Page 116 of Outlier

As always, when I was overwhelmed, I called Mum, and, as always, she turned things around. Mum’s homemade ginger biscuits and peppermint tea were often the only things Vicky could tolerate.

Margot senior was furious that Hetty had succeeded where she had failed, and so once Vicky was better, she turned up at the house with Bilbo, and so the game of trumping each other in terms of best grandmother continued.

Even on the WhatsApp now, war was breaking out over who was going to bring the roast potatoes, and whether Lucy’s Yorkshire puddings were better than Lottie’s. Personally, I hope Mum took over the Yorkshires—neither my sister nor Lottie made them soggy enough for my liking.

I huffed. “She doesn’t think I look after you properly.”

Vicky laughed. “You know she does, she’s just…”

“An overbearing, interfering pain in the arse?”

“She’s just wonderful,” whispered Vicky, and I let out a long sigh.

Okay, so maybe having overly involved family and friends who weren’t too hot on boundaries wasn’t that bad.

Not if it made my wife smile like that.