Harriet placed in the table’s centre a large casserole and two serving dishes and when she removed the lids they were all staring at the Boston baked beans topped with overcooked cheese, the mashed turnips and the braised savoy cabbage they were required to eat. It must have been intentional, all that stodge and flatulent potential in one meal.
Earlier in the day she had offered to cook but Harriet wouldn’t hear of it, yet with Poppy vegan and gluten free, and Veronica vegetarian and lactose intolerant, she knew her mother would struggle to invent dinner and knew too how much she would resent the inconvenience. This, it seemed, was to be their punishment.
They helped themselves.
Conversation proved as laboured as consuming the repast. Several mouthfuls in, Poppy smiled politely at Harri
