Chapter Eight
Stanley Unwin sat at the breakfast table blowing on his hot tea. He knew he should not have made a second cup, as he was running late. Not for work – he would still be in plenty of time for that. But he preferred to eat his breakfast alone and be out of the door before his wife and daughters deigned to make their presence known.
Even now it was too late. He could already hear them descending the stairs.
He considered leaving his tea, but he knew even that would instigate a sarcastic response from his wife.
Unwin steeled himself and took a large swallow. The hot liquid scalded his tongue and scorched its way down his gullet, burning a path down to his stomach.
He started coughing and spluttering just as the three women entered the room.
His younger child, Tamara, was the
