This one came to me quite easily, once I'd decided it was going to be a play on words, the story pretty much wrote itself. I like it when that happens!
After Martha hung up the phone on her son she began to fret. Her house was beautifully and tastefully bedecked in subtle golds and silvers of festive decoration and now he said he was going to be bringing his own too, something nasty and modern from his art college no doubt. When she opened the door later, she was momentarily baffled. “Mum, this is Holly,” he said of the pretty girl stood next to him.
