Thea, unreasonably annoyed, reached for the wall to balance herself. The bin teetered and her foot penetrated the layer of cardboard to the substratum of detritus beneath. Trying to pull herself free, the heel of her shoe caught round the loop of a drinks can holder and Thea began to lose her balance. For an instant she had an image of herself lying prostrate on the floor, surrounded by eggshells, banana skins and coffee grounds. She put out a hand, groping for something to hold on to, but couldn’t reach the wall.

The stranger, seeing her predicament, crossed the room and caught the flailing hand and then her body, steadying the bin and holding Thea upright.

Maybe, if she hadn’t been in such a bad mood, she could have seen the funny side and laughed up at him. As it was, she just blushed furiously while he supported her, unwilling to see if he was laughing at her. ‘Thank you so much,’ she muttered to the bin, as she rammed the lid back on. ‘What a ridiculous thing to have happened.’

Petal quite often managed to make Thea feel more disagreeable than the most caricatured seaside landlady and she felt very tempted to tell her so-called uncle that it was all Petal’s fault; she had promised to get some new bin liners, having used up Thea’s entire roll. But although this was the truth, it would be extremely petty, and it was bad enough to appear bad-tempered and ridiculous in front of strangers without being small-minded as well.

‘That’s OK,’ he said. ‘It could happen to anyone.’

To anyone foolish enough to climb into a rubbish bin, she thought, but didn’t say. To direct his attention away from the tea bag that had got trapped down the side of her shoe, Thea nodded towards Petal. ‘That girl burns the telephone at both ends. I hope it doesn’t fry her brain.’

Petal’s uncle, who had been surveying Thea and her surroundings with a sort of mystified concentration, said, ‘Possibly it already has.’

Thea struggled to get her usual good humour back, but it was difficult. He was tall and dark, with deep-set eyes, and it was easy to take his quiet, serious demeanour as disapproval. She wished she could tell him to go and wait for Petal in the hall, but unfortunately she was chronically hospitable, unable to have people in her house, however unwelcome and uninvited, without offering them food or drink. ‘Would you like a cup of coffee? Tea?’ She slid the kettle over to the hot part of the Rayburn. She was desperate for a cup herself and didn’t feel she could have one if he didn’t join her.

‘I don’t think we’re staying. I just came with Petal to collect some things.’

‘Does that mean Petal is taking her artwork home at last?’