After school
I visit Mr Korsky,
with the last chocolate crackle.
He winks as he takes my gift, and says,
‘Wait just a minute, young lady.’
He shuffles over to the back of his shed
and comes back with a small tin.
It’s shiny and new and doesn’t have a label.
Mr Korsky reaches for his screwdriver
and lifts the lid.
He offers it to me,
‘Hold it up to your nose.’
Inside is a golden liquid,
like honey, only darker and thicker,
sweet and treacly and . . .
a smell so familiar.
Mr Korsky laughs,
‘Someone . . . a kind young student
left me a batch of recipes.’
He nods at the tin I hold,
‘Lavender molasses.
Perfect for scones or toast,
almost as tasty as this chocolate crackle!’
He places a cushion on a drum
and offers me a seat.
He says, quietly,
‘If you know who left the recipes,
thank them for me, will you?’