“I’m having cake for lunch,” she said cheerfully.

She headed into the kitchen, leaving Sam in the hallway to either follow or not. The back door, directly behind him, was open and children played in the small, fenced-off garden. He was free to run if he wanted to.

Sam stood by the kitchen table, watching Julia cut a huge slice of chocolate cake and put it on a dinner plate. She surrounded it with two scoops of ice cream, added a spoon and put it on the table.

“Don’t wait for me.” She smiled.

Sam was in the chair before she’d finished speaking, scooping up a huge spoonful of cake and ice cream.

“I ain’t fucking staying,” he grunted as he stuffed his face.

Julia lifted herself onto the kitchen top and waited for the kettle to boil.

“I bet you ten quid you fucking do.”

In London, on the third floor of a high-rise flat in Ladbroke Grove, Angela Dunn sat, legs crossed, on her corner sofa surrounded by fabrics and sewing material. Underneath the window was a sewing machine and, to the side of that, were dozens and dozens of transparent plastic boxes, stacked ceiling-high. Each box had a client name written on the outside and each was filled with multicolored fabrics, lace, buttons, cottons and various other embellishments. Angela had been a self-employed seamstress for more than ten years and she got enough work from her immediate community to keep her busy till her dying day. The wall behind the sofa was papered with family photos, so that not a square inch of wall could be seen. A vehicle horn musically blared three times and Angela raced down into the courtyard.

Rob was a hefty, muscular Jamaican man in his early fifties. His speckled gray beard and tightly cropped hair made him look like a tough nut but, as Angela’s arms crept round his boxy waist, he smiled the broadest of smiles, revealing the gold cap on his left lateral incisor, his eyes wrinkled, his face softened and the gentle giant appeared. Angela moved round Rob’s body without letting go, sliding underneath his armpit until she was by his side and his arm was round her shoulder. They looked at the second-hand bus he’d just driven back from the monthly auction in Wimbledon. Rob’s voice was gruff, like that of a lifetime smoker, despite the fact that he’d never taken a single drag.

“The tires are solid. Seals on the fuel pump are a bit dodgy and the battery needs replacing. It overheated a couple of times on the way back, so the cooling system wants an overhaul. It needs some new bulbs for the brake lights and left indicator. And there’s a horrible smell coming from the air con. Plus the spark plugs make her misfire every now and then—”

Angela asked the only question she cared about. “How many seats?”

“25,” Rob confirmed.

“It’s perfect, Rob! I’ll call the girls and get things moving.”

Rob paused the conversation to kiss Angela, long and tender. He loved the very bones of her and she adored him. Angela had had her share of useless men and when she found Rob she spared no time in telling him, straight out, that she’d do anything for him as long as he treated her right. Since then, they’d been totally devoted to each other.