I remembered Mum’s fingers were dyed crimson as she dropped berries into boxes. Pop, pop, went the plastic, and the sugar rasped on top. Mum licked her red fingers and ate the too-small strawberries herself. The strawberries that were too large she sliced in half with a knife. The knife was red with strawberry juice as well.

9

9

The kitchen is cold and filled with smoke. Krista’s making pancakes. It’s the morning of my birthday, and Krista has decided I am to have pancakes for breakfast. The window is open and the cooker fan is whirring away, but the whole of the downstairs is still full of smoke.

Wearing only her nightdress, Krista’s freezing in front of the stove. That’s why she’s annoyed. As far as I’m concerned, she could stop cooking and go and get dressed, but Krista seems to think that birthday celebrations can only start once the pancakes are ready.

Krista’s pancakes are thinner than real ones, and she only made a small amount of watery dough. She’s prepared enough for us each to have two, though, really, the whole idea of pancakes is overindulgence. I miss Auntie Annu. Everything she did in the kitchen was big and splashy. She drove to the shop once a week and bought a huge amount of food. She cooked enough stew for three days in one go, and when she made pancakes, there was enough left over for a snack the following evening.

‘Whipped cream on top! Otherwise it’s not a proper birthday pancake!’ Krista urges, plonking a spoonful of the stuff on to my pancake.

‘I don’t like it.’

‘Try it! You’ll see. Jam, too, and a mint leaf, and then I’ll take a photo – wait!’

Krista fetches her phone and takes a picture of my pancake and cream. Then she writes underneath, Happy Birthday, Saara! and puts it out there.

Dad and Krista give me a hairdryer.

‘This is from Annu,’ Dad says, taking a roll of fabric out of the kitchen cupboard. ‘She hid it here before she left. There should be a card inside.’

I undo the roll; it’s a colourful rag rug.

In the depths of the rug, I find a card with a picture of an ancient-looking mosaic wall. The pattern shows a butterfly. The card says:

Happy Birthday, sweetie! Do you remember these: your frog hoodie, purple cords, My Little Pony T-shirt, angel pyjamas? (I expect you recognize all the rest, too.) I thought it might be nice to keep the clothes as a souvenir – a bit like shells. Hey, now you are a real butterfly and twelve years old! Hugs and kisses! RunoutofroomA.

‘Will Auntie Annu ever come back to live at Extra Great Manor?’ I ask.

‘Who knows,’ Dad mutters.