Sticky Fingers by Lesley Whyte

The cake sat in the middle of the table, the five children eyeing it hungrily. Fat and round and covered in chocolate, their stubby fingers twisted as they waited for the all-clear, for the go-ahead.

Dad walked in and cut himself a slice. He carried it out of the kitchen in his hands, fingers sinking into the thick chocolate buttercream. The children looked at each other, daring each other.

By the time Mum walked in, there was nothing left but a few crumbs and a single smear of cream across the plate.