Adelaide had changed the sheets, dusted the dresser and as the Sunday shadows grew long, she was enjoying the sound – the tinkling, crinkling, most satisfying sound – of the things in the vacuum tube. Until she realised that last was a worry doll. A Guatemalan one.

‘Oh dear,’ she thought. ‘That can’t be good.’ And in anticipation, she opened a bottle of wine. Giving it time to breathe.