The More the Merrier by Anne Fine

Author:Anne Fine
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781409012634
Publisher: Penguin Random House Children's UK

Mum was too far away to kick him so she gave him a look. Then she moved on to Uncle Tristram. ‘Dark meat or white?’

‘Whichever comes in bigger lumps,’ he said. ‘Just shovel it onto the plate, Sis. I’m starving.’

Great-Aunt Ida shuddered gently beside him.

Mum gave Uncle Tristram a perfectly normal-sized helping, and moved on to Great-Granny.

‘Did you know the bird?’ Great-Granny asked.

‘What, personally?’ asked Mum.

‘Yes.’

‘As it happens, no.’

‘Unless choosing it from ten thousand others in Tesco can be considered an introduction,’ my dad said.

‘Then I won’t, dear. I’ll just stick with sausages, thank you.’

‘We haven’t met the pig socially, either,’ my dad said. ‘Does that not put you off?’

Titania stared. ‘Is sausage made from pig, then?’

‘Yes.’

‘From dead pig’s bottom?’

‘Put like that,’ Dad said, ‘it does sound a shade unappetizing. But, yes, that’s more or less what it is.’

‘If you’re lucky,’ I added, because I’d watched a programme on telly about the bits they really use to make pork sausages, and they weren’t even as nice as pig’s bottom.

‘I think we’ve had enough of this conversation,’ Mum said in her bright voice. ‘Digby?’

‘Can’t,’ Uncle Digby said. ‘I’m on a special diet. Vegetables only for me.’

Aunt Miriam was avoiding fats, so she stuck to a slice of turkey without skin and a few Brussels sprouts. Sylvia had only stuffing. Sylvester had only turkey and sausage. Then the two of them spent the next ten minutes noisily trading foodstuffs until both had some turkey, some stuffing, and a sausage.

Mum did Grandpa next. Grandpa confided to me once that he no longer really cares for eating anything that has a face and feet. But he still took some turkey because he knows Bruno likes it, and he could pass the time feeding him under the table.

Mum got to Harry and me.

‘Just burnt spuds, please,’ said Harry, when she offered him potatoes.

Mum laid her serving spoon very deliberately down on the best cloth. ‘None of the potatoes are burnt, Harry,’ she said. ‘It’s just that some of them are nicely browned.’

‘Just nicely browned ones, then, please,’ said Harry. (He knows the warning signs.) Mum picked up her serving spoon and, when she’d sorted out Harry’s plate, she turned to me.

I wondered how best to put it.

‘Just nicely not browned ones, please,’ I ended up saying.

‘Mum-mee!’ sneaked Titania. ‘Ralph’s being cheeky to his mother.’

‘No I am not!’

‘You are.’

‘I’m not!’

‘Mum-mee! Ralph’s shouting at me down the table.’

‘No, I am not!’

‘Yes, you are!’

‘No, I’m not!’

‘Mum-mee!’

Uncle Tristram kindly rescued me. ‘Funny,’ he said to Titania. ‘I once heard about a really weird fairy spell that was cast on anyone who kept arguing in this house through Christmas lunch.’

Titania shut up at once.

Mum got round to Uncle Geoffrey. ‘Any preferences?’

‘No, no,’ he said. ‘Shovel it on. Whatever.’

‘Sausages?’

‘The more the merrier.’

‘Stuffing?’

‘Ooh, lovely. I’m happy to eat as much as you can give me.’

Mum didn’t even ask Albert. She just passed him a plate of cut-up sausages and potatoes, and one small Brussels sprout. The minute the plate was put down

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