When he became acquainted with the rest of the house, Stephen realized that the kitchen was different from the other rooms. The house was Georgian, it was explained to him, which meant it was a couple of hundred years old; much older than any building he knew of back home. Because of the lie of the land it had four storeys at the farther side and only three on the yard side. The original kitchen had been a narrow, high room down at the end: they’d created the current one from a couple of lean-tos that had been added during the 1920s. It was easier to have it at this side, so people could go straight in with bags of groceries, or to put the kettle on. It had a low ceiling and a snug sort of feeling, whereas the other rooms were very bare and light and sparsely furnished. It was as if this family had never thought of getting comfortable. There wasn’t a settee in the whole place. All the seating was hard, with rush seats or unyielding buttoned backs. The downstairs floors were uncarpeted, their bare boards dotted with occasional rugs. The sitting and dining rooms didn’t have curtains, just wooden shutters. Nick’s sculptures were dotted about all over the house, and there were paintings of wobbly flowers in flowery jugs, or little boats bobbing around on clumsy blue. The room farthest from the kitchen smelled of damp, even in summer. It was on a lower level than the rest of the house, reached by steps down. This was the one the kids used, with a record player and some shelves of books and a table-tennis table. The television was kept in here. It was a much smaller set than the one Stephen’s parents had, back at home. There were a couple of divans covered with old checked blankets set at right angles along the walls.

On the first floor was Nick and Celia’s room, and Georgie’s and Cass’s; and on the top floor were four smaller rooms, one of which was to be Stephen’s. Nick showed Stephen the bathroom he would use. The tub had long streaks of green at the end where the taps had dripped, probably for ever. There was no shower. The room he was to sleep in had blue curtains and an old carved wooden bed. There was a round, marble-topped table in the window. On a small table by the bed someone had placed a little jar of bright leaves and blue and white flowers. No one had ever put flowers in his room before, not even when he’d had the measles as a boy.

‘I don’t know where Cass and Celia have got to. Shall we go outside and see if we can find them?’ said Nick. ‘Or would you sooner have a cup of tea first?’

‘Be nice to step outside,’ said Stephen.