Frankie Fish ran as fast as he could through the Glaswegian streets, following the swarms of race fans in their raincoats on their way to the speedway. What those excited motorsport fans didn’t know, and what the boy panting as he ducked and weaved around them knew only too well, was that there was a lot more at stake today than the reputation of a couple of racecar drivers.

Without ONE BIT OF INTERFERENCE WHATSOEVER, Young Alfie simply had to skid his car through the oil spill and crash into the wall in order to allow Clancy Fairplay to win. The Big Race was no longer just a race. Frankie’s life – and the lives of the entire Fish family – depended on Grandad crashing.

Frankie HAD to find Grandad before he said anything to change that outcome.

Frankie darted around the waists and past the legs of excited race-goers, all the time looking out for the old man. ‘Grandad!! Grandad Fish!!!’ he screamed.

The closer he got to Pit Lane, the denser the crowd became – it seemed everyone wanted to catch a glimpse of the fast cars and the brave men who drove them. Then Frankie spotted a child tugging on Clancy Fairplay’s sleeve for an autograph, only for the driver to swat him away like a fly.

What a jerk, Frankie said to himself.

The crowd was building by the second. Frankie couldn’t squeeze any closer, so he headed for the nearby grandstand. He knew that if he got up a little higher, he’d have a bird’s eye view and a better chance of spotting Grandad. And sure enough, halfway up the stairs he spotted him – but the news wasn’t good.

Grandad was standing in Pit Lane, where all the cars and their drivers were lined up, talking to Young Alfie Fish.

Frankie filled his lungs full of air and screamed, ‘GRANDDAAAAAAADDD!!!!’ as he waved both arms in the air like somebody drowning at sea.

Maybe Grandad couldn’t hear his grandson bellowing or maybe he conveniently chose to ignore him. Either way, he didn’t move a muscle.

Frankie felt his heartbeat quickening. There was a lump in his throat the size of a pineapple. This had disaster written all over it. He had no way of knowing whether Grandad Alfie was instructing Young Alfie to avoid the oil spill so that he could marry Nanna, or telling him about their time-travel mess-ups – either way Frankie Fish was basically dead, and that would not be good at all for Frankie OR the future of this book series.

‘Nooooooooooooooo!!!!!’ screamed Frankie as he leapt down the grandstand steps, knocking over the man selling soda and sweets.

Frankie darted his way through the crowd, puffing and panting all over again. It got harder and harder to squeeze past the people, until out of sheer desperation he dived to the ground and began crawling through the legs of the buzzing fans.

‘Grandad!’ Frankie cried out.

Both Alfies turned to see their grandson on his knees.

‘You need to STOP MEDDLING!’ Frankie yelled, before turning his attention to Young Alfie Fish, who looked very dashing in his racing uniform, helmet tucked under his arm. ‘Don’t believe a single word he says,’ Frankie told him furiously. His eyes felt rather hot all of a sudden. ‘He’s just a crazy old man, selfish and rude and mean and deluded!’

Young Alfie Fish looked extremely confused. ‘He was just asking for an autograph for his grandson, Frankie. Who are you?’

Frankie looked up as sheepishly as a sheep dressed in sheep’s clothing. ‘Oh. Um, I’m Frankie.’ Frankie looked at Grandad, who looked like the cat that used ice-cream to trick his grandson. ‘Are you sure that’s all he said?’

‘Yep,’ said Alfie, shooting him a devilishly handsome grin, before adding, ‘He gave me some good advice, too.’

Gulp.

‘What was the advice?’ Frankie asked, wincing.

‘To drive as fast as he possibly can,’ Grandad said quietly. ‘Full throttle, like this is his last race. Don’t leave anything in the tank.’

‘I never do, old chap,’ Young Alfie said, clapping Grandad on the back. ‘I never do.’ Then he handed his autograph to Frankie.

Frankie stared at it, feeling his tummy slowly unclench. ‘Huh,’ he said. Then he looked up and said, ‘Can I post this on Facebook when we get home?’

‘Uh, you can post it to whoever you like,’ Young Alfie replied, a little confused. ‘Anyway, nice to meet you, chaps.’

As his young grandfather turned to go, Frankie suddenly found an image of Roddy flashing through his mind. Before he had a chance to reconsider, he blurted out, ‘You know, your brother really looks up to you.’

Young Alfie – and Grandad – stared at him in surprise. ‘You know Roddy?’ said Young Alfie.

‘Er, we’ve met,’ said Frankie. He knew he should stop, but the words just kept coming. ‘You know, you should pay him some attention. Because one day he might vanish for good and then you’ll realise what you’ve lost. I mean, I always found my sister super annoying, but now she’s gone …’ He finally managed to stop, feeling strangely choked up.

Young Alfie looked at him weirdly, then nodded and offered his hand to Frankie. Frankie took it, remembering to make it a firm grasp like his dad had taught him. Then Young Alfie reached out to Grandad, who stared at the perfect right hand for a second before taking it in his own.

Three generations of Fishes, meeting in a fashion that no three generations had ever met before, and will probably never meet again. Frankie silently instructed his brain to remember this moment forever.

‘Are you going to watch the race?’ Young Alfie asked.

Frankie understood that this might be a painful event for Grandad to watch, so he shook his head. ‘We’ll probably just stream it later,’ he said hopefully.

‘Yes,’ interrupted Grandad, as politely as he’d ever interrupted anyone before. ‘Yes, we’re going to stay here and watch the whole race. Make sure we get the result we need.’

‘Great,’ said Young Alfie. ‘But, er, can you let go of my hand now?’