I would like to begin this chapter by announcing to the world that I am an idiot. Seriously. This is not Chapter 4 – this is actually Chapter 3 and a half. Which is a nice way of saying that I forgot to include this bit in the last chapter. Feel free to laugh at me, do. So, this is Chapter 3.5 – just pretend it's on the end of the last one!

So, Monica leaves the house in my Uncle Ross's car – she knows how to drive, but she's scared of it. My mother is a huge coward – she won't ever try anything new, and she's petrified of death (which, now I come to think of it, is probably quite sensible. But, whatever).

The second she's out of the door, the phone begins to ring. I hate phones.

They freak me out – I need to be able to see a person's eyes to know what they really mean when they say something, and unless you've got some kind of video phone (which we haven't, but which would be really cool...), there's no way of knowing. Someone could be ringing to tell me something awful, and I wouldn't have any way of knowing that it was coming before they said it, because I wouldn't be able to see their eyes. Because of that, when the phone rings, I always assume that it's bad news.

Did I mention that I'm also a huge pessimist?

Accordingly, my stomach lurches as I reach to pick up the receiver. By this point, I've convinced myself that it's the paramedics phoning to tell me that Mom's had an accident and died. Seriously, my mind sucks.

"H-hello?" I stammer, my voice far higher than normal. Oh, joy. I sound like a girl. A seven-year-old girl. Great first impression, Jack.

"Hello." It's a woman (the horror!). She's British. And she's pissed. (I tend to have that effect on women).

There's an awkward pause. I'm okay – my whole life has been made up of awkward pauses and awkward conversations. Hers obviously hasn't – she breaks first. "May I – er – talk to your Daddy, please, dear?"

Daddy? Dear?

"I'm the man of the house," I say, crisply. "Anything you can say, you can say to me."

"I need to talk to a Mr. Chandler Bing, please."

Crap. I did not see that one coming. Obviously, the sensible option would be to tell her that there's no one of that name living at this house – that there hasn't been in the last ten years, and to put down the phone.

"Uh – who's calling?" I ask. (I said it was the sensible option – I didn't actually say that I was going to take it...)

"DC Briggs. Of the London Metropolitan Police-" (Shit.) "-I need to talk to Mr Bing about his arrest and subsequent charges of ten years ago."

Shit.

"The charges of death by dangerous driving and possible manslaughter," she says slowly, as if talking to an idiot. Which I suppose she is.

Time to be mature. Time to be the man. Time to be an adult. I do what any mature adult would – I slam down the phone and close my eyes. What the hell is going on here?

So, that was Chapter Three and a Half – or, as its working title indicated, "The Chapter Where Jack Gets A Phone Call From The Police Telling Him About Chandler's Charges". I've never been one for short and succinct, really.

If you read this part (and the last) carefully, you should be able to guess the answer to your questions...