in Humble village for generations.
They lived with Nigel, their “nephew”. Everybody heard Peter and Nigel
having a row in our street.
Our neighbour, Mrs Fox, was infuriated and she went off in high dudgeon
to Humble Cottage.
"Nigel is my son. I am taking him."
“He can't be yours. You are siblings.”
She invited us to dinner. Nigel was staying with cousins in Liverpool.
We puzzled over the delicious meal.
“What meat is this?”
Her smile showed her teeth.