Page 63 of A Not So Quiet Christmas
“I mean it won’t be as good as Mrs Sharples’s, but going off the size of the turkey I might just be able to feed the five thousand.”
“You know about Grandma’s festive miracles? You two have been talking,” Oliver looked from me to his grandfather. “I hope you haven’t been speaking out of turn,” he said.
“Never,” Ted replied, smiling my way. I stayed quiet about his great-grandchild comment.
“So what do you think, Granddad? Shall we risk it?”
Ted shrugged. “It’s either that or we’re muddling through again.”
“Don’t speak too soon, Ted. This is my first time entertaining.”
Oliver looked at me, his expression warm. “We’d love to.”
Relief swept over me. I wouldn’t have been able to bear the embarrassment if they’d declined my invitation. “Good. Barrowboy and Jason are joining us too.”
“They are?” Oliver asked, surprised.
I recalled my outburst when I’d more or less called Barrowboy selfish. “To be fair, I did railroad your friend into it.”
Oliver laughed.
“Then there’s Lizzie and Seb. Seb’s the little boy Ted’s playing dress-up for.”
“Isn’t she the lady Barrowboy just happens to be interested in?”
“Yes, well, that’s sort of a bonus,” I said, laughing.
I turned to Ted. Ready to swing into action, I put on my roadside reclamation specialist hat, knowing that without chairs and a table, we’d all be balancing lunch on our knees. “About that skip,” I said.
