Forgetting her own problems, she stood in the doorway, staring at the chaotic scene in the kitchen. Annie was mumbling to herself as she rolled out pastry, sending clouds of flour into the air and punctuating her grumbles with sneezes, while Maggie scrabbled about in the pantry. ‘What’s all this?’ Miranda asked, dodging a crumpled paper bag that her grandmother tossed over her shoulder. Shaking flour off her hands, Annie snatched up a tea towel and rushed over to the oven. A waft of heat made her recoil as she reached in to take out a tray of jam tarts that were about to incinerate. ‘Damnation,’ she muttered, slamming it down on the table. ‘Are we having a party, or something?’ Miranda peeled off her jacket and hooked it over the back of a chair. ‘Can I help?’ Maggie emerged from the pantry, wiping a cobweb from her forehead. ‘Oh, it’s you, Miranda. You were needed here. You shouldn’t have gone gallivanting off after your boyfriend.’ ‘Why? What’s going on, Granny?’ ‘A wedding, that’s all.’ Maggie slumped down on a chair.
