Minnie flicked through Will’s Spelling Bee certificate and the article he wrote for the local paper about the resurgence of Drum and Bass. Minnie shook her head and smiled. There was the newspaper article about Quinn being the first nineties baby, then the next piece of paper in the file made her freeze – it was the menu from Victor’s, the first one she’d cooked. Behind it was the Christmas Day tasting menu from Le Lieu de Rencontre; Minnie had brought it home to show her parents what she was working on. Then there was the first flyer they’d designed to advertise No Hard Fillings, and some pie recipe ideas she’d brought home to show her parents. Minnie flicked through the rest of the file – everything she had ever worked on was here, her mum had kept it all. Minnie quickly covered her mouth with her hand to stop a sob from escaping. Maybe her mother wasn’t so disappointed in her after all.

‘You bringing us a cuppa or what, love?’ came her mother’s voice from the garden.

‘Yeah, I’m coming,’ she said, her voice coming out at a peculiar pitch. Minnie quickly stuffed everything back into the folder and returned it to the shelf.

‘Heaven’s pyjamas, this is a hell of a cake, love,’ said her dad, as they all sat on the back step with thick slices of fruitcake.

‘Thanks. I put extra cherries in, just the way you like it, Dad,’ said Minnie, then she turned to look at her mother, her eyes flushed with affection.

‘What you looking at me like that for?’ her mother asked suspiciously.

‘Nothing.’ Minnie smiled, reaching out to squeeze her mum’s hand. ‘It’s just nice being here with you both.’

‘Well, I’ll say this is one of your best, Minnie. Do you miss baking all day?’ asked her mum, collecting crumbs in her palm as she took another bite.

‘Yeah I do,’ Minnie said wistfully. ‘I miss baking, but I miss my customers more. I had a day off last week so I popped up to the social club to see everyone. Old Mavis Mahoney died; I didn’t even know she was ill.’

‘Well, at least she had a good innings. A woman on my ward died yesterday, she was twenty-four, poor love. Life’s a precious gift, there’s no time to waste in regrets.’

Minnie’s dad choked on his piece of cake.

‘You’ve changed your tune, Con,’ he coughed. ‘What’s come over you?’

‘She’s “gardening her way through anxiety”, Dad,’ said Minnie, sucking her cheeks together to stop herself from smiling.

Her dad laughed.

‘Next thing she’ll be saying she’s off on some yoga camp to have her Jackras cleansed.’

‘Chakras,’ said her mum with a smile, making a meditational pose and clasping her hands together in prayer.