“Well, if she’s interested I’d like her to make a selection for our group. Come on, my darling.” Their mother planted a kiss on Oscar’s cheek. “Over to your mother.”

“Mummy, can I have some more please?” They all turned their attention to Isabelle who had pink dribbles rolling down her chin.

“You’ll burst, Isabelle. Look at your face.” Alison dabbed at her daughter with a serviette.

Paula watched the corners of Isabelle’s mouth turn down. “Would you like to go and look at the dolls?”

“Yes.” The sparkle returned to the little girl’s eyes and she jumped up, making the small table wobble on its uneven legs.

“Steady on.” Alison grabbed the table with one hand and the sliding bowl in front of Oscar with the other. “Manners, Isabelle.”

“Yes please, Aunty Paula.”

Her face lit in a beautiful smile and she slipped her small, slightly sticky hand into Paula’s. They eased out of the little side room where the food was being served and made their way along the row of stalls until they came to one with a display of all kinds of dolls, from plastic to porcelain, baby dolls to teenage and every different kind of Barbie. They had looked at the stall earlier but Oscar had dragged them away. He was allergic to standing still for very long.

“Look at the baby, Isabelle.” Paula was drawn to the porcelain doll tucked up in a small pram. “It looks real.”

They both peered in at the doll wrapped in a beautiful shawl. Its eyes were closed and delicate eyelashes sat above pink cheeks and little puckered lips.

“Can I hold it?” Isabelle asked.

“No.” Paula straightened up. “These dolls don’t belong to us. They’re just for looking at.”

“Some are for sale.” The woman behind the table put a gentle hand on one of the porcelain dolls. “The sleeping baby is beautiful, isn’t it?”

Paula gave it another glance. “Yes.”

“You’ll have another of your own soon.” The woman nodded at Paula.

“Another?” She looked down at Isabelle. “Oh no, this is my niece.”

“This is your first baby then, that’s marvellous. Are you hoping for a boy or a girl?”

“I don’t mind. We…”

“Hello, Paula. Look at you. Haven’t you blossomed?”

Paula was saved from reciting her usual spiel about the sex of her baby by the loud voice behind her.

She turned to look at the tall angular woman with a baby planted firmly on her hip. “Hello…”

“I’m Jackie, Jackie Martin.”