Kyle had barely reached the bottom of the front steps when the door swung open behind him.
"Wait! Wait, wait, wait!"
Tony hurried down the steps with a stack of containers balanced against his chest, Michelina following close behind with a paper bag in each hand. He looked less like a successful producer and more like a man trying to stop his guests from escaping a wedding.
"Tony, we're fine," Kyle said, already knowing it was a losing battle.
"You're not fine. You're leaving my house empty-handed, and that has never happened in thirty-eight years." Tony pushed the containers into Kyle's arms before he could protest.
"Lamb. Potatoes. The good gravy, not the gravy we give to the neighbours."
"There's a difference?" Ella asked.
"There is always a difference," Michelina answered without missing a beat.
She walked straight past Kyle and handed one of the paper bags to Jane. "The rest of the sticky toffee pudding. All of it. I saw you looking at the tray."
