Sheila, a normally sound sleeper, woke one night to find both her husband and her foster daughter had snuck from their beds, and this infuriated her. ‘How could I know that it is you?’ She peered at him in the darkness. She would not let her move. She enjoyed preparing the evening meals, the smells of potatoes roasting in the oven, the stink of onions in the pan, the crackle of chicken frying. The bed-and table-linen were of the finest texture. ’ ‘Oh yes, or walked through the walls, I dare say. You tell me he didn't like the stuff. After all—’ ‘Yes, but I do not wish to see him,’ Melusine protested. Already she missed all of her fine things, her linens and leather bound books. ‘One thing at a time, missie.
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