OVER IN HER COTTAGE, Mrs Julia Fetch was sitting down to dinner with her much-loved grandchildren. The place settings were perfect, the vegetables were steaming and glistening in their lovely dishes, there were bright crystal glasses of elderflower cordial and, at the head of the table, was a large platter of…something.

Julia couldn’t quite make up her mind what she fancied this evening and the large shape on the platter wasn’t helping her to decide. Sometimes it looked a bit like a roast chicken – only she wasn’t in the mood for roast chicken – there had been a while when she was fairly sure it was a rack of lamb – lamb would be too fatty, she thought – then a joint of beef, a roast goose, a joint of pork, then something that resembled very large bird – a cooked swan…? Julia seemed to have read somewhere that only the Queen was allowed to eat swans, so that would never do.

Just now the meat course looked tired. It rested on the platter, its surface rippling vaguely like water under a light breeze and roughly the colour of well-roasted flesh. Its form was approximately cubic and it currently didn’t seem interested in making any efforts to look like cutlets, chops, or anything more usual.

Julia rather liked the cube. It would be neat for carving. ‘How many slices would you like children?’ She picked up the carving knife and the fork.

Honor and Xavier both said, in their most courteous voices, ‘Three please.’ And held out their plates.

Julia nodded. She had forgotten that the twins never actually ate anything. This was good – otherwise, she would have worried about how they were keeping up their strength.