Gold

It wasn't his aunt's raspberry and almond cake, her homemade apple juice, or her long garden with the battered shed down the bottom that Carter liked the best. It was the box - a battered black mini chest of drawers, covered with paper flowers - yellow, orange - and long green leaves, which she kept in the cupboard by her bed. The jewellery was arranged by country. A plain gold ring from Russia. A delicate bracelet from America. An oval brooch like an empty frame from France. And with each piece, a story - a man in Russia who slipped behind a frozen waterfall and never came out. An American soldier with a mother who wouldn't speak to him. A crowded antique shop on a snowy street in Paris. As she opened each drawer, the suburban streets of Stockport would disappear and the world would become a place to explore - from each place a story, like a gift.