“She ran her finger along the downy softness of her daughter’s cheek and then turned her head towards the open door. It was early spring, but the day had all the sun-soaked languor of midsummer and Bernadette released a slow sigh of contentment as she listened to the sound of the children playing in the garden. As a child herself, she had sat on the same wooden chair on more occasions than she could have counted, her feet dangling nearer the ground with each year that passed. She closed her ...eyes and imagined herself aged seven or eight years old, swinging her legs and half-listening to the pleasantly lilting voices of her mother and aunt as they drank tea from flower-patterned china cups and discussed the family issues of the day. It felt good to be back once more in the familiar security of her aunt’s kitchen. ‘We’re going to call her Judith.’ Bernadette stroked the baby’s cheek again as she spoke. ‘It’s a good name.’ Her Aunt Martha paused for a moment and smiled at her, before turning to lift the heavy, cast-iron kettle from the range cooker and pour water into a large, brown teapot that stood warming beside it.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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