As the children had poured out of the school at the end of the day, Laura had noticed that a lot of Samantha’s class were making a point of hugging a particular girl with long, curly auburn hair that she recognised from assemblies and school events. The girl did not seem to be in any hurry to get home but instead stood in the playground sharing hugs, squeezed hands and other enthusiastic farewells with anyone who approached her, almost as if she was holding court. The girl’s mum, with whom she was on nodding acquaintance as with most of the parents of the kids in her daughter’s class, came forward with two big boxes from the local bakery. These turned out to have cupcakes inside which she enthusiastically helped her daughter hand out.

“Can I have this now?” Samantha had asked as she wandered over to her mum with a broad grin on her face, brandishing a cupcake with pink frosting and silver sprinkles piles so high that it almost looked like an icecream!

“If you promise to eat your dinner!” Laura had chuckled, knowing that this was far from a challenging stipulation for her young daughter who always cleared her plate along with anyone else’s who had less of an appetite, without ever seeming to get fat from it – she envied this about her and knew that it was a perk of youth that nobody ever appreciated when they had it but often mourned its loss for the rest of their lives. “So, is it her birthday or something?” she asked as her daughter took a big bite of the sweet treat. “Her name’s Amy, right?”

“Mmhmm!” Samantha had nodded, her mouth filled with cake. “No, not her birthday!” she explained when she had swallowed her mouthful, pushing a crumb off her lip and into her mouth with the tip of her finger. “The opposite, really!”

“What’s the opposite of a birthday?” Laura had asked, genuinely puzzled.

“It’s her last day at school today because she’s getting roasted and eaten at her uncle’s wedding tomorrow!” Samantha had explained gleefully. “She’s been telling us all about it for weeks and it sounds like so much fun! I bet she’s going to be delicious!” She took another big bite of her cake. Laura had nodded, starting to connect the dots of her daughter’s recently renewed obsession.

“Too bad Auntie Julie’s already married to Uncle Mike,” Samantha had sighed, “And Uncle Martin’s married to Uncle Clive! All my cousins are younger than me too so I don’t think they’re getting married any time soon.” She gave another deep, dramatic sigh. “Pretty much missed my window on being a wedding feast.” She popped the rest of the cake into her mouth and munched it happily before slipping her slightly sticky hand into her mum’s and grinning up at her. “I guess you’ll just have to have me for Christmas dinner!”

After that, Samantha’s reminders about the topic had become almost daily, with her gently steering the conversation over time with a finesse any politician would envy away from it being a question of “if” to a question of “how”, leading her parents to talk as if it was a done deal and, in the process, subconsciously accept this reality.

One evening, after about two weeks of this bombardment, they had decided to search online to find out exactly where they stood under the law. They knew that cooking and eating girls had been legal under the right circumstances for nearly ten years, ever since that American chain of restaurants named after a girl who spent years campaigning for the right to be food had come to the UK. While the US the company behind it had managed to secure themselves exclusive rights to the whole new industry for ten years following the legalisation of cannibalism and the slaughter of young girls for food, the UK’s standards and anti-monopoly laws had been more stringent, meaning that any business able to adhere to the criteria laid out in law could profit from the sale of this intriguing and somewhat taboo new food.

In both the UK and the US as well as other places around the world where the new trade had been legalised, fewer restrictions applied to what was deemed “private consumption”, where a girl was cooked and served for a private gathering.

There were still rules, of course – the girl had to be be above the age of six since the UK had not followed America in setting an upper age limit, although individual businesses were free to set their own eligibility criteria, could not have been adopted or fostered within the past five years and had to have the written consent of at least one parent or guardian and no dispute from the other, with both mothers and fathers given the power of veto over the other parent. While there were no specific health checks required for privately eaten girls the way there were for those who would be sold for public consumption, there were still recommendations and the most important element across the board was a sign-off from a council-appointed official declaring that they were satisfied the girl was acting of her own free will, was not being coerced and, most importantly, understood what was going to happen to her. Once this document had been issued, it was valid for fourteen days, after which is would need to be re-issued.

The next morning over breakfast they had presented Samantha with the information they had gleaned, explaining the process and expenses involved and asking her for a definitive answer as to whether this was something she really wanted or just a game that she was enjoying taking to extremes, taking care to stress to her that they would not be cross with or disappointed in her if she opted not to move forward but that if she insisted this was what she really wanted to do, they would initiate proceedings. Rather uncharacteristically, Samantha had gone quiet and eventually asked if she could take the day to think it over, something that her parents had readily agreed to, glad to see that she was actually going to consider her decision and not make it glibly in the spur of the moment.

At Samantha’s request, Josh had driven her to school that morning on his way to work. He had wondered if she would want to talk about the choice that was facing her but she had spent most of the ride looking thoughtfully out of the window, only asking him two questions in a voice that was virtually a whisper – First, would he miss her if she got eaten and second, did he think she’d be delicious? On both occasions he had replied honestly that the answer was yes. When they got to school, she had seemed to snap out of her deeply contemplative, almost trance-like state and smiled happily as she grabbed her bag and kissed him on the cheek, cautioning him teasingly as she often did to be good at work, to which he had promised to try!

That evening, they had expected Samantha to give them an answer right away but, realising that they were not going to bring it up until she did, Samantha had amused herself by toying with them, seeing how long she could keep them guessing, talking about anything and everything over dinner except the question they so clearly wanted an answer to. They had resigned themselves to to not finding out until the next day or the day after, thinking that perhaps she wanted to sleep on it before coming to a decision, but later that evening, during the commercial break of a TV talent show they all enjoyed watching together, she cracked and broke her silence.

“So,” she had tossed out nonchalantly, almost as if she was about to announce that she was going to get a drink of from kitchen and ask if anyone else wanted anything, “where are we going to find an oven big enough to roast me in?”

From that point on, everyone had taken Samantha’s fate as settled and the focus of the discussion had become the practicalities. Very quickly, their daughter had vetoed the idea of asking a butcher to part her out into more manageable pieces to be cooked at home over a few different occasions with her torso, that would just about fit in the oven in their kitchen, being roasted for Christmas dinner and the rest kept in the freezer for use as and when. She was adamant that she was going to be roasted whole or not at all, going into the oven alive, and she had already made up her mind that the second option was off the table.

After this, they had next tried contacting restaurants, hotels, country clubs and catering companies that advertised Girl on among the meats they could prepare but these either did not offer a bring-your-own option or were prohibitively expensive for a private party, especially on Christmas Day which was when Samantha was adamant about roasting. Eventually they had found the small village hall just a few miles from their home which was equipped, as the photos had proven, with an oven big enough to roast a fully-grown woman, let alone a young, barely adolescent girl like Samantha, along with other facilities suitable for girl-cooking sure to guarantee them bookings throughout the year. By some miracle, it was not already booked up for the big holiday and, although not exactly cheap, was at least within budget, especially as the party would count as Samantha’s Christmas present that year and they would not be expected to get her anything else!

To be continued...