The Becks were the best foster family that she had ever had. ’ Melusine rose from her chair in sudden irritation. She had imagined that prisons were white-tiled places, reeking of lime-wash and immaculately sanitary. To her horror she realized that she had nearly forgotten how to kiss after a years-long dry spell, and she could detect drool on her own chin and John’s cheek. Her sensitive ears could hear her foster mother snoring in front of the television. She was sitting on the mean straw mattress that was placed on the iron bedstead in the makeshift cell, while Melusine stood with her back to the door, confronting her old nurse with the truth.
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