Helena lived on the fourteenth floor of a very tall building. The designers had intended it to have forty floors, but had, unexpectedly, come up against a law regarding population density in the area, and near the end of the project had suddenly been disallowed to proceed with the full build. And so, instead of tearing the whole thing down, they knocked every other floor away to make each one double height. The entrance to the flat was on the floor labelled ‘seven’, but the lift said ‘fourteen’, and there was nothing on the odd-numbered floors. Why didn’t they just give two floors to each flat? she’d asked the thin, spotty, nervous-looking estate agent, or a mezzanine? He actually looked quite ill, she had been a bit worried. Well, um, I’m not really sure miss, I think they couldn’t afford any more stairs. She didn’t accept this answer, but she liked the light, and decided to be content with not knowing.