Open heart outline with script wording

The pit wheel stopped on Thursday for the first time since your grandfather's day, and the whole of Hartley Row came out into the road to stand and listen to nothing. Mrs Pringle brought a tin of parkin round to the back door and cried into the flour bag while she was at it. I told her I'd keep the kettle on for whoever came next.

You'll want to know about the bench. I had Dad's old saw out in the shed on Saturday and cut the oak from the chapel roof timbers that Mr Doyle swore were rotten. They weren't. I made you a stool with three legs, because a four-legged one wobbles on a flagstone floor, which is the one useful thing he taught me. It's in the box with this letter. Don't sit on it like a lord.

Something else. Your sister found the sketch you left on the dresser, the heart with the words curling round its top like ivy. She asked me what it said. I told her it said what I always say when she's sulking: like mother. She rolled her eyes the way you used to, then went quiet and fetched the pencil. Make of that what you will. I'm not going to tell you to come home. I'm telling you the kettle's on, and the heart's still open at the top, the way you drew it, so there's room.

Love, Mam