The Little Runaways. Cathy Sharp

discovered her mother in a kitchen that looked oddly disorganised. As a rule everything was set out neatly, but pans were everywhere, including the one on the floor that had recently been dropped.

      ‘You’re up early,’ Angela said brightly. Her mother had her back turned to her and seemed to be intent on whatever she was doing. ‘I’m going to help with the cooking, Mum. You don’t need to start on the dinner yet.’

      ‘What do you know of cooking?’ Her mother turned round, staring at her in what Angela thought a strange, almost truculent, manner. ‘I cook dinner almost every day of the year. Why should I need your help today?’

      ‘Because Christmas is special. We always do it together – and you used to have help in the kitchen and with the cooking sometimes.’

      ‘Mrs Downs decided not to come in any more,’ Mrs Hendry said. ‘If she hadn’t I would have sacked her. She was rude and lazy – and I don’t need her help. I don’t need anyone’s help.’

      Angela was puzzled. Her mother seemed angry, resentful, and she couldn’t think why. ‘Are you upset about something? Have I made you cross?’

      ‘Have I made you cross, she says …’ Her mother’s eyes seemed to glaze over for a moment, then she blinked and said, ‘You know very well what you did, Angela. I begged you not to go away, but you had no consideration for me. Oh no, my wishes did not even enter into the equation. I am not cross but your obvious lack of interest in my opinion hurt me.’

      ‘If I hurt you I am very sorry,’ Angela said. ‘It was simply that I couldn’t bear the emptiness of my life. You have such a good life, Mum, with your friends, your entertaining and your committees for the Church. You couldn’t know how bored and empty I felt with nothing worthwhile to do.’ She moved towards her mother and kissed her cheek. She seemed to smell very heavily of some expensive scent, and since she was wearing a very old dress covered by a pink and white spotted apron it seemed a little odd that she’d splashed herself so liberally with French perfume. ‘Sit down and let me make you a lovely cup of coffee. I’ll toast the muffins and then we can have some of that lovely jam we made in the summer.’

      ‘If you insist. I’ll have the Victoria plum jam – and a drop of cream and brandy in my coffee.’

      ‘Do we have cream?’ Angela investigated the contents of the large pantry. It made her shiver, because it was as cold as any refrigerator and kept even cream and butter really well. She found two glass jars of thick cream, which came from a local dairy farm and would be delicious with puddings and mince pies, also a jug of thinner cream, which she brought to table. ‘Are you sure you want brandy this early?’ she joked. ‘We don’t want to end up stuffing the turkey with the pudding instead of—’

      ‘Please credit me with some sense,’ her mother said sharply. She got up and fetched a brandy bottle from the dresser, and when Angela placed the beautiful French earthenware coffee bowl in front of her, she poured a liberal measure into hers and offered the bottle to Angela.

      ‘No, thank you,’ Angela said, smiling as she shook her head. ‘Not this early. I want to enjoy my dinner. I’ve been looking forward to this – I can hardly believe we’ve actually got a turkey this year. It seems ages since we could find one.’

      ‘Suit yourself,’ her mother said, and left the bottle on the table in front of her. ‘How long are you staying?’

      ‘Just until tomorrow after lunch.’

      ‘Hardly worth the bother coming down,’ her mother muttered. She tasted her coffee and then drank it all, but she didn’t touch the lovely golden muffin that Angela placed in front of her, even though it sizzled with fresh farm butter and there was a dish of plum jam set before her. ‘You eat it. I’m not hungry.’

      ‘Why don’t you sit and relax in the other room for a while?’ Angela looked at her mother, noticing that her cheeks were flushed and her eyes a little red. ‘Are you feeling a bit feverish, Mum?’

      ‘I’m perfectly all right, but I’ll go upstairs and get changed – if you insist on taking over.’

      ‘I’ll do the vegetables and various bits,’ Angela offered, but her mother wasn’t listening.

      She frowned as she put an apron over her clothes. Going back into the pantry she saw that everything had been bought in preparation for this day, but although she noticed some sausages and jars of mincemeat, none of the usual Christmas fare had been prepared. It looked as if she was going to have to make a few things for after lunch herself. First she would get the vegetables done and make the stuffing for the turkey, which they had received as a gift from a grateful farmer her father had helped with a legal problem. At least there were plenty of ingredients and the turkey looked lovely.

      She set to with a will and peeled, chopped and sorted the vegetables; then she made the stuffing and prepared the turkey for cooking. She had everything well underway when her father entered the kitchen. He looked apprehensive but his frown cleared as he saw that Angela was in charge.

      ‘Your mother not down yet?’

      ‘She had coffee but went back to her room to get changed.’

      ‘Have you everything you need? I did the shopping this year, because Phyllis didn’t have time. Have I forgotten anything?’

      ‘I don’t think so. I wondered why Mum hadn’t made any mince pies or sausage rolls – though I see there is a trifle on the shelves.’

      ‘Yes, a friend of mine made that for me as a gift,’ her father said. ‘Your mother was annoyed when I brought it home yesterday, but I said it would save her work – it is a sherry trifle and I know it will be delicious.’

      ‘It does look lovely,’ Angela said. ‘Do you know if Mother made any Christmas puddings this year?’

      ‘I believe she said she couldn’t get the ingredients.’

      ‘Then we shall have the trifle after dinner instead of a pudding. No one ever wants any tea anyway, just a few mince pies.’ She put down her knife. ‘Would you like some breakfast, Dad?’

      ‘I’ll have one of those muffins, but I can toast it myself; I often make my own breakfast these days. Shall I make us a cup of tea?’ he asked, and then frowned as he saw the brandy bottle on the table. ‘You didn’t use this best brandy in the mince pies, I hope?’

      ‘No, of course not. Mother had some in her coffee.’

      He nodded, seemed about to say something and changed his mind. ‘Well, it is Christmas. I’ll make a cup of tea while you finish what you’re doing …’

      Angela went back to making pastry. She watched him, a little surprised at how easily he seemed to toast his own muffin and make a cup of tea. In the past her mother had always done everything, except when they had a housekeeper.

      ‘Why did Mrs Downs stop coming in? I remember her as being a pleasant woman.’

      ‘She was – is,’ he said, looking up from spreading butter on his muffin. ‘She and Phyllis had words, I’m afraid, and Mrs Downs wouldn’t stay.’

      ‘Oh, I see.’ Angela wondered why it had come to that. ‘Unfortunate. You need to get someone else, Dad. I think the housework is too much for Mother with all the other things she does.’

      ‘Yes …’ Once again he hesitated, seeming as if he wanted to say more, but then he just shook his head. ‘Is there anything I can do to help – what about the washing up?’

      ‘Yes, all right, if you like,’ Angela said. ‘I want to prepare these ready for cooking. I see we have some nice dripping for the potatoes – did you get that too?’

      ‘Oh, a friend of mine got it for me from her butcher,’ her father said, rising to gather the various pots and tins she’d been using in her cooking. ‘I’m lucky in this village; there are a lot of people I count my friends.’

      ‘Yes, I know. You’ve helped