Angela woke with a different smell in her nostrils. Not unpleasant. In fact, she thought she ought to recognise it. Oddly, it reminded her of Christmas. She lay in that pleasant hinterland between sleeping and waking for a while, trying to identify the aroma.

Marzipan. It reminded her of marzipan. How curious. Maybe it was some kind of illusion associated with pregnancy. She opened her eyes and saw through the window that the whole hillside was pink. She sat up in alarm. She ...