On Sundays, the kettle was the first voice in our house. Mum had the radio on in the kitchen, and Dad whistled along, usually out of tune.
I sat on a wooden stool by the kitchen door, waiting for the toast. One of its legs was shorter than the others, so it rocked when I shifted my feet.
Mum spread orange marmalade right to the corners. Dad always asked for his toast a little darker. While they talked, I picked at the crisp edges of mine.
I cannot remember what they talked about most mornings. I remember the sounds: the kettle, the radio and Dad’s whistling. Those are the things that come back when I think of that kitchen.
Read the source notes
“Mum always had the radio on in the kitchen. Dad would whistle along, usually out of tune. On Sundays, you could hear the kettle before anyone said a word. I sat on a wooden stool by the kitchen door waiting for toast. One leg was shorter, so it rocked when I moved my feet. Mum used orange marmalade and spread it to the corners. Dad liked darker toast. I picked at the crisp edges. I don’t remember most of their conversations. It’s the sounds I remember.”
Editorial check: The family members, kitchen, stool, toast, marmalade and sounds all appear in the fictional source. No year or location has been supplied.
CHAPTER 02
An apron too big
I was seventeen when I started at the corner bakery. On my first morning, I arrived half an hour early because I was afraid of being late.
The owner gave me an apron that reached my ankles. I folded it at the waist twice, but it still felt too long. My first job was to arrange the paper bags beside the till.
When the first customer came in, I forgot to ask which loaf she wanted. The owner reminded me quietly. I had been so busy trying to look ready that I had forgotten to listen.
By lunchtime, I could wrap a loaf without tearing the bag. I took home my first pay in an envelope on Friday and put it in the drawer beside my bed. I remember opening that drawer just to look at it.
Read the source notes
“I was seventeen, at the corner bakery. I arrived half an hour early because I was afraid of being late. The owner gave me an apron down to my ankles. I folded the waist twice. First I arranged paper bags by the till. With the first customer I forgot to ask which loaf she wanted, and the owner quietly reminded me. I was trying to look ready instead of listening. By lunch I could wrap a loaf without tearing the bag. I got my first pay in an envelope on Friday. I put it in the drawer by my bed and kept opening the drawer to look at it.”
Editorial check: The age, apron, paper bags, customer, Friday pay envelope and drawer all appear in the fictional source. The amount of pay and bakery location are intentionally unspecified.