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slices of buttered bread each.
    Chris tears off the end of his cigarette, throws it in the fire; hides the other half behind his ear. Nan shakes her head at Chris, puts the plate on his knee, gives me a smile. ‘Make yourselves a chip butty before they get cold.’
    Nellie brings out the same for her and Nan to share.
    Once we’ve finished Chris stands up, swaying, taps one side of his nose at me.
    Nellie takes the empty plates into the kitchen. ‘You still want me to help you, May?’
    â€˜Robyn can help me now she’s awake. Chris looks tired; you two get yourselves off home.’
    After they’ve gone Nan calls me into her room. I can see two cardboard boxes: one is already full. ‘You can give me a hand for a few minutes if you want.’
    â€˜Did you get the keys?’
    â€˜I’m getting them tomorrow. So I believe. If it happens, you can come down as soon as I’m settled.’
    Nan believes whatever life throws at you, you just have to deal with it the best way you can. She believes that television is a curse, and, once a week, lemon curd sandwiches can be eaten for tea. She hands me a white paper bag then snatches it back before I grab hold. I know her game, played it a hundred times over, but I don’t feel like playing. Not tonight. ‘Go on, guess.’ Something in her voice changes my mind. She hides the bag behind her back.
    â€˜Pear drops?’
    â€˜No.’
    â€˜Bull’s eyes?’
    â€˜No.’
    â€˜Chocolate éclairs?’
    â€˜No. Think nappies.’
    â€˜Jelly babies?’
    â€˜Yes.’
    â€˜Which hand?’
    I choose left.
    She hands me the bag.
    â€˜You’ll get a room of your own, when I’m gone.’
    While we chew, she shows me how to start wrapping with the cup in the corner of the newspaper then roll. Tuck what’s left over inside. When she’s sure I know what I’m doing, we take a pair of matching cups and saucers. She tells me this is all that’s left from a full tea set, a wedding gift from her mother. ‘In Belfast my mam and her mam would solve the world’s problems over a cup of tea.’
    She shows me a white shirt she’s kept that belonged to Jack. ‘This was the last one I remember him wearing, before he went back to war. Look, nearly every button cracked when I rolled it through the mangle, me worrying about replacing them before he came home.’
    â€˜What war?’
    â€˜The last war.’
    She lifts it up to her nose and smells. ‘Not so far away.’
    I find a bunch of letters, tied with an elastic band. Flick through them. They haven’t been opened. She takes them from me, holds them up in both hands, looks at them, name and address upside-down. It makes me think.
    â€˜Do you want me to read them for you?’
    â€˜I don’t need to hear them, the words. I just like to hold them.’
    â€˜Where did you meet Jack?’
    â€˜I’d just finished work, when I met him, waiting in a tram stop outside the Adelphi. I checked the time: I wanted to wash my hair before bed and the tram was late. When I looked up, there he was grinning like a lunatic in front of me.’
    â€˜â€œGot time for a walk?” he said.
    â€˜I couldn’t help smiling. “You’re a fast worker.”
    â€˜â€œThat’s me. I’m a fast one all right.”
    â€˜Held out his arm to me and that was that.
    â€˜On the way home, we walked through Stanley Park. It was a warm June night. I let myself do things with Jack that I hadn’t done in years, sat down next to him on the grass, rolled my stockings off. Let grass tickle my bare legs.
    â€˜Let him push me, one hand behind his back on a swing. His warm hand against my corset.
    â€˜I can remember everything about that night, an entire lifetime down to those few hours, like a slice of perfectly cut cake. I had found something that mattered, something real.’
    She looks around