice.

As Tigger landed, there was just enough time for the boys to shove what they were doing under the bed, grab Tigger, scramble under the bedcovers and flick off the light before Erin appeared to check.

So to Erin, all was beautifully, unnaturally normal, and they concentrated fiercely on looking asleep as she tiptoed over to them.

‘Goodnight, you rascals,’ she’d whispered, and they’d both had to concentrate even harder not to giggle.

Then, with Erin gone, they picked up the end of the thread and retied Tigger in his warning position. And then they retrieved what was under the bed.

Brilliant! Absolutely excellent.

But the bomb wasn’t meant to go off when it did.

The plan was for Henry to carry it outside in the toe of his slipper. It was scary to carry it in his bare fingers, and a slipper should hold it safe. Their bomb was a hand-taped ball stuffed with matches and fire-crackers, designed to go off when thumped on the ground. They knew how volatile it was, but they weren’t stupid.