‘Thank you, Delia,’ old Mr Haverstock grunts as he takes the pie from my hands. His calloused fingers wrap around the foil tray protectively, the metal crinkling slightly under his grip.
‘My pleasure Robert, now make sure you reheat it properly, the instructions are on the label,’ my mother replies with a dismissive wave of her hand. ‘Make sure that May eats some, she’ll not rid herself of that cold by starving herself,’ she adds. The old man chuckles, his hunched shoulders shaking in amusement under the heavy wool cardigan.
‘I haven’t managed to get that woman to do a damn thing I want in sixty years, why do you think I could change that now?’ he asks gruffly, though his eyes sparkle with an obvious fondness.
Mum laughs, ‘tell her that if she doesn’t, I’ll be back to make her’ she repl
