Chapter 2 - Homeward Bound

Matt climbed from the car onto North Street outside the red, flaking door of 123. It felt strange to be back. The sun was shining, but the wind bit heavily, whipping around his bright shirt, which he had managed to get cheap at Primark. At last he was to become part of the legend of 123. The events of the previous years were ingrained in the minds of those there. The kidnappings, the affairs, the hair-pulling violence. And now he was to be a true part of this Christian household. Campbell and James emerged from the door to greet him, opening the boot and taking hold of some of the boxes that were stored there.
"Morning, Henry," Matt called into the living room as he stumbled past with a bumper pack of Yorkshire tea.
"Uh, oh, hi Matt, didn't know you were back today," he replied.
"I emailed four or five times," Matt told him.
"Did you, oh right, er, do you need a hand bringing stuff up?"
"Yeah, that'd be great, thanks."
Matt continued up the stairs to his room. Over the course of the following twenty minutes Cambell, James, Matt and his Dad struggled up and down stairs with boxes, the odd suitcase and various bits and bats. Finally, just as everything was in Matt's room, Henry emerged from the living room.
"So, er, what needs carrying?" he asked.
Later, as Matt and his Dad sat in the exact same seats as Henry and James had done just the previous day, the latter expressed his concern regarding Henry's choice of dress. He was even further concerned as Grotbag, the witch from CITV, walked in and cried "Oh, you're Matt!"
Matt looked up in alarm. What was an ex-children's television character doing shouting his name?
"Hey, ugly, get me a sandwich!" she shouted at poor Ethel in a strange Northern Irish-Canadian hybrid langauge that was barely understandable. She sat down beside Matt's dad, telling him to "shift up".
"Erm, Grotbag, is that you?" asked Matt, tentitavly.
"Who are you calling a grotbag?" asked the witch.
"Erm, I mean, who are you, and how do you know me?"
"I'm Lydia, I know you through Holly."
"Oh, right," stammered Matt, nervously. "Have you heard the news?"
"What news might that be, Matt?" she asked.
"Me and Holly are getting married."
Lydia wrinkled her nose as though a bad smell had entered the room, which was a coincidence, as Matt had, a few moments earlier, slipped off his trainers. "What?" she asked.
"We're, we're getting married," he replied.
"I've got to go and tell the girls," said Lydia, then, shouting to Ethel as she stood up "Wrinkly, I'll have that sandwich to go", she grabbed the sandwich sat on the counter, which was in fact intended for a poor elderly lady sat in the corner, and hurried out with a swish of her tweed jacket and a clack of her stilletos.
Matt's dad left St. Andrews a rather concerened man.