One thing Reuben could look forward to at the end of it was a glass of cheap gin. He shared a room with his father above the bakery. Big, but with a slanted ceiling that forced him to slouch. He created a glimmer of privacy by hanging a curtain made out of old sheets between his and his father's side, which was much more spacious. Apart from the dirt, he couldn't complain about the living conditions though, as he knew most people in this part of London were much worse off. It was warm, too, thanks to the heat from the ovens downstairs. If it weren't for his father, Reuben would enjoy this place, but the man was becoming less stable with each passing year. Extremely stingy, unpleasant and authoritarian, he sometimes woke Reuben up just because he didn't like someone resting when he wasn't. He'd make up a task that supposedly needed completing immediately, even if it really didn't.There was one thing the old man was better at than Reuben—drinking gin. Every time Father stole his alcohol, Reuben wanted to push him down the stairs.
