Margaret, who was Aunt Eileen’s second cousin and owned the shop, gave him a nod and a smile as she came through the back door. She was carrying a tray of pork pies, and Blackie felt his mouth watering. As she passed him, going across to the other long counter, she said, “You’ll be enjoying these soon enough, my lad,” and winked at him.

He laughed, and then went to join his uncle, who was gathering up several brown bags at the main counter. “Let me help ye,” he said to Patrick, and reached for two more bags. A few seconds later they were out in Town Street with Eileen, walking home together.

Within minutes, they were emptying the bags in the kitchen. Aunt Eileen put some of the items in the larder, and said to Blackie, “Help your uncle to set the table, and I’ll have dinner out in a jiffy.”

“Right away, Auntie,” he answered, and did as she asked. As usual, he was hungry and couldn’t wait to savor the warm pork pies. They smelled delicious.

Once everything was ready, the three of them sat down.

They both thanked Eileen and she smiled at them, and said, “Margaret told me today she’d like me to give her an extra few hours every week.…” Eileen paused, and looked at her husband. When he remained silent, she asked, “So, what do you think, Patrick?”

“If you think it’s not too much for you, then it’s all right with me. But I don’t want you overdoing it, mavourneen. I would be upset if you got ill again.”

“It’s just a few hours a week.… You see my baking is doing nicely. Margaret likes to have the extra pies and tarts alongside the bread and buns. We’re selling out.” Eileen laughed, and added, “And I’ll be fine, Pat; I really will. I’m feeling as fit as a fiddle these days.”

“So try it out,” Patrick said, and felt a small rush of pride in his wife’s success. She had started by just helping her cousin out occasionally, taking in some pies, and there was no doubt in his mind that she was the best baker there was in Upper Armley. Yet he worried about her health, didn’t want the extra work to get her down. Ever since nearly losing her just before Blackie arrived, four years earlier, Patrick had been cautious. And there was no need for his wife to be working. He knew she did it for the love of it.

Blackie reached for the bowl of piccalilli and took a spoonful of the mustard relish with chopped vegetables in it. He liked to eat it with the pork pie, which he had never had until he came to live with his aunt and uncle. Now it was his favorite, which they had every Saturday.