Danny stared at the clock. He turned slowly, taking in the whole room. Pretty much everything looked familiar. But how had it got here?

He walked out into the hallway and then through the dining room and up the stairs, examining the carpets, the pictures, the rugs and lampshades -- even the door handles. It was like a graveyard of belongings, in which all the objects he'd ever known had come together to die. Except that they weren't doing any dying -- they seemed to be in very good condition and were clearly being used on a daily basis. Danny sank down to the floor and tried to sift through all the logical explanations.

By the time she joined him upstairs, he had finished sifting and was left with only the husks of possibilities.

'What is it, Danny, love? Why are you sitting up here on your own?'

He steeled himself. 'Nan...'

'Yes, love?'

'How long have you been stealing from all my friends?'

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