Flora Reeves went to her room and closed the door behind her. Her mummy was sleeping again, and although it was two o’clock in the afternoon, she would scream if Flora woke her up, and Flora hated it when her mummy screamed.

Flora remembered a time when her mummy never screamed or yelled, when she would help her pull up her tights for school, lifting her off the ground.

Flora remembered a time when her mummy used to wrap her sandwiches in rainbow striped wax paper, and how the smell of her lunch would waft up when she unwrapped it.

Flora remembered when her mother used to read her stories every night before she went to sleep, doing different voices for each of the characters.

But her mummy wasn’t the same anymore. She didn’t read, or care, or play. Not now; not since the day that man came into her House and hurt her. Now all she wanted to do most of the time was sleep.

It was because of the pills. She took them three times a day. She said that they made her feel better, but Flora wondered how she could know what she was feeling while she was asleep.

Flora sat down on her bed and looked over at the last present her nan gave her before she died. She had called it a Sweetmeat House, although it wasn’t a real one; a real sweetmeat house was made out of cake and decorated with sweets – this was a pretend one made of ceramic that used to have sweets inside. 

All the same, Flora loved it. Usually, while her mother slept, Flora liked to use it as a doll’s house but today, she found herself wishing it was real. Mummy could never be unhappy if they lived in a house made of sweets – nobody could.

Flora knew that wasn’t possible, but she wanted to pretend it was, so she fixed the picture of the sweetmeat house in her mind, then curled up on her bed to dream about it for a while.

When she woke up, it was dark outside, but there was a strange, yellow light coming in through her bedroom window. When she got up and looked through it, Flora found that her nose stuck to the glass.

Only it wasn’t glass. It was toffee. Flora looked around the room and immediately noticed other strange things. The pink rabbits painted on her bedside lamp looked a lot fluffier than usual, because they were made of fairy floss, her bedroom door was made of chocolate wafers, and her walls were painted with icing in a swirling pattern that made it appear as though the walls were melting.

Flora pinched herself hard on the bottom just to be sure she wasn’t dreaming, then walked across the wafer floor, opened her door, and went to check on her mother.

The clattering and clanging of pots and pans was a sound Flora had almost forgotten, so she approached the kitchen with understandable trepidation, but when she peered around the corner, she found her mother flitting about stirring soup on the stove, basting a roast in the oven, and decorating a chocolate layer cake. 

Flora was just about to tell her mother how wonderful everything smelled when a shrill, rumbling hum filled the room. Flora’s mother looked at the window and screamed. A swarm of bees had gathered outside.

There was a sudden, ear-splitting crack. Flora looked up, and was hit in the face by a piece of broken gingerbread as part of the roof caved in. The cave-in was caused by a hoard of gigantic mice, who were gnawing at the house as though it were their last meal.

But the mice weren’t gigantic, they were the same size they’d always been; the house had gotten smaller. Flora and her mother were trapped in a tiny house made of candy and cake, and would soon be eaten alive because Flora had wished it.

Flora laid down on the floor and made another wish. She wished to be home, and for someone else to live in the sweetmeat house.

When Flora woke up, it was still afternoon, and she was laying on her bed. There was a clattering and clanging of pots and pans, and she looked straight over at her window. When she confirmed it was clear, she got out of bed and ran down to the kitchen to see her mother.

‘Hello sleepy!’

Her mother gave her a kiss. 

‘Why don’t you go outside and play until I call you in for dinner? There’s a new family in number twelve, and they’ve got a little girl your age.’

Flora ran outside and saw the new family carrying boxes inside the house. The little girl her mother mentioned came running over and introduced herself, then she saw something on the ground. She picked it up and showed it to Flora.

It was a piece of gingerbread with half a toffee window attached.

‘This must’ve been a sweetmeat house. My gran makes those.’

Flora noticed something else that was stuck fast against a toffee window pane: a black leather shoe, just like the shoes the man who used to live next door was wearing the night he came over and hurt her mother.

A bee sting was stuck in the toe.