I was annoyed at first, when my kitchen door started leading to a vast subterranean labyrinth. I had to start getting takeaway. And then I lost half the house, the half beyond the kitchen. But after a while it wasn’t so bad. Since you left, I’d forgotten how to cook anyway. It was almost a relief. Boring evenings in front of the TV, a plate of cooling pizza. The Minotaur always ate a slice. Just the one. He’s got his own food, down there somewhere.