IS THAT A SWORD?!
Grabbing a bag of carrots from the fridge, I started chopping them. The smell of roast chicken wafted through the house as I nattered to my mate Jill, 33.
‘Can I help?’ Jill asked.
Don’t worry, it’s under control,’ I smiled. ‘Just relax.’
It was a typical Sunday lunchtime, in October last year.
My two boys – Jack, nine, and Charlie, seven – were out playing with Jill’s two lads at the park just over the road, and I was cooking us up a roast.
Jill’s youngest, aged four, and my baby daughter Caia were in the living room with Jill’s partner John, 27, leaving us to our girly chat.
‘Right, that chicken smells just about ready,’ I said, opening the oven door to check.
As I did, there was a thudding on the front door.
