“Bloody hell, not the prized oxtail soup. We are honoured,” Paddy said to Andy, clutching his chest in mock surprise.
“Piss off.” Andy emptied a third can into a large saucepan.
Paddy must have seen Luke’s confusion, because he took the chair next to him.
“You don’t know about Andy and the oxtail soup saga?”
Luke shook his head, though he was smiling, sensing a funny story was coming.
“Luke doesn’t want to hear about that,” Andy said from the cooker.
“Oh, yes, I do.” Luke settled more comfortably into his pillows and drew up the blanket Andy had insisted on putting over his knees.
“Well.” Paddy rubbed his hands. “You know that we Yorkshiremen are meant to be careful with our brass.”
“Uh huh.” Luke nodded.
“Last year, the corner shop in the village had some cans of soup on special
