Chocolate Cake with Hitler

‘My turn!’ says Uncle Fuhrer, who has been watching us.
He wants his photograph taken with me too. I know he wants to put his arm round me, like Papa, and I’m going to have to ignore him really hard to stop him.
‘You, Helga Goebbels, are my favourite girl in the whole world. If only you were 20 years older!’
He leans over me, his smell like the furniture in the servants’ quarters. The photographer is laughing. Papa is laughing. But I don’t take any notice. I turn right away and stare at the camera.