Her mum poured them both more wine and looked at her tentatively. ‘I didn’t know if I should say, but… Harold Martin called—’
‘Is there any chance of food this side of Christmas?’ Luke appeared round the door.
‘Flippin’ heck, I forgot to put the duck in!’ Lisa’s mum leapt into action.
By the time they sat down to a late roast theyhad all consumed too much wine.
‘When in France…’ Lisa’s mum announced as she presented her platter of delicious-smelling roast duck and cranberry sauce.
‘And there I was thinking eating late had more to do with you getting plastered than French tradition.’
‘Luke, darling, unless you don’t want to eat I suggest you are quiet.’
Lisa’s head was spinning, she feltlike she needed her bed more than she needed a hearty roast, even one that had filled the chalet with delicious smells all evening, but knew she didn’t dare say that to her mum.
They all filled their plates and glasses before making a toast to their Granny Blake, their first Christmas in France and Christmases yet to come. Ones Lisa promised herself would always involve appreciating timewith her family.
