Prologue
The time for realising your potential often slips by unnoticed.
“My Rodger is building a shed,” I said, but no one was listening; no one even looked at me. They were all engrossed, hell-bent on trying to look like King Tut concubines. Except, of course, for Mavis – she was pulling faces in the mirror like a seventeen-year-old attempting his first shave. She had new false eyelashes and was under the impression that it would take years off a face that had been around the block and back again.
Mavis is the oldest in the Sisterhood, my belly dancing troupe; who, along with the others, was trying on outfits for my latest Sisterhood extravagance, oblivious to the cold and me, their mentor.
“Rodger is erecting something, and it’s not making me happy,” I shouted.
That shut them up, a
