Add to ORKGWhen Bell wakes she is warm at last, hugging the ache of her belly to her like a hot water bottle. She has come out of a blank sleep with a sickly sweet smell- jasmine?- in her face and the conviction that the old man\u27s grave is out there in the kitchen garden under the grass and hyacinths, flanked by the olive trees. Zoumboulia. They are what she can smell, not jasmine, hyacinths. Flowers that can sprout and grow in the space of a jar in a cupboard, needing no light, no soil, their fat whiskery bulbs fattening like fungi on nothing but dark water. They are too rich, too cloying, like bottled scent. They might as well be immortelles out there, the old man\u27s hyacinths, squatting on their leaves with petals of tinted plastic in thick sh...