Five ways to kill a man

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Mary listened to the noise of something rattling in the lane outside. The wind had strengthened as the evening progressed and she really should have made tracks for bed by now, but there was still a chance that he would drop in. How she had enjoyed her day with them yesterday! Christmas with the family meant so much. Sarah had picked her up just before midday, taken her to that fancy restaurant where they’d pulled crackers and enjoyed the same meal as fifty other strangers sitting at adjacent tables.

It wasn’t like the old days, Mary told herself. Then she’d have had a turkey in the oven by seven o’clock in the morning, all the trimmings prepared the day before, vegetables peeled ready in pots of cold water with just a wee dash of milk to keep the starch from leaching out. Her Christmas pudding would have been made months ago, like the rich fruit cake that she baked from a recipe that had been her mother’s. No shop bought fare for her family, Mary thought indignantly. Oh no, it had all been the best of stuff.

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