The Perfect CHRISTMAS

I knew something was wrong the minute Will opened the door. Instead of being hit by the smell of turkey cooking, I could only smell lime and lemongrass from my 6am mopping spree.

Carrying a sleeping Amelia, I dashed into the kitchen.

‘Will, the oven! It’s not on!’

I was sure I’d switched it on, but despite turning the dial to 180°C, I’d clearly forgotten to press ‘set’.

Amelia promptly woke up and let out an ear-splitting yell. Despite being only nine months old, she knew how to choose her moments.

‘Shhh, darling, Mummy didn’t mean to shout. It’s just that Granny, Gramps, your auntie, uncle and all your cousins will be here in less than an hour, expecting Christmas dinner, and…’

Sensing my panic, her howling intensified.

I looked at the raw turkey through the oven glass. A sob, almost as loud as Amelia’s, overwhelmed me.

I plonked myself down in the chair in the corner of the kitchen and fed Amelia.

‘It’ll be fine,’ Will