On Wednesday, the bride doll was gone. Mellie pressed her nose to the shop window, gulping a tear.
She looked everywhere. Mam chased her away from the airing cupboard, and that half-forgotten cupboard under the stairs.
“Leave it, Mellie. Stop sticky-beaking.”
But her birthday was on Friday, and they’d had baked beans for tea three times this week. Da came home late and tired, and Mam had been working extra shifts.
The birthday parcel was too small. Mellie tried to smile. Inside was a different doll, with clothes she knew her Mam had sewn, clothes like Mellie’s. A new friend.