Not What it Seems by Pamela Fudge

Author:Pamela Fudge [Fudge, Pamela]
Language: eng
Format: azw3, mobi, epub
Publisher: Endeavour Media
Published: 2019-02-28T05:00:00+00:00

Chapter Twelve

‘Well, that was a bit mad, wasn’t it?’ Connor commented when the last of my neighbours had, with a great show of reluctance, headed for home with the promise that it would be their turn next time.

‘Mad is the word,’ I agreed, shaking my head in disbelief. ‘I’m not sure how I ended up with a houseful, when those I spoke to refused my invitation quite emphatically and the rest didn’t even bother to reply. I wonder what changed their minds.’

We surveyed the empty wine glasses on every available surface and the piles of dirty plates, also empty, and automatically all made a move to make a start on the clearing up. Despite the lateness of the hour we knew without saying a word that this was one time it couldn’t be left until tomorrow.

‘Just goes to show it only takes one person making an effort for things to start changing.’ Ella looked up from loading the dishwasher.

‘Yeah,’ Mai nodded, ‘and who knows, your little get-together might be the start of a nice little community. They seemed very nice people, just a bit wrapped up in their own lives. Well done, Mum.’

With four of us mucking in the work was soon done, and I had the turkey draped in bacon slices, stuffed and in the oven on a low heat before I went to bed, still basking in the children’s warm approval.

Owen was on the doorstep practically at first light and, as I let him in, I glanced hopefully over his shoulder and felt my heart plummet with disappointment when it was clear that he had come alone.

‘Merry Christmas,’ I said, kissing a cheek that had obviously just been shaved and smelled of a very pleasant cologne, ‘you’re bright and early, though not nearly early enough to catch the girls still slumbering. They’ve been up since five o’clock and have been feeling their way through the packages and guessing at the contents while they were waiting for everyone else to be here.’

It was tradition that no one opened a present until we were all together on Christmas morning and, even as very small children, they had adhered to this unspoken rule. I wondered what would happen when it dawned on them that this year it would be different.

The girls rushed to hug Owen, throwing their arms around his neck, but I didn’t miss the hopeful peeps towards the door, or the disappointment on both their faces when they realised, as I had, that he had come alone.

Another tradition was the full English breakfast that had always been served on Christmas morning. Ridiculous when you considered the huge lunch that would be following in a relatively short time, but there had been a hue and cry whenever Owen or I tried to suggest that toast and cereal would be a lot easier and far less filling.

I went to make a start and before I had turned the grilling bacon and sausages even once, Connor came in, sniffing appreciatively. I could

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