too. Theyâll be ready in⦠five minutes.â
âThanks.â
Harriet pours herself a glass of cold water. She downs it in one go, pours another, and joins me at the kitchen table. Itâs months since we sat here together; we usually eat in our rooms or in front of the TV.
Last time, weâd been discussing what weâd do if Mam went into residential care again. Visits to Alcoholics Anonymous and outreach support had failed and we knew what was coming. When the social worker started hinting, we weighed up our options: either I went into care or Harriet took a year out of uni. Harriet cried back then as well. I should be grateful, really, that sheâs looking over my shoulder. At least she cares.
âSo, whatâs going on with all this cooking, then?â asks Harriet.
I shrug. Iâm more interested in whatâs wrong with her, but I donât know how to ask. Sheâs in charge. Things feel different since she starting playing Mam, despite all the âsisters togetherâ chats. I consider sharing the cookbook with her to see if it brings us closer again, but itâs nice to have something thatâs just mine.
âI like it, thatâs all.â
âMam used to bake, you know.â
My mouth falls open. Hattyâs never mentioned this before and I canât remember Mam baking. Ever.
âMam doesnât eat, never mind cook!â
âIâm serious!â
âWhat did she make?â
âCakes, mostly. I used to love the smell. It was likeâ¦â
She sniffs at the air.
âLike mine?â
âActually, yes.â
I smile to myself as I wipe the side down.
âDid you help her?â
âI was too young. She had a friend, Rosa, who used to come over and bake with her. There was talk of opening a café at one point.â
âWhat sort of café?â
âA cake café, I guess.â
The recipe book; it must have been for the café! It all falls into place. Itâs not just a book of cakes and biscuits, itâs a book of Mamâs dreams.
âI was only a kid,â continues Harriet. âSo I was more interested in my toys, but I would listen to them fooling around as they worked. When you came along, they usedto sit you next to the counter in your high chair. You didnât make a peep. It was like you were taking it all in. Maybe thatâs why youâre a natural?â
I beam with pride. I know itâs sad, but I canât help it. But then I think of what I missed out on and the smile disappears. Why couldnât Dad have stuck around longer, so Iâd have some nice memories too?
âSo what happened?â I say, trying to keep my voice steady.
âI donât know for definite⦠Rosa just stopped coming. Not long after that, we moved here. But it wasnât always bad.â
âI wouldnât know.â
âDonât say that! There are people much worse off than us. At least weâve got each other, right?â
I pull a face, but really Iâm surprised how comforting her words feel. As the warm smell of melting honey fills the kitchen, I close my eyes and try to imagine Mam and Dad here too.
âHmm, that smells so good,â says Harriet, reaching over and giving me a gentle shove. âBetter than last time, hey?â
Despite my embarrassment, I manage to keep my temper.
âI cleaned the oven while you were out.â
Harriet exaggerates wiping her brow in relief, then gives me this weird, intense stare.
âListen, Liv, youâll get outta here too, you know. Just hold in there. OK?â
I nod, confused. Itâs Harriet thatâs crying. Harriet thatâs falling apart. But what does she mean by too ? Is she leaving again? Has she finally given up on me?
âHatty, are you all right?â
The words come out shaky and slow. Before Harriet can answer, the alarm on my phone sounds, making us both jump.
âSaved by the