Surprisingly, my mother only has a few chores for me the next morning, and I’m free and clear to leave by ten.
‘Are you sure you don’t need me for anything?’ I ask for he fifth time as I pull on my coat, watching my mother put four pies in the oven that she’s just finished preparing.
‘I’m sure, now shoo! I am trying to get these done for the church fundraiser tomorrow and you are getting under my feet’ mum replies, not even looking up at me as she dusts off her floury hands and grabs her rolling pin again.
‘Why are they having a fundraiser two days after Christmas anyway?’ I ask grumpily, taking a seat and pulling on a pair of boots that my mother suddenly produced for me. I’m not going to give her the satisfaction of admitting it, but I’m glad to have them, sometimes fashion isn’t wort
