“Tea, I think.” Never sure why the remedy for grief was tea, this time, Gary latched onto the idea that tea was what Phillip needed…with maybe a shot of brandy in it.
“I don’t—”
“I don’t care what you want.” He meant it. “This isn’t your father’s stuff. It’s been your mother’s for several years, and you have no reason to resent it. Go upstairs. I’ll bring the tea.”
The kitchen carried the same drab atmosphere as the rest of the house. Nothing in the room looked new or fitted, consisted of a freestanding cooker, a Belfast sink trapped between two cabinets, and a very old dresser. Only the table and chairs in the middle of the room looked older. A few sad plates and cups stood sentry in one cupboard. Food, mostly tinned and dried packets, occupied another. The crockery and utensils were s
