Auntie Kathleen lived in a white stuccoed end-terrace house with garden around three sides. It still belonged to the council, although many of the others in the street had been bought by their occupants and so had lost the uniformity they once had. Porches, windows, conservatories and, in one ill-judged case, stone cladding the colour of over-washed denim had been added to the houses in recent years. Only Auntie Kathleen’s seemed to retain its original size and appearance. When Melissa had been a girl and ‘Uncle’ Len was still alive, the garden had been immaculate with a bowling-green lawn and neatly regimented borders. Now, though, it had a neglected air. The lawn was cut regularly enough but the grass had been allowed to grow right up to the fence, and the only flowers to be seen were the yellow dandelion heads that poked their way, uninvited, through to the light.

Melissa gave Leah a last check over, rang the doorbell and waited. Her mum had always just let herself in, but Melissa had never felt quite comfortable with that degree of familiarity. She didn’t want it reciprocated if Auntie Kathleen ever made it up to her caravan, although that was increasingly unlikely. Eventually she heard someone moving very slowly inside the house.

‘I’m coming,’ came a wavering voice, and what felt like minutes after that and with much pulling back of bolts, the door opened a crack and Auntie Kathleen peeped out.

‘It’s me,’ Melissa said, holding the sleeping Leah up to the crack in the door for inspection. ‘Melissa. And Leah.’

The door swung open.

‘Come in, come in,’ urged Auntie Kathleen. ‘It’s right good to see you. Come in out of the cold. Leave that pram there.’

Melissa took a wary glance up and down the street. The pram was only second-hand but she couldn’t afford to replace it. There was no one around to take it, though, and anyway, babies and consequently prams were two a penny around here. She tucked Leah into her chest, pressing her tiny head into her shoulder, and followed Auntie Kathleen into the dim hallway.

The house smelled faintly of lavender. It was a smell that Melissa had associated with Kathleen since she was a little girl and, although she had never identified precisely where the scent came from, it always just hung in the air.

Melissa followed Kathleen through to her sitting room. A card table had been set up between the sofa and the antimacassared armchair and covered with a broderie anglaise tablecloth. On it was a three-layered cake stand with neatly trimmed sandwiches on the bottom layer, chocolate fingers on the middle and fondant fancies on the top. How many ham and pickle sandwiches had Melissa endured over the years in order to get to the delights of the top two layers? A steaming teapot, a milk jug and two cups also sat waiting for them.