When I came down for breakfast on Friday morning the kitchen smelled like heaven. Or at least what my heaven would smell like – cake with a hint of bacon. Not bacon cake – that would be gross. Maggie was grilling bacon and she had not long taken a cake out of the oven. I went over to investigate and have a better sniff.

‘Hands off,’ said Maggie, shooing me away from the cake and moving the bacon onto plates already laden with fluffy scrambled eggs. ‘That cake’s for your dad.’

‘Why?’ I took my plate from Maggie and joined her at the table.

‘You said you were calling in on him after school and I thought he might like a lemon drizzle cake. And there’s extra money for the bus to save you walking like last time.’ She pushed a five-pound note across the table.

‘I said I might call in.’ I ran a finger over the money but didn’t pick it up.

‘Oh, well. It’s up to you. The cake’s there if you want to take it.’ There was never any pressure from Maggie although she did know how to make me think about stuff. She’d gone to the trouble of making a cake, and getting the bus would be way easier than walking. I guess I could drop it round. I’d think about it. I took the money and shoved it in my trouser pocket and I could see her twitching a smile.

‘Thanks for making the cake. I don’t know if it’ll survive a whole day in my bag.’ I knew I wouldn’t be able to resist picking bits off it. It would likely be a mass of crumbs by the time I got to Dad’s, assuming I went at all.

‘I made two. There’s a good-sized slice with your packed lunch.’ She knew me so well. ‘I’m thinking of cooking lamb on Sunday.’ She said it all casual and I dropped my knife in shock. It clattered against my plate.

‘Which one?’ I could barely squeak the words out.

Maggie started to laugh and I had to wait for her to catch her breath. It was horrible. I loved all the lambs. I could picture one of them being turned on a big spit over a fire like they used to do in Tudor times. I felt a bit sick.

‘Not one of our lambs you daft ha’p’orth.’ She was still chuckling. ‘They’re far too small. I’ve got some in the freezer. I’ll roast a nice leg. All right?’

All right? I wasn’t sure that I was. For the first time in my life I sort of wanted to be a vegetarian. I took a breath, looked back at the crispy bacon on my plate. I breathed in the smell. I picked my knife and fork back up and the thought of becoming a vegetarian vanished.

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