The cabinet stretches to the ceiling. Inside, crockery is stacked high; everyday supper plates are shuffled in amongst the finer ones with golden halos on their edges. Higher up are the things seldom used; the ice bucket, the gravy boat, the pure-white platter.
I climb up onto the counter and slide my hand inside the ice bucket, where the forbidden things are kept. I examine the heavy silver lighter and the matches with bright red tips like ladies’ painted nails. But I’ve come here to sniff the cigarettes. The raw tobacco smells comforting and dangerous, like inside a darkened church.