The days of British people popping the kettle on were long gone, so watching her father boil water was a privilege dampened only by his continued refusal to look at her.
‘Tea or coffee?’ he asked, unlocking the caddy.
‘Tea, please.’
‘You always did have to do the opposite to the rest of us.’
He spooned the dark leaves into the strainer and poured the hot water over them. Finally, he looked at her, his eyes half hidden in the steam.
‘Who did you vote for?’ he asked.
‘You know who I voted for.’
He nodded. ‘Do you want sugar?’
‘No, thank you.’
‘Of course not.’
‘Will she see me?’
‘She will.’ He stirred the tea and she noticed his hand was shaking. ‘Please don’t talk about the war.’
‘Which one?’
‘You know which one.’
She nodded. Picked up her tea.
‘Don’t drink it all at once,’ he said. ‘There’s no more where that came from, and she baked.’
‘She baked?’
‘She did. Cherry bakewells. Used all our almonds for the year.’
‘She hates cherry bakewells.’
‘She does, but she knows they’re your favourite. You always did have to do the opposite to the rest of us.’
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