We sped along the country lanes and headed out towards the sea on the coast road. High, on what looked like the edge of the cliff, was a very large white house.
“There’s Apple Jack’s Cottage,” said Aunty M pointing to the house with her stubby finger.
Apple Jack’s Cottage was old, white, and beautiful. It had five windows on the first floor and four on the ground floor with a huge dark blue front door in the middle with an enormous knocker in the centre. There were at least seven or eight chimneys sticking out of the roof and what looked like up the side. It was in the middle of a large garden which ended abruptly at the edge of the cliff.
“We’ll have tea and cake first and then I’ll take you up to your room and you can unpack,” said Aunty M, “You must be tired after your journey, but first things first. I’ll put the kettle on.”
The kitchen was big and cluttered; it was nothing like ours at home which always smelled of bleach and disinfectant. Here, there were pots and pans hanging from the ceiling, jars of home made jams and pickles on shelves that sloped up and down, and I wondered how nothing fell off the end. There were dozens of ancient cookery books, all dog eared and well- read and a delicious smell of chocolate, pizza, and sausages all rolled into one.
Aunty M put cups and saucers and matching plates on the table and those small silver pastry forks that people had years ago and I had seen in a Victorian museum on a school trip. Then, she cut two enormous wedges of the tallest chocolate cream cake I had ever seen, put it on the plates, and drizzled runny chocolate sauce all over the top. She pushed one of the plates towards me.
“Tuck in,” she sniggered with a naughty giggle.
I put a forkful in my mouth. I got a funny sensation in the back of my throat and my mouth filled with saliva. It was delicious and chocolaty. I had never tasted anything like this before. It dissolved in my mouth and I swallowed. I shoved another forkful in my mouth.
“Mum wouldn’t approve of this cake,” I said and realised that at home, I’d get another telling off for speaking with my mouth full.
“Your Mum has gone very healthy. She used to tuck into chocolate cake when we were kids, you know. It’s a shame she became so serious. She used to have a really infectious giggle years ago. We were always getting into scrapes together. I have no intention of ever growing up, let alone becoming serious.”
“Really? I don’t want to grow up either.” I looked across the table at Aunty M who now had chocolate coated lips which she then wiped with the back of her hand. And as I had finished too, I did the same.