Eric has a sausage problem.

 Wednesday 8th October 2025

I had a fun time over breakfast again this morning.

The kitchen window overlooks the front yard, so when I saw Dad and Eric coming in for breakfast, I slipped through to what we call The Dairy. It’s a sort of halfway room before you enter the house proper — plain white-painted walls, an uncovered concrete floor, and home to all the white goods: the washing machine, dryer, a second fridge, and a couple of freezers. There’s also a deep sink for rinsing off the really mucky things that Mum won’t allow anywhere near her kitchen.

It’s where we change from boots to slippers and hang up coats and outdoor gear. A radiator along the wall keeps things toasty and dries off anything that’s come in wet from the fields.

It’s called The Dairy because before Dad’s time there were a few cows kept on the farm. Even non-dairy farms back then usually had a handful for milk and butter to share around the local folk.

Anyway, I had a small load of washing to do. Instead of starting it when I first brought it down from my room, I’d waited until I saw the men heading in — my excuse being to get a quiet word with Eric before Mum cornered him about the missing cookie.

I know, I know — I probably should’ve shown more loyalty to Mum. But truth be told, I feel a certain loyalty to Eric too… and Mum’s perfectly capable of defending her own cause when she needs to.

“Hey up, fatty! What you up to?” said Eric, coming over with that look that meant a rib-tickle was incoming.

“Get lost,” I said quickly, standing up to face him. “I was going to give you some critical information, but I’m not going to bother now.”

“Please yourself,” he shrugged. “There isn’t much I can’t handle on the fly anyway.”

“Ha! You’ll get your chance to prove that when Mum catches up with you about taking one of our cookies,” I told him as I followed him through to the kitchen.

“I don’t know what you mean,” he said — far too casually for someone innocent. I could tell straight away he knew exactly what I meant.

Dad and Eric took up their usual places while I set my porridge oats in the microwave. Mum was dishing out the fry-up, and I carried their plates and mugs of tea to the table before joining them. All very routine.

What wasn’t routine was Mum’s silence. She didn’t mention the cookie once — not a word, not even a hint. Just the usual chatter about whether it was warm or cold out that morning. But I saw what she did.

Eric, as always, makes a big fuss about his sausages. There must be three — and his have to be the biggest (even though they’re all exactly the same). You know how men are about their sausages.

I was waiting with his plate for the third sausage when Mum said quietly, “Take that.”

I looked up at her, and she just gave me a glance — that kind of silent communication mothers have. I knew exactly what she’d done.

I set Eric’s plate down in front of him. Two sausages, right in the middle of everything else. He looked at me, prodded them, then lifted the bacon as if checking for a hidden third. His face said, There’s one missing, but he wisely kept his mouth shut.

I couldn’t help smiling as I turned back to fetch my breakfast.

Eric went unusually quiet after that. I couldn’t tell whether he was expecting a telling-off or simply mourning his missing sausage, but either way, Mum had sorted him out perfectly — without saying a single word.

Mind you, I didn’t escape judgment myself. In the middle of one of my fits of grinning at Eric’s expense, Mum shot me a look.

“You can stop that grinning as well, madam,” she said. “You’re a bloomin’ traitor, sloping off to do your washing like that. You must think I was brought up by the fairies.”

Dad, who’d been quiet up till then, suddenly burst out laughing — which set the rest of us off too. Except Mum, who shook her head and said, “Bloomin’ barmy, the lot of you. I don’t know, for the love of Mike, why I put up with you all.”

“Because we love you, Mum,” I told her, giving her arm an affectionate rub.

And at that, she tried to hide her smile — but we all saw it. The kitchen felt warm and close and full of life, the laughter still lingering in the air like the smell of toast and fried bacon.