A Cuckoo in Candle Lane

by Kitty Neale

Genres: Sagas; Women's Fiction; 20th Century Romance

Synopsis

When Elsie and Bert Jones move with their children, Ann and Arthur, to Candle Lane, a modest street in Battersea, they miss their comfortable house in Wimbledon. But the move is the right thing to do, as it will enable Bert to finance his new removal business. They are a warm-hearted family, and Elsie soon makes friends with her less fortunate neighbour, Ruth and her daughter Sally. But before long Elsie realises that all is not well in the house next door...

Release date: December 8, 2011

Publisher: Soundings

Print pages: 384

Sample

Sally Marchant ran headlong down the street, arms and legs pumping like pistons and socks bagging around her ankles. Just before the corner she risked a quick glance over her shoulder, then scuttled round onto the main road where she leaned thankfully against the pawnbroker’s window, skinny chest heaving as she dragged freezing air into her lungs. Why do they always pick on me? she thought, her eyes staring blankly across the busy main road, to where huge ugly factories flanked the dirty River Thames.

She set off again, walking rapidly and hoping she had lost her tormentors in the warren of streets and alleyways. It was just before she reached her own turn-off that they jumped out in front of her from the shelter of a shop doorway, and her stomach lurched as she braced herself for the confrontation.

The two girls straddled the pavement, hands on hips and arms akimbo to bar her way.

‘Well, well, what ’ave we here? It’s the ginger nut,’ one of them jeered.

‘My hair ain’t ginger.’

‘Yes it is, you daft cow.’

‘It ain’t ginger … it’s auburn.’

‘Don’t kid yourself,’ she sniggered, her eyes travelling pointedly down to Sally’s feet. ‘New shoes?’

‘Yeah, but what’s it got to do with you?’

The girl’s pugnacious face glinted in triumph. ‘You’re a liar,’ she shouted. ‘We saw you on Saturday in Rosie’s secondhand shop, and them shoes look like the ones yer mum fished out of a box of rummage.’

‘Ugh!’ The other girl’s long thin face stretched into a grimace of distaste. ‘I bet all yer clothes are secondhand – and full of fleas.’ She scratched herself vigorously, turning to her friend. ‘Are you itchy too?’

‘Yeah, I am, now you come to mention it,’ she replied, raking her nails through her hair. Then, grinning maliciously at Sally, she added, ‘By the way, Spooky, ’ave you seen any ghosts lately?’

Sally clenched her hands into fists, nails digging painfully into her palms in an effort to hide her humiliation. I won’t let them see me cry, she thought, I won’t. Lowering her head she dodged into the road to pass them, running off with the sound of their laughter ringing in her ears.

A few minutes later she turned into Long Street, halting momentarily to catch her breath. Then, after a final quick check behind her, she darted left into Candle Lane where three doors down at number five she lifted the letterbox to grope for the key that dangled on a piece of string. Carefully pulling it through she opened the door and stepped into the narrow hall, eyes clouding when she saw her dad’s coat hanging on the rack. Sick with disappointment she crept upstairs to her room, clambered into bed, and curled into a tight ball under the thin blankets.

Her feelings of isolation increased at the sound of children playing in the street below her window. Boys playing football or marbles, girls with skipping ropes, their voices high as they jumped in time to a chant …

PK penny a packet,

First you chew it, then you crack it,

Then you stick it on your jacket,

PK penny a packet.

She longed to join in their games, to play outside as they did, but her dad would never allow it. After school she was forced to remain in her room, out of his way, and only allowed downstairs for dinner. When he went to the pub she could stay in the kitchen until bedtime and, picturing the lovely fire burning in the hearth, she prayed he would be going out tonight.

The noise in the street gradually became distant as she allowed her mind to drift, trying to escape the cold and loneliness by retreating to the elusive and beautiful place she saw only in her dreams.

At last Sally felt safe and warm, in an altered state, floating above the bed and gazing down at her own body wrapped in a cocoon of untidy blankets. She wasn’t afraid; she felt light and free, happy to let this moment go on for ever.

The bedroom door was thrust open, her peace shattered as she was propelled violently back into her body, the sudden jolt leaving her feeling disorientated and blinking rapidly at the speed of the transition.

‘Come on, Sally, yer dinner’s ready. Didn’t you hear me calling?’ her mum asked, peering round the door.

‘Oh, sorry … I must ’ave fallen asleep,’ she stammered.

‘Well, get a move on. You know yer dad don’t like waiting for his grub,’ Ruth Marchant urged as she scurried away.

Reluctantly Sally crawled out of bed and padded downstairs, shivering in her thin clothes as she entered the kitchen. Careful not to make any noise she pulled out a chair, whilst glancing surreptitiously at her dad sitting at the end of the table. He was reading a newspaper, his dark greasy hair flopping onto his forehead.

Taking a deep breath and holding it, she sat down, relieved when he didn’t look up. Please, she thought, as she turned to see her mum carrying two steaming plates across the room, please let him be in a good mood.

‘Here you are, Ken,’ her mum said quietly.

‘About bloody time too,’ he snapped. ‘In future, see that me dinner’s ready when I come home.’

‘Yeah, all right love, it won’t happen again,’ she said meekly, placing their plates on the table.

Sally could sense the tension in the room and her stomach churned with nerves. His anger hung in the air … palpable … waiting to explode.

Lowering her eyes she looked at the grey mutton stew, thick with pearl barley, and felt a wave of nausea. Beads of perspiration broke out on her forehead. ‘Mum,’ she gasped. ‘I’m sorry, I can’t eat it. I feel sick.’

A chair was shoved back, screeching across the lino and she jerked with fear, eyes widening as her dad leaped to his feet, the chair crashing onto the floor behind him.

‘What’s this?’ he ground out, leaning menacingly over the table. ‘Feels sick, does she? Like mother, like daughter, is it?’

Ruth crouched low in her chair, cowering away from him. ‘No, don’t be daft, Ken, she’s only ten.’

‘What! Don’t you dare call me daft, you bloody bitch,’ he yelled, suddenly lunging forward to grab a handful of her jumper, the material straining as he yanked her roughly towards him. Drawing back his other hand he slapped her violently across the mouth, the force of the blow splitting her bottom lip. ‘Now get that brat out of my sight, or else!’ he screamed.

‘Quick, go to your room, Sal,’ Ruth sobbed, struggling to pull herself away from his grip, blood trickling onto her chin.

Sally hesitated, her body rigid with fear, but was suddenly galvanised into action when he turned, giving her a vicious sneer.

‘Do you want me to give yer mother another slap?’ he spat, raising his hand in a threatening gesture.

Heart pounding Sally ran from the kitchen, jumped the stairs two at a time and burst into her room, throwing herself across the bed. It’s my fault, she thought, clutching her hands over her ears in an effort to drown out the sound of her dad’s voice screaming obscenities. Mum’s gonna get it now, and it’s all because of me. ‘Please God,’ she whispered. ‘Please, don’t let him hurt her any more.’

After a few minutes a strange calmness began to penetrate her turbulent thoughts; she felt the lightest of breaths on her cheek, like an angel’s kiss. Gentle hands caressed her hair and she opened tear-filled eyes to see the room glowing in a golden shimmering light. She smiled; it would be all right now. Her friend was here.

Ruth was peering in the mirror, gingerly dabbing at the blood on her lip, when the door burst open.

‘Mum, are you all right?’ Sally gasped, her face creased with anxiety. ‘I heard me dad go out. Did he hit you again?’

Seeing the fear in her daughter’s eyes Ruth tried to smile reassuringly, but ended up wincing as the cut reopened. ‘I’m fine, sweetheart. Come over here and sit by the fire. Do you still feel sick?’

‘No, I’m all right now. My friend came and made me better.’

‘You and yer friend, Sally. How many times ’ave I got to tell you? It’s all in yer imagination.’

‘But, Mum …’

‘Now that’s enough,’ Ruth snapped. ‘I ain’t in the mood for your silly stories, I’ve got enough on me plate as it is.’

‘I’m sorry,’ Sally whispered.

Ruth’s voice took on a softer note. ‘I tell you what,’ she said, trying to make amends, ‘you must be hungry. I’ve still got some stew left, would you like it warmed up?’

‘Yeah, thanks, Mum.’

When Sally had finished eating, she rose, taking her plate to the sink. ‘Do you want me to wash the dishes, Mum?’

‘No, it’s all right, I’ll do them later,’ she answered, leaning back in the chair and widening her legs. ‘Come on, come and sit on the floor in front of me and I’ll do yer hair.’

Once Sally was settled it was blissfully quiet for a while, and as Ruth absently drew the brush through her daughter’s thick, shiny red hair, she noticed how the flames from the fire reflected and enhanced the colour, turning it to a beautiful burnished copper. She smiled softly at the memories evoked, a face floating into her mind, but then Sally’s voice intruded, startling her back to the present.

‘Mum, are we going to see me gran tomorrow?’

‘Yeah, of course we are.’ Ruth looked forward to going to Tooting to see her mum and sister Mary, whose husband was a travelling salesman covering the North of England. Harry was a good-looking bloke and often away from home for long periods, but he earned good money so her sister wanted for nothing.

‘Mum, why hasn’t Auntie Mary got any kids?’

‘I dunno, pet. Perhaps the stork will bring her a baby one day.’

Sally twisted around, looking up at her quizzically. ‘Why don’t she get one from the chemist’s?’

‘That’s not where you get them from, love.’

‘But, Mum, we saw a lady buy one last week, don’t you remember?’

Puzzled, Ruth Marchant shook her head. ‘No, darling. I dunno what you think you saw, but you can’t buy babies.’

‘You can yer know,’ Sally said sagely, wagging her head, her little face full of the importance of what she had seen. ‘When we went to the chemist’s, I saw Mr Brown putting a baby in his scales. He told the lady it was ten pounds, and a lovely little whopper.’

Ruth snorted, trying to hold back her laughter. ‘Oh, Sally,’ she finally managed to gasp, pressing the back of her hand to her sore mouth, ‘you are funny. I dunno where you get your ideas from. Look, dear,’ she added, fighting to keep a straight face, ‘you can’t buy babies by the pound, like potatoes.’

Sally frowned in consternation. ‘But the lady paid Mr Brown for it … I saw her.’

‘No, the baby already belonged to her – she just wanted to check its weight, that’s all.’

A stream of questions followed and Ruth did her best to answer them, until at last Sally leaned back contentedly, her curiosity satisfied for the time being.

‘Mum, will you brush me hair again?’

Ruth smiled affectionately and it wasn’t long before she noticed that Sally’s head had begun to nod up and down with each stroke of the brush. ‘Come on now, you’re falling asleep and it’s time you were in bed.’

‘All right, Mum,’ she yawned, rising slowly to her feet. ‘Night, night,’ she whispered tiredly, leaning over for a kiss.

Ruth washed the dishes, tidied up, and then gazed around the spartan room. Satisfied there was nothing Ken could find fault with, she flopped down in front of the fire, stirring the dying embers to life with the poker before adding a few more lumps of precious coal.

With a sigh, she remembered that there was still the grey pinafore skirt she had managed to find for Sally in the secondhand shop to alter. The hem needed taking up, but somehow she wasn’t in the mood for sewing. Instead she dug into her apron pocket, fishing out a packet of cigarettes. These were her one luxury; she would buy only enough meat for Ken and Sally, just putting vegetables on her own plate. She smiled ruefully; they didn’t notice and the few spare coppers enabled her to buy a couple of packets of Woodbines a week.

Perhaps I should stop smoking, she thought, then I could save up and buy new clothes for Sally. No, she shrugged, assuaging her guilt; there was no point in doing that. Ken would go mad if he saw Sally in new clothes. He resented any money spent on her and, in a perverse way, it seemed to please him when she looked scruffy.

Ruth took a nervous drag on her cigarette and glanced at the clock. He wouldn’t be home for at least another hour and by then she would be in bed, pretending to be asleep. She grimaced. He was hitting her more and more lately – but then, after what she had done, it was no more than she deserved.

‘Hello, come on in,’ Mary urged. ‘Would you like a cup of tea before we go to the market, Ruth?’

‘Yes, please, I’m parched.’

‘Your grandmother’s in the sitting room, Sally, if you would like to go through. Can I get you a glass of milk and some chocolate biscuits, my dear?’

Sally gazed up at her aunt, forming her lips into an unfamiliar shape as she tried to emulate her voice. ‘Yes, please, I would love some, thank you sooh much. Is my Huncle Harry at home?’

‘Hark at Polly Parrot,’ her mum giggled. ‘She’s trying to talk like you, Mary.’

‘Well, there’s no harm in that. I soon realised that to gain promotion I would have to improve my elocution. No, Sally,’ she said, turning to smile at her. ‘I’m afraid your uncle is still away.’

Sally lowered her head in disappointment, but soon perked up as they entered the sitting room. Her gran’s chubby face broke into a huge grin that revealed large gaps in her yellowing teeth.

‘’Ello, me darling,’ Sadie Greenbrook said fondly. ‘My, you’re a sight for sore eyes,’ she cried, holding out her arms. ‘Come on, give me a kiss.’

Sally hurried across the room and kissed her gently on the cheek, then, standing back and with her eyes focused slightly off-centre, she gazed at her in concentration. ‘Is your hip hurting you?’

Sadie’s eyes widened. ‘Well, I never. I dunno how you do it, but you always seem to know where I’m hurting the most.’

‘Your light don’t look right in some places, that’s how I know.’

‘What do you mean, Sally? What’s this light?’

‘Nothing, Gran,’ she answered quickly, glancing over her shoulder to see that her mum’s face had tightened with annoyance.

‘Sally, that’s enough of that,’ she snapped.

‘What are you so angry about, Ruth? She ain’t doing any harm,’ her gran said, jumping to Sally’s defence.

‘I’ve told her a thousand times to stop all that nonsense.’ She bristled indignantly. ‘It’s all in her imagination, Mum, so please don’t encourage her.’

‘All right, all right, calm down … let’s just forget it.’ The older woman frowned, then peered at her daughter. ‘Here, is that a cut on your lip? How did that happen?’

‘I caught it on a door, that’s all.’

Sally stared at her mum in astonishment. Why was she telling lies?

‘Oh yeah, caught it, did yer?’ her gran said, eyes narrowed suspiciously. ‘And how’s Ken? Working, is he?’

‘Yeah, he’s still doing delivery driving at Petersons. Look, I’ll just go and give Mary a hand with the tea.’ She turned to Sally, her hand on the doorknob. ‘And you behave yourself, my girl.’

‘Well now, ducks. How are things at home?’ her gran asked as soon as her daughter was out of sight.

‘Fine, everything’s fine,’ Sally answered, gnawing her bottom lip.

‘And how’s yer dad?’

‘Er … he’s all right.’

‘So, yer mum cut her lip on the door, did she. How did she manage that?’

‘I dunno,’ Sally answered, hopping nervously from one foot to the other. ‘Gran, I need the toilet,’ she stammered, scurrying out of the room, desperate to avoid any more questions.

Blimey, Sadie thought, it’s like trying to get blood out of a stone with those two. Perhaps she could get Sally to open up when her mum went out. She’d been suspicious for some time that things were not right with Ruth’s marriage; for one thing, her daughter had lost a lot of weight. She shook her head worriedly, reluctant to involve her granddaughter in her subterfuge, but she was desperate to find out what was wrong.

The door opened and she peered at her daughters as they came in from the kitchen. Mary carrying an elegantly laid tray. Why does that one always have to put on airs and graces, she thought. Just look at her swanking with the best china. Her eyes flicked around the immaculate sitting room. It had been hard when deteriorating health had forced her to move in with Mary and her husband Harry. Sadie’s eyes clouded as she thought longingly of her old house with its cosy kitchen hearth.

Pouring out the tea, Mary passed a cup to her. Then, holding out a plate, she asked, ‘Would you like a biscuit, Mum?’

‘Thanks, I won’t say no,’ Sadie said and, taking one, she promptly dunked it in her tea, masking a grin when she saw Mary purse her lips in disapproval.

Sally had scuttled back into the room just in time to witness the scene, bursting into giggles when Sadie lifted her biscuit, frowning in consternation when half of it remained in her cup. ‘Oh, stone the crows,’ she chuckled, giving Sally a cheeky wink and trying to fish out the soggy mess with her teaspoon.

‘Honestly,’ Ruth sighed, shaking her head. ‘It’s like a flippin’ circus when you and Sally get together, Mum.’ She gulped down the last dregs of her tea. ‘Come on, Mary, let’s go now. If we don’t get a move on, all the decent stuff will be gone.’

As they put their coats on, Sadie couldn’t help noticing the difference between them. Both were pretty, with brown hair and blue eyes. But Mary, her elder daughter, looked neat and tidy, with newly permed hair lying in tight curls around her face. Ruth, the shorter of the two, looked shabby and washed out, her greasy lank hair pulled back into a rough untidy bunch.

‘Ain’t it about time you got yerself a new coat, Ruth?’ Sadie asked bluntly. ‘That one looks fit for the dustbin.’

Her daughter’s cheeks flushed. ‘Don’t start, Mum. My Ken don’t earn the sort of money that Harry does.’

Sadie sighed. Her husband hadn’t earned a lot either, but they used to be a darn sight better dressed. Perhaps Ruth wasn’t any good at handling money. ‘Why don’t you get yerself a little part-time job to help out?’ she suggested.

Ruth looked askance. ‘Ken would go mad if I went out to work. It’s a matter of pride with him – he thinks a woman’s place is in the home.’

Sadie clicked her teeth. ‘What a load of old-fashioned nonsense. Women went out to work during the war, they kept the country running and you worked on—’

‘Oh Mum, don’t go on about it, or we’ll never get away,’ Mary interrupted as she snatched up her shopping bag.

Ruth turned to Sally. ‘We won’t be long, love, look after your gran. Is there anything you want from the market, Mum?’

‘Yeah, you can get me some snuff, dear,’ she answered, ignoring Mary’s grimace of distaste. She was fed up with her elder daughter’s nagging, finicky ways.

‘Did me mum really go to work during the war?’ Sally asked when they were alone.

‘Yes, dear, she was a bus conductress for a couple of years,’ Sadie told her, smiling fondly at her granddaughter. Sally was the light of her life. There was something ethereal about her and she had a sensitivity that was unusual in a child. Wriggling into a comfortable position, and easing a plump cushion behind her back, she related all she could remember about Ruth’s job. ‘Of course, she had to leave when you came along,’ she ended, fumbling in her mind for something else to distract Sally. ‘Have I told you about yer granddad?’

‘You told me that he drove a wagon, with big horses pulling it.’

‘They were shire horses, huge bloody great things, but your granddad loved them. He worked for the brewery, delivering barrels of beer all over London.’ She smiled inwardly as a picture of Charlie arose in her mind. He always looked a proper dapper chap, sitting up on the dray wearing his bowler hat, a leather whip hanging loosely across his lap. She was sure he would still be alive today if they hadn’t lost their only son during the war, convinced it was the shock of David’s death that had brought on her husband’s heart attack.

Sadie sighed deeply. Their son had been a tall laughing lad who, at the outset of war, had joined the Royal Navy, strutting proudly in his smart new uniform. He told her not to worry when he went to join his ship, reminding her of all the scrapes he had got into as a boy, and saying he was indestructible. Oh, but you weren’t son, were you, she thought sadly, glancing at his picture on the mantelpiece. His ship was hit by a torpedo and sank in the cold waters of the Atlantic. There had been a few survivors, but David wasn’t one of them, and she had thought her heart would break. Now, looking back, she wondered how she had survived the terrible grief of losing both her husband and son in such a short time.

With a sharp intake of breath she pushed away the bad memories, fumbling for a bag of sweets kept in her apron pocket. ‘Fancy a Fox’s Glacier Mint, Sal?’

‘Yes, please.’

‘What sort of sweets do yer get from your dad?’ she asked, hoping to catch her out while she was distracted.

Sally, her hand reaching into the bag, snorted derisively. ‘He wouldn’t buy me sweets.’

‘Oh, and why not?’

‘Er, well, he just w-wouldn’t,’ she stuttered.

‘’Ave you been a naughty girl then, is that it?’

‘No, of course I ain’t. I hardly ever see him.’

Sadie was puzzled. What on earth did she mean? Had he left them – was that why they looked so downtrodden and scruffy? She leaned forward anxiously. ‘Sal, has your dad left home?’

‘Oh no, it’s just that I ’ave to keep out of his—’ Sally paused, clamping a hand over her mouth, eyes wide with fear. ‘Please, Gran, don’t ask me anything else. I’ll get into trouble.’

Sadie closed her eyes against the frightened expression on her granddaughter’s face; the poor kid looked terrified and was obviously hiding something. But what? And how could she find out?

When Mary and Ruth entered the bustling indoor market, their ears were assailed by the raucous voices of the market-traders as they shouted their wares, vying for custom in front of stalls piled high with colourful displays of fruit and vegetables. The two women looked around excitedly, pleased to see even more goods on display that hadn’t been available during the war. There was still partial rationing, but it wasn’t as bad, and rumours were abounding that the coupon system would be over with soon.

Mary tugged at Ruth’s arm, raising her voice above the din. ‘Come on, let’s get our meat first.’

‘Yeah, all right,’ she shouted back as they pushed through the crowds to Tommy Porter’s stall.

‘I’m looking for a cheap bit of brisket,’ Ruth told her. ‘If I cook it really slowly there should be a bit left over to ’ave with bubble and squeak on Monday.’

Mary nodded; she had seen a nice shoulder of lamb and haughtily raised her arm to catch the butcher’s attention.

‘Well, well, it’s the duchess,’ he said, grinning widely. Then with his smile encompassing them both, he added, ‘And what can I get you two lovely ladies?’

‘Wotcher, Tommy,’ Ruth said on a laugh. ‘Duchess – yeah, that’s a good one, and it suits me sister down to the ground.’

‘If you two have quite finished, I’ll have that shoulder of lamb, please,’ Mary indicated, holding her head high and refusing to be baited.

‘And I’ll ’ave that piece of brisket over there,’ Ruth pointed.

Tommy chuckled as he reached for the beef. ‘My, don’t yer sister speak proper. Shows us Cockneys up, she does.’

‘We ain’t Cockneys, Tom, we wasn’t born within the sound of Bow bells,’ Ruth told him.

‘Yeah, I know – yer don’t sound like proper Londoners. Now me,’ he said, thumping his chest proudly, ‘I was born and bred in Stepney.’

‘You cheeky sod, Tommy,’ Ruth laughed. ‘I’m just as much a Londoner as you are. I’m a South Londoner, and proud of it.’

‘All right, keep yer shirt on,’ he grinned. ‘But what about yer sister then? Does she come from somewhere really posh, like Mayfair?’

‘I don’t think so, Tommy, at least me mum has never said so, but—’

‘Oh, get a move on, Ruth,’ Mary snapped, interrupting her mid-sentence, ‘and where I come from is none of your business, Tommy Porter.’

Ruth raised her eyebrows. ‘Blimey, what’s the matter with you? Did you get out of bed on the wrong side this morning? There’s no need to be so bloody miserable – we was only having a laugh.’

Mary turned to her sister, bristling with indignation. Couldn’t she see that she was showing her up? ‘Just shut up, Ruth,’ she hissed, before completing her purchases.

They were making for their favourite vegetable stall, having learned which ones gave short measures or put a few rotten potatoes amongst the good ones, when Mary spotted a rack of children’s clothes and paused as a dark green coat caught her eye. She fingered the thick wool material, thinking that it would look lovely on her niece, but dare she buy it? Looking up, she saw that Ruth had forged on ahead, and acting on an impulse she yanked the coat off the rack and gave it to the stallholder.

‘Quick,’ she said breathlessly. ‘Put it in a bag.’

Having paid for it, she hurried to catch up with Ruth as her sister joined the queue at the fruit and veg stall.

‘What’s in there then?’ Ruth asked.

‘Oh, nothing much. Just a jacket I fancied.’

‘Well, let’s ’ave a look at it.’ Ruth’s hand made a grab for the bag.

Mary thrust it quickly behind her. ‘Not now, for God’s sake. Stop making a spectacle of us … it can wait until we get home.’

‘All right then, misery guts. I dunno what’s got into you today,’ Ruth said irritably.

Mary rubbed her forehead; she didn’t know what was the matter with her either. Her life was just so empty, but how could she explain that to her sister? Ruth thought she had the life of Riley – nice home, fashionable clothes, a good husband. Huh! If only she knew the truth.

‘Me arm feels like it’s dropping off,’ Ruth complained, as they entered the hall and thankfully put down their laden shopping bags.

Mary hurried into the kitchen, and as she laid the tea tray to her meticulous satisfaction, she worried about Ruth’s reaction to the coat. She had tried in the past to buy her niece new clothes, and though she didn’t understand why, her sister always refused. Oh, what the heck, she thought, I’ll just have to get it over with. Taking a deep breath she drew herself up to her full height, and snatching up the bag, marched purposefully into the sitting room.

‘Here you are, my dear,’ she said, beckoning to Sally. ‘I’ve got a little something for you. I hope you like it.’

Sally’s face lit up with excitement. She peeped inside the bag, gasping in disbelief and then looked up, her eyes like saucers. ‘Is it really for me?’

‘Yes, of course it’s for . . .