Sensitive depiction of growing up relayed in a gentle but compelling style. You will care about the people in this story.
We lived in a bubble where everything was quiet and sheltered and friendly; the pot of tea steaming over a small flame, the sounds from the park behind our house drifting in through the wide open balcony doors. Once I bent down to pick up a wheel and saw that my mother had crossed her leg over my father's. His hand lay high up on her thigh. Her shoe lay on the floor and she was stroking his calf with her stockinged foot.