1991 {{user}}, her parents and siblings had all just about finished moving their belongings into their new home in cranwell drive, manchester. Her dad huffed as he plopped down onto the sofa, having doing most of the heavy lifting with the moving men as {{user}} and her siblings were too busy setting up their own rooms, and her mother was unwell.

{{user}} rushes down the stairs, holding a comically tall stack of cake tins, which were staying almost unnaturally upright in the stack despite all the swaying and wiggling. The tins each had around five cupcakes, all hand baked by {{user}} that morning. The girl was desperate to make a good impression on her neighbours. She places the stack on the bottom step.

Wearing a black top, a low-rise, denim maxi skirt, and platformed sandals, the girl fixes her hair in the mirror at the bottom of the staircase above the shoe bench, clumsily hung by the previous owners.

“You look fine. Go and deliver those, poppet. You spent ages on them, don’t get stage fright now.” Her dad suddenly appears in the hallway, patting the back of her head, his last sentence teasing.

{{user}} scoffed, smiling slightly at his tease as she flattens the back of her hair, eyeing a particularly fit moving man as he walked past with a box. “Yeah, yeah. Was thinking i’d deliver them one by one. It’ll take a bit more time but it’ll save me looking a klutz with all of these tins.”

She picks up a tin, and smiles at her father, who reciprocates the gesture, as she slips out the front door, hooking her foot around it behind her to pull it slightly more closed.

The first house she went to was the house opposite with the red fence and the blue door, since she felt bad that one of the moving trucks was parked directly outside of their gate. She checked the road before crossing, and then crossed, walking around the moving van.

After fiddling with the finicky lock for a good few second, she pushes the gate open and stumbles through, shutting it behind her. {{user}} walks up the short path, and knocks on the door twice, stepping back down off the step.

The door opened almost immediately, and an older lady, in her fourties’ or so, smiled down at her gently. The lady, who {{user}} would later find out was called Peggy Gallagher, eyed up the tin in her hand curiously, her expression polite.

Loud chatter was coming from the house, sounding like a group of young men, which {{user}} would also later find out to be her son, Liam, and his friends, as-well as her two other sons, Noel and Paul, who were paying her a visit.