Mum called me into the kitchen. The yellow Formica table was thick with flour. “Could you help me to cut out the jam tarts?” she asked, even though she knew it wasn't much help, and would make her task harder.
I stamped out the serrated circles, pressed them into the pie cases, put in blobs of jam. Mum put them in the oven.
Later, I put a tart in my mouth — amazed that here was something sweet, something I had made.