“Does anyone have mustard?” Aunt Fiona opens her picnic basket and wrinkles her nose.

My mother beams. “We have ketchup.”

Uncle Benny pouts his lips. “Ketchup? Who sane eats ketchup?”

I’m sitting on a blanket, enjoying the sunrays. It’s Sunday morning, we’re in a picturesque park, far away from home.  There is an ice cream parlour on the other side of the alley. I smile at Mother and bat my eyelashes. “Can I have an ice cream?”

Uncle Benny clears his throat. “What?” He stares at me, his piggy’s eyes full of contempt. “You’re already too fat, Jennie.”

I glare at him. I’ve just lost my appetite. Uncle Benny, who is the size of a pregnant cow, is somehow the first to comment on someone else’s weight.

Meanwhile, a group of people emerges on the horizon. “I know them,” whispers Uncle Pete.

Suddenly, all voices fade. I look up and gasp. A giant man with a thick moustache points in our direction. His cronies, four towering men in dark glasses, march in our direction. In a twinkling, they surround us. Aunt Fiona whimpers.

Mister Ivanski waves at us amiably. His golden teeth shine in the sun. “What a meeting.”
We stare at him, horror-struck. Mr Ivanski is the most dangerous man in our town.

Uncle Pete moves closer to Uncle Benny. “Have you invited Ivanski to our picnic?”

Uncle Benny shrugs his shoulders.

Mister Ivanski beams. “Ladies and gentlemen, I need your help.” He winks at us. “Do you have any gifts for me?”

My father sighs and reaches for his wallet. I know this trick. My father always wears two wallets, just in case.

Mister Ivanski peeks inside. “Only this?” he asks disappointed.

“We’re poor,” I announce.

Mr Ivanski’s gaze wanders to Uncle Benny. “What a nice watch.”
Uncle Benny mutters something, but Mr Ivanski’s cronies surround him.

A while later, Mr Ivanski salutes at us and walks away, with his cronies, my father’s wallet, Uncle Benny’s watch and Aunt Fiona’s wedding ring. We stare at each other, flabbergasted.

“Erm,” says Aunt Lucille. “Does anyone want a sandwich?”