Birmingham, 1960‘Patty – come and give me a hand, will you?’ Fifteen-year-old Patty was sitting at the table with a sheet of paper, sketching a bowl in which sat two green apples.
‘All right.’ She got up from the table, reluctantly.
Her mother Joy – or ‘Mom’ as Patty called her in her West Midlands accent – was in her usual flurry of activity before a children’s dance performance that weekend.
‘The rehearsal’s tomorrow afternoon and I’ve only got six of these done.’ She held out a pair of fluffy rabbit ears sewn onto a hairband. Other unattached, forlorn-looking ears lay on the ironing board. ‘Stitch a few on for me, will you?’
‘OK,’ Patty smiled. It was hard to resist Mom with her pretty brunette looks and eyes that danced as much as her feet. Anyway, she wanted to keep her mother in a good mood because she was about to do something that Mom was not going to be pleased about.
They sat at the table sewing, Joy humming .
