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of family life. She remembered Pamela Edwards’ house, and then thought of her dead brother. He would be nineteen now; her own childhood would have been very different had he lived.
    â€˜I’ll get you later.’ Anna flashed her eyes at her brother.
    â€˜Don’t bet on it,’ said Martin mockingly as his sister ran back up the stairs. He turned to Jenny. ‘She takes after Dad, always exploding at the slightest thing.’
    â€˜Martin, there’s no need to say that,’ said his mother.
    â€˜Well, it’s the truth.’
    â€˜Can I help you with the tea, Mrs Barretti?’
    â€˜Thank you Jenny. That would be nice. I’m even more behind now. My husband’s at the café this afternoon; Saturday’s always their busiest time. Mind you, he wouldn’t help if he was here. Italian men,’ she sighed, ‘more trouble than they’re worth.’
    Jenny followed her into the kitchen.
    â€˜Martin said that you live up at West Blatchington,’ she said as she placed silver balls onto the circles of white icing that capped the tiny sponge cakes.
    â€˜Yes, opposite the windmill.’
    â€˜It’s nice up there; near the Downs. I used to live near the New Forest, just outside Southampton. My sister still lives there. Unfortunately, it’s all houses and traffic round here. I prefer the countryside. Right, that’s the fairy cakes finished. There’s just the butter icing for the birthday cake to do, then I’ll be finished.’ There was a ring on the doorbell. ‘Anna,’ she shouted, ‘answer the door, your friend’s here. Jenny, would you mind taking this jelly through to the dining room?’ She passed her a strawberry mould in the shape of a rabbit. ‘I expect your mum used to make these for you?’
    â€˜Yes, she did.’ Jenny remembered the bright green jellies and pink blancmanges of her childhood.
    Jenny placed the jelly in the centre of the table decked with paper plates and serviettes. She thought what fun Martin’s mother seemed. She imagined her laughing and dancing and contrasted her with her own mother.
    â€˜So, how old are you Jenny? I can never tell with young people these days.’ She picked up the baking tray of fairy cakes. ‘Could you pass me that plate, the one with the cherries round the edge?’
    â€˜I’ll be fifteen in February,’ she said, worried that she might think her too young to be going out with Martin.
    â€˜Martin’s birthday’s in February, the second. I can’t believe he’ll be seventeen next year.’
    â€˜Oh, mine’s not ‘til the end of the month – the twenty-eighth.’
    The doorbell rang once more and the baking tray clattered to the floor, throwing fairy cakes everywhere. ‘Oh, no, look what I’ve done now, the tray just slipped out of my hands.’
    â€˜I’ll pick them up for you.’ Jenny bent down and began picking up the cakes that lay scattered like pebbles under the kitchen table.
    â€˜I can’t throw them away. They’ll have to be alright.’
    â€˜They’ll be fine, Mrs Barretti, they’re in their cases. I’ll put them on the plate,’ said Jenny, concerned that she might be blamed for chatting to her.
    â€˜What’s going on out here?’ Martin leant against the doorpost smiling. ‘Two women in the kitchen; always a bad idea.’
    It’s just me being clumsy,’ said his mother in a shaky voice. ‘Anna!’ she shouted.

    *
    â€˜Did you enjoy this afternoon?’ Martin asked later as he closed the back door behind them.
    â€˜Yes, it was great,’ said Jenny.
    â€˜What, even with Anna throwing a tantrum, and her friends screaming and running wild?’
    â€˜Yes, even with Anna and her friends. It was fun.’
    Martin pulled her towards him and kissed her softly. Jenny wished that moment could last forever.

    *
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