‘What in God’s name are leg warmers?’ her dad said, wrinkling his nose as his mouth fell open.

‘They’re like socks but without the feet in,’ her mum, the oracle, explained, as she grappled with the heavy frying pan and flipped a pancake high in the air, before watching it land on the floor in a sorry-looking wrinkled heap. ‘First one’s for the bin, anyway!’ she chuckled.

‘Socks without the feet?’ her dad said, looking utterly perplexed. ‘Whatever will they think of next?’

Bessie smiled at her brother. ‘Thanks, Philip, they’re mint.’

He tried to look cool but his big smile told her he was chuffed. She knew he would have spent a chunk of his wages from his Saturday job at the petrol station on them. These were the moments when he felt like the brother who used to play with her in the garden, the brother who helped build her secret den under the privet hedge, the brother who snuck her into the cinema to see Flashdance, and not the brother who ignored her, clearly irritated by her very presence.

‘You’ll have to write all your thank you’s, and I’ll post them for you. I’ve got a packet of notelets you can use.’

‘Thanks, Mum. I love my pressies.’ She was not about to let the dreaded thought of writing thank-you notes to her aged relatives spoil the moment.

The phone rang in the hallway.

‘No doubt that’ll be Nanny Pat to see if you like your book token. Don’t forget to ask how Tiki’s doing!’ Mum nodded towards the hallway, prompting as she always did, while ladling more of the pancake mix into the frying pan and swirling it around. Her dad let out a loud and unexpected blast on the harmonica and her mum jumped and yelped, dropping the pan on the stove. The thick batter sloshed out and dripped down the front of the oven, before pooling on the carpet tiles.

‘For the love of God, Eddie!’ she screeched, clutching at her chest with her one free hand and staring at the mess of her kitchen.

Bessie figured breakfast might be a little late. Running to the phone, she grabbed it, and before she had the chance to say hello, Michelle started singing.

‘Haa-appy birthday to yooooooooo!’

‘Thanks.’ She sat back on her favoured step, about a third of the way up, knitting the long, curly wire around her fingers.

‘So whaddya get for your birthday?’ her friend said, cutting to the chase.