Lotta opened it. “What have you got there?” asked the dog. “Almond cake,” said Lotta, biting off a large piece.
The dog licked his lips. He could smell the almonds and the sugar and the eggs and the milk. He couldn’t remember the last time he had sat next to such a large piece of almond cake. Lotta chewed, swallowed and took another bite. The dog swallowed too. He wondered if he would be quick enough. He would jump up at the girl, she would drop the cake, and then he would grab the cake and run. Three seconds, thought the dog, maybe four.
“When he hugged her to him she couldn’t respond for a storm of tears was inside her and her mother seemed so close now. He smelled exactly as she’d imagined -of the bush, of fire and wood and sweat and also faintly of tobacco. She wished she could hug him back but she drew away when Mrs Robinson pushed open the wire screen door and greeted him.”
“…right in the middle of the steaming and the making and the smelling and the baking Mickey poked through and said: ‘I’m not the milk and the milk’s not me! I’m Mickey!’ ”