After they had gone, I decided to walk to the lake. Sweet sounds of someone humming met me at the base of the staircase and I paused to listen. I thought of my aunt who would trill her favourite songs while teaching me how to cook. Winter Saturdays were spent in her kitchen while our parents and uncle went to the football. We would prepare sausage, baked beans and pineapple casserole, Lamingtons made from stale sponge cake dipped in melted chocolate and coconut, all served in crystal dishes on a lace-dressed dining table. After dinner, we would watch the football replay and toast crumpets over the gas heater. Though I had dismissed this life as trivial, it now seemed simply wonderful in its simplicity.
The hum led me to the kitchen I’d seen from the garden. It was a huge room that combine
