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“This was my contribution to Christmas. I bought it for my parents, but I’m sure it will come in useful. Some of it needs to be refrigerated. Do you mind if I—”

“Go ahead. Help yourself to the fridge, cupboards—wherever you can find room.” Mabel waved her hand. Her head was spinning. It had been a long time since she’d had other people in the house. She wasn’t sure how she felt about it. The cats weren’t sure, either.

Crumpet was wherever Elsie was, but Cupcake, Biscuit and Macaron were hiding under the table, although whether they were hiding from the storm or the sudden influx of people was unclear.

“You’re very kind.” Brooke was already delving into the box, sorting through items.

“If there’s not enough space, there’s another fridge and freezer in the mudroom. My Walter believed in being prepared.”

She thought of him every time she needed something she hadn’t thought to stock for herself. Matches, lightbulbs, string. Whatever it was, Walter had stored it away. And he’d believed in other things, more important things, like forgiveness. She’d forgiven much in her life, but the one person she couldn’t forgive was herself.

Brooke removed a large ham and some cheese and carried them to the fridge. “Elsie, can you open the door for me please?”

Elsie was there in a flash. “Is that cheese? I love cheese.”

“Yes, it’s cheese, but you’re not eating it now.” Brooke rearranged some of the food on the shelves to make room for the produce from her box. She paused, staring at the contents of the fridge. “There’s a turkey.” She turned to look at Mabel, a question in her eyes. “You have a turkey. A huge turkey. Were you expecting guests?”

When she’d told them to help themselves to her fridge, she hadn’t thought about the turkey.

Mabel curled her fingers into the palm of her hand. The truth felt too personal, so she settled for a half-truth.

“I always cook a turkey at Christmas.”

Brooke was studying her closely. “For yourself?”

“The cats like it,” Mabel said. “It’s their favourite treat.”

Thank goodness cats couldn’t talk.

“Mine, too.” Elsie helped her mother carry the rest of the items that needed to be kept cool to the fridge and then they unloaded everything else.

There were jams, cakes, cookies thickly coated in chocolate, savoury crackers to go with the cheese, candy canes, chocolates and animals made from marzipan. There were also two large chocolate Santas.

Poppy gasped and clambered onto a chair so that she could reach, but Brooke grabbed the chocolates and tucked them into one of Mabel’s cupboards out of reach.

“You weren’t supposed to see those. They’re for Christmas Day.”

Poppy opened her mouth to protest loudly so Elsie fed her a cookie.

“Eat this instead. I made it.”

Matt and Jason walked into the kitchen, both shuddering with cold.

“Here—the most important thing of all.” Matt handed a snow-covered soft toy to Poppy.

“Not-A-Cat!” Poppy hugged it close and Brooke let out a sigh of relief.

“You found it.”

“It was wedged under the seat. I think we managed to bring in everything.” Matt went and stood by the range cooker, taking advantage of the heat that was pumping into the kitchen.

Jason joined him. “How did you manage to pack that much stuff in your car along with the kids?”

Matt grinned and held his hands out to warm them. “Let me introduce you properly to my wife.”

“Hey, are you insulting me?” Brooke was on her knees rearranging a cupboard to make more room. “Because you are going to live to be grateful that I packed so much. And you are going to apologise for moaning about the gift basket.” She stood up, her cheeks pink. “Did you find the shortbread?”

“Yes. It was unconscious, but we managed to resuscitate it and it doesn’t seem any the worse for its injury. Which is more than can be said for me. I’m going to have to think of an alternative reason for the scar, because ‘struck by shortbread’ won’t do anything for my credibility.”