Freddie had been distinctly unimpressed when Nick had said this was how they were going to spend their Saturday morning. He’d been hoping they could put up the Christmas decorations early to which Nick had replied with a firm no. Freddie didn’t see why not and Nick had struggled to come up with an answer that didn’t make him sound like a Grinch. Freddie also didn’t see why they couldn’t live on pizza and chips for the rest of their lives and Nick had kindly explained that eating that sort of food all the time would definitely shorten how long the rest of their lives would be. Food like that was great as a treat, but you couldn’t eat it every day. He’d then gone on to talk about saturated fat, fatty acids and Omega fish oils (to which Freddie had made fake vomiting sounds) but had got muddled up with which ones were which and finished by saying, ‘We just need to start eating better, okay? End of.’

‘Right, what’s next, Freddie?’

His sous chef ran a finger over the list to the second item. ‘Curry, but I don’t like curry, Dad.’

‘You like a korma. That’s the sweet one that tastes of coconut.’

‘Only sometimes.’

‘Well, it’ll be nice for a change. Come on, I’ll chop the chicken up because you hate touching it and you can open that bag of chopped onion and chuck it in the pot along with all those jars of sauce.’

As Nick watched Freddie drain each jar, he worried he’d miscalculated exactly how much food he was making. He eyed the stack of silver takeaway containers purchased in preparation then surveyed the pot again. There seemed to be more here than he had room for in the freezer. Never mind. Some would last in the fridge for a few days. ‘How about after we get this done, we take a trip to Bluebell Park. It’s the big grotto reveal at 4 p.m. and I’ve heard they’ve gone all out this year. The community choir are going to be singing too.’

‘Mrs Hopkins is scary,’ Freddie replied, referring to the leader of the choir, while stirring the onions.

‘She is a bit,’ Nick replied with a laugh, scraping the chopping board clear of the chicken and watching it fall into the pot with a satisfying thud. ‘She was just as scary when I was younger. Do you want to go and get changed? We’re both covered in food splatters.’

Freddie climbed down from the chair he’d been kneeling on and Nick pulled him into a hug.

‘Thanks for your help today, mate. I enjoyed it.’

‘Me too.’ Though Nick could tell from his tone he hadn’t really. ‘You’d better wear a different top, Dad. That one stinks.’