The Little Christmas Kitchen: A wonderfully festive, feel-good read. Jenny Oliver

      Then she battled for five minutes to work out how to turn the kettle on.

      Finally, cup of tea in hand, she wandered over to the large double doors on the wall adjacent to the fridge and stood looking out onto a communal patio at the back of the apartment block, the ground speckled with dewy frost and trails of bird footprints. Putting her tea down on a little cafe table and chairs that sat in the corner of the room, obviously set up to catch the morning sun, she turned the knob and threw the windows open, a gust of icy air streaming in.

      I made it she said to herself as she took in a great gulp of freezing air, felt it travel through her body, making her shiver. Wrapping her arms around her, she stepped out into the frost.

      I made it to London.

      The patio was stark, there were bins against the back wall and a recycling unit. The little section she stood in was backed onto by three other flats – one the curtains were drawn tight, in the other, she glanced to the right, she saw an old woman sitting at a bureau similar to the Chippendale her grandparents had stored in her room. Grey hair up in a chignon, glasses on the end of her nose, big white cardigan pulled tight around her waist, the woman was writing a letter Maddy thought, her fountain pen scratching furiously across the paper. She peered forward to see more, the dim room was lit only by the low tones of red and green from the Tiffany sidelight. She knew she shouldn’t be looking but she couldn’t resist.

      In the corner of the room was a Christmas tree, its spindly, half-dead branches draped with raggedy tinsel and old-fashioned decorations that would sell now as antiques, next to it the woman’s slippers sat side by side kicked neatly off perhaps as she’d curled up on the dark chintzy sofa. No, Maddy thought, she didn’t look the type to curl up. Along the mantle piece were ornaments dotted among sprigs of holly, a newspaper was folded on the marquetry coffee table, a pair of spectacles rested on the sideboard. As Maddy was on her tiptoes trying to see more, the woman turned sharply in her seat and caught her snooping. The look of displeasure in her eyes made Maddy dive back into the flat, slam the French doors shut and dart into the bedroom.

      Leaning with her back against the closed bedroom door she took a couple of breaths to calm her beating heart. Her mum was always telling her not to be so nosy, but the lives of others had always been so fascinating. Like their grass was always greener than hers.