Something’s cooking

Betty Middleton had only moved in two weeks earlier, but already she was starting to annoy me with her frequent knocks at my back door. “Would you like a slice of my lemon drizzle? It’s home-made!” No

GINNY glanced nervously at the tree and the gifts beneath it. She hoped she’d done the right thing. “It’ll be fine, love,” John said, putting an arm round her shoulder. “They’re our grandkids. They’ll

OK? Ready?” “Yep.” Fi smiled at Brand. She then picked up the bags full of presents, hoping her face had been convincing. There had been a time when she’d loved these family gatherings at Christmas bu

Alan, don’t you think it’s time you got cleaned up? Grantham’s coming to tea.” Helen looked at her sixteen-year-old son’s filthy overalls and grease-streaked arms. “I wish you wouldn’t get quite so di

D inah was not a Christmas cook. Her ...

LITERALLY no jobs come in over the Christmas period,” Jenna said. Lola Everett looked into her sister’s face, which was like her own but six years younger. “But is that true?” she asked. Jenna had a h