[There's a knock at Jimmy Corkhill's door. He goes to answer it. It's Treguard, wearing a paint-spattered T-shirt and a leather jacket.]

Treguard: Greetings.

Jimmy: Oh aye?

Treguard: My name is Treguard. We've just moved into number 9, and I was wondering if perchance you have any painkillers. My elf is suffering.

Jimmy: Oh, it's your 'ealth, is it? Well, our Treguard, let me... raid me pantry for ya. You'd better entair... strangair. [Treguard chuckles to himself and steps inside.] By the way, this is me new lodgair, our Morgan. Fix us a brew, will ya, son?

[Mogdred, who has been watching daytime telly, rises to greet Treguard. We see a 'this'll-drag-on-until-our-extended-Christmas-bloodbath-episode' look pass between them.]

Jimmy: Oh, you know each other, do ya?

[Across the close, curtains are twitching. It's Lord Fear, spying. He turns away furiously, to see Lissard in a dressing gown, bringing two mugs - Knightmare mugs - of herbal tea over.]

Fear: I'm telling you, Lissard, Treguard's up to something. The game is far from over. This 'avvy', let us go out and asssess the new terrain. Round up a few scallies. [He sips his tea and disdainfully puts the mug by the window with some haste.] We will taste victory, Lissard, mark my words. Oh, and I must remember to trace my biological father. HANDS!! Get up, soft lad! We have work to do...


[Morning on Brookside Parade. Motley comes through the front door of his flat. Mellisandre is standing, waiting for him. She looks very serious.]

Mellisandre: Motley, before you start making any jokes, there's something I need to tell you... [Motley, surprised at the gravity in Mellisandre's voice, lets her continue.] ... I went to see Rothberry today; he did some tests; he said I've got eight months.

Motley: To live?

Mellisandre [breaking into a grin]: No, silly, before I give birth! You're going to be a father! [She runs over and hugs him. The camera lingers on his concerned face.]

[Cut to another flat. Elita is pacing round her bedroom. Although Muse is blaring out of the stereo, the sound of someone being sick in another part of the flat can still be heard.]

Elita: Shut up, ear-basher!! I'm TRYING to revise! [She pouts.]

[Cut to the bathroom. Velda is leaning over the toilet, being sick. The camera shifts to the bin, where the boxes for several pregnancy test kits lie.]

[Theme music plays, credits roll...]


[Lord Fear is storming across the close, towards one of the other front gardens. Hands peeps from his bedroom window. Pickle, who is still ill, looks out from his.]

Fear: Oi! Grimwold! If your flaming dog persists in doing his business on my lawn, then perhaps I shall have to do my business on yours!

[Fear reaches the Grimwolds' lawn; crouches in the middle; and gets out a mobile phone.] Hello, yes, Skarkill? ... Let's do business ... Well, tell Elita to come back later, this is important ... Get round to my gaff, pronto. Capiche? ... DO YOU UNDER-STAND? ... Oh! Hold on, Skarkill. I detect a spy. Well, little fellow, you won't be eavesdropping for much longer. [Fear's ears glow red.]

[The camera cuts to the close's phonebox, where four boys are gathered around the receiver. One of them shrieks, 'Put it down! Put it down!' and they run out into the alleyway.]

Jimmy [coming to his front door]: Oi! Caam down will yous?


[Brother Mace walks into the Queen Vic, and up to the bar.]

Mace: Salve, puella. I am a new resident in this locus, by the name of Brother Mace. And I am sworn to insobriety! [laughs]

Kat Slater [behind the bar]: You 'avin a bleedin' laugh? [Mace does indeed continue to laugh] We serve pints in 'ere. You want one?

Mace: Ah, such charm, such wit. As we monks like to say, in vino veritas! [laughs]

[Dot Cotton comes in, and sees Mace.]

Dot: No! It can't be! When I gave you up for adoption they said you'd never come back, never! [she stares, tears filling her eyes]

[Drums; end credits]