‘THERE ARE TWO types of people in the world, aren’t there, Aunty Tone?’ asks Bella, who is five going on thirty-five. It is the first week of 2011, and I’m babysitting my niece and nephew while my sister and her husband take a long-overdue holiday. I open one eye a smidge. She is standing in her princess pyjamas, hair a nest of auburn sleep curls, by my side of the bed. In one hand she holds a pink plastic horse by its silken tail. By the light coming through the window, it might be 4.30 or 5. In the morning.

‘Is that right, Belle?’ I say. See how my mouth moves, even though the best part of my brain is still asleep?