THE GENTLE tap-tap on the door of the den shook Vinny Fitzpatrick from a late Bank Holiday Monday afternoon cat nap. It was Angie, and she seemed agitated.

“Vinny love, we need to tell Emma our news. She has a right to know and I want you to be there when she finds out. She’s gone to the cinema with Oisín, but she’ll be back in an hour or so. We’ll tell her then, okay?”

She cast a quick, professional eye on the 19in LCD Vinny had installed on the wall. “Keep an eye on how the snooker’s going, won’t you? We have a fair few bets riding on John Higgins,” she added, as she closed the door behind, leaving Vinny to fret a little.

Emma was 17, going on 27, was spiky in both hairstyle and attitude, possessed of her mother’s striking looks but none of the charm. Worse, she treated Vinny with utter contempt.

Since he’d first come on the scene as Angie’s other half, Emma had given Vinny the cold shoulder and a gimlet eye.

She felt her mother, a successful, chic lady, deserved much better than an over-weight, pint-guzzling bus driver for a partner, and she didn’t care if Vinny knew it.

He had tried to engage in small talk but had been stalled at first base since the time Emma mentioned Bebo and he replied how he preferred the Beano.

Even on the day of the wedding, Emma had given him a perfunctory peck on the cheek, the limpest of handshakes and had kept her distance thereafter.

It was with reluctance she posed for snaps with the happy couple, and she’d made a point of standing beside her mother and as far away as possible from the man she nicknamed Flab Vinny.

“Oh dear, this could get messy,” thought Vinny, before turning his attention back to the TV where the world snooker final was plodding along at its customary sleepy pace.

If he hadn’t invested €20 on Higgins at 12 to 1 to win the championship he probably wouldn’t have bothered to follow the action on the green baize, such was his increasing apathy towards the sport.

It hadn’t always been like that, of course. He’d grown up among the smoke-filled tables of the Cosmo in O’Connell Street, where his old man, Finbarr, had played billiards with fellow sharks most Sunday evenings in the winter.

Entering his teens, Vinny had followed the world championship ball by ball on the BBC. He had got his dad to place 50p on Alex Higgins to win in 1972.

Higgins, Ray Reardon, John Spencer, Eddie Charlton and old Fred Davis were the master cuemen then, and later, when he joined The 147 Club in Dollymount, Vinny modelled himself on Bill Werbeniuk.

Like Bill, Vinny was portly, enjoyed a jar during frames and – at the time – sported a moustache.

In a league game one night against Potters in Ranelagh, Vinny was involved in a play-off against a tyro. The first to win by two clear frames clinched the match, and for over an hour the duo exchanged frames until Vinny, who had started drinking early, was clearly worse for wear.

Emboldened by alcohol, he’d tried one of his special, 100mph breaks, only to slam the cue so hard into the back of the white ball that it jumped off the table and knocked an onlooker out cold.

Poor Big Bill was no longer with us, while the other great entertainers had hung up their cues too, notably Jimmy White, the best player never to have won the world title.

As for Vinny, he hadn’t played competitive snooker for over a decade, but was still listed as the 1983 club champion in the The 147 Club, and was on the roll of honour for century breaks.

“About the only thing I’m good at breaking now is wind,” he muttered as he sat deeper in his comfy armchair and watched Higgins open up an unassailable lead on Shaun Murphy.

He liked Higgins, and recalled how the Scot had enjoyed a couple of sherbets too many with Ken Doherty after a tournament in Malta a few years back, before going teetotal soon after.

He was hoping Higgins would win, not just for fiscal reasons, but also because he’d become the oldest winner of the title since Dennis Taylor, then 36, defeated Steve Davis in the memorable 1985 final.

“Who says it’s a young man’s game nowadays?” he said.

At the interval, Higgins led 16-8, requiring just two frames for victory, and Vinny was about to flick over to the Blue Square Conference play-off between Histon and Torquay when he recognised the sound of light feet on the stairs. It was Angie.

“Alright, love. On the way,” he said, pushing newspapers off his lap as he got heavily to his feet.

Patting down the strands of hair on his pate, he hoisted his trousers and left the den, whistling “there may be trouble ahead” as he did.

The summit took place in the drawing room, which was Vinny’s favourite as it overlooked the 150ft back garden, which was a blaze of gorse at one end, complete with a scent Vinny likened to coconut.

Emma looked sullen, but mildly intrigued as she sat in the deep chair opposite the sofa, where Angie held hands with Vinny.

“Emma,” said Angie, coming straight to the point. “Vinny and I have some rather important news, and we thought you should be the first to know. You’re going to have a new baby brother or sister; I’m pregnant.”

Vinny didn’t dare to look Emma in the eye, feeling that, like Lot’s wife, he’d crumble to salt if he did.

Instead, he focused on a scuff mark at the top of his right shoe and reminded himself to apply an extra coating of polish that night.

As he did so, he heard sobbing. It was Emma, her head buried in her hands, shoulders shaking.

Vinny felt his stomach churn. He’d have preferred outright rage to this deep wailing. If he was lower than a serpent’s belly in Emma’s eyes before the news, where was he now?

Angie stood and approached her daughter, who rose and the two embraced, looking more like sisters than ever.

Then, a most curious thing happened. Emma detached herself from her mother and came over to Vinny, eyes shining, grinning from ear to ear, her sparkling teeth lighting up the room.

Arms outstretched, she wrapped herself around Vinny with a bear hug and planted a sloppy wet kiss on his stubbly cheek. “Vinny, I never knew you had it in you. You’ve made my day.”

Soon, a bottle of champers was popped, and as mother and daughter excitedly discussed due dates, scans, hospital visits and the like, Vinny slipped away.

The evening snooker session in Sheffield was about to start and he had a feeling he was going to collect.

2pts Tiger Woods to win The Players Championship (4/1, Boylesports)

2pts Burnley to win promotion to the Premier League (3/1, Skybet)

1pt Lay Scunthorpe to be promoted from League One (4/1, Coral, liability 4pts)