• Part 1
• Part 2
• Part 3
• Part 4

“I think you fancied that troll,” says my father.
“What?” says my mother. “He was a troll for crying in a bucket. You and your jealousy!”
“You gave him your engagement ring!” my father all but shrieks.
“My engagement ring? My engagement ring? It was never my engagement ring!”

With  my mother’s tattoos and my father’s hair people normally stare at us on the tube. Well, the way Londoners stare on the tube anyway… sneakily out of the corner of their eye from behind their newspaper but with my dad in full kitchen battle regalia and both of them yelling, everyone is openly ogling them. I wish they would just catch cabs or get a driver or something. They can definitely afford it but my mother loves public transport. It means she can check out who’s reading her latest novel and then tap them on the shoulder and say, “I wrote that!”

“For god’s sake, shut up both you!” I say in that train whisper you’re supposed to use on the tube. “Never mind the ring or mum’s supposed troll fancying. What are we going to do about the book?”
“What do you mean?” asks my mother. “We have the book and now we can take it to Aself and get Elle back. I’d quite like to meet this Aslef and give him a piece of my mind.”
“Um, mum… if we give Aslef the book, in a week from now we’ll have a half-troll, half-giant, psycho with a gambling problem tailing us.”
“Look here,” says my mother. “If I remember correctly, all you did was sit there with a mouthful of teeth while I was negotiating with Steen. It’s not like you presented an alternative plan. Anyway, surely when Aslef returns the book back to his uncle, the dragons will be so overjoyed to have it back and protect us from any minor troll threat.”
“If the rest of the dragons are anything like Aslef, who has so far stolen from his own family, gambled away all his possessions, kidnapped my girlfriend and lied to me, I think we’re pretty much fucked!”
“Don’t speak to your mother like that,” my father snaps, glaring at me.
“Lenny,” says my mother with a gentle smile. “That’s so sweet!”

They embrace in a clatter of pots and pans and commence making out in a way that would make drunk sixteen-year olds on a Friday night out cringe. I wonder for the thousandth time if I am actually their child or if they found me abandoned backstage by a pair of accountants.

“We should go home,” says my mother, coming up briefly for air. “We’ll regroup and take on Aslef tomorrow.”
“Yes, please, dear god, go home,” I say.

In the morning we meet up in the alley behind The Cavern in Camden. My parents are still behaving like teenagers, giggling and holding hands. I ignore them… since they appear to only have eyes for each other. I hold up the tooth and after a few seconds we can hear the leathery flap of Aslef’s wings. He settles in front of us with a toothy grin.

Awright, Eddie,” he says. “I see ya brought the family along. ‘Ello, mate!”
My father opens his mouth to greet Aslef, but my mother shoves him out of the way and squares up to Aslef, hands on hips.
“Hello, mate?” she snaps. “Is that all you have to say for yourself? This is all your bloody fault, you overgrown lizard! I’ve been under a bloody bridge, negotiating with trolls because of you!”
Aslef appears bemused.
“You must be the missus. Nice to meet you, love. I understand that you’re un’appy with the situation, but it ain’t really my fault. I’m just onnerin’ the contract, I made with your ‘usband ‘ere. I think I’ve been more than generous.”

The look on my mother’s face is not one that indicates she will be backing down any time soon.
“It’s Ruby, and trading people’s love for human children, thieving, gambling…” she counts off on her fingers. “I don’t care how generous you think you are, you have the ethics of a labour MP on expense day!”
“Like I told your Eddie,” says Aslef calmly. “I ain’t go no power ova love. I traded your ‘usbdand a first born in exchange for ‘im keepin’ ‘is ‘air.”
“You what?” said my mother her jaw dropping.
My dad is jiggling about on the spot. He grabs my mother’s arm and says, “That’s not what happened!”
She wrenches her arm away and glares at Aslef.
“I don’t believe you!”
“It’s in the contract, love.”

He produces the contract and shows it to her. My mother turns to my father, her hands clenched into fists. Her voice is colder than the Antarctic in mid-winter.
“Do you mean to tell me that you exchanged our child for that preposterous mop on top of your head? Of all of the ridiculous things you have done in the past twenty-six years, this… this… it’s unforgivable, Leonard… that’s what it is.”
“I don’t… I don’t even remember,” says my father. “This is good though, isn’t it? It means our love is real!”
“Love?” says my mother. “You love your hair more than our child. You have no concept of love.”
“He wasn’t a child then,” says my dad, desperately. “If I knew… if I knew what I know now.”
“Shut up, Leonard,” says my mother.
“Mum, I…”
“Don’t you mum me,” she says. “You knew about this and you didn’t tell me. You and your father are way more alike than either of you want to believe.”
“Thing is,” says Aslef. “’As ‘eartwarmin’ as all this family business is. There’s the matter of a certain book and the girl I’m ‘idin’ in the basement to resolve. I’m getting’ bloody sick of ‘er. She never bleedin’ shuts up… shoes this, tidy up that… it’s time we got this deal done.”