‘Can I get up?’ she asks. ‘I’m getting up,’ she tells him and gets up. She looks down at her bra and knickers then up at the doctor with a face like thunder before deciding that he is a doctor and therefore she should probably not kill him for undressing her. She dresses in joggers and a T-shirt then heads through into the communal room to see Harry sitting in one of the blue chairs.

‘Morning,’ he says.

‘Morning,’ she says, walking straight past him to Ben’s door that she opens. ‘Oh,’ she says dully. ‘Seen this?’

‘Seen what?’ Harry asks.

‘This,’ Safa says, nodding at Ben’s room.

‘No. What is it?’

‘Ben’s room.’

‘What about it?’

‘Get up and have a look you lazy shit.’

Harry rubs his beard while contemplating this request. He comes to a decision. ‘No, just tell me,’ he says.

‘Bedside table . . . lamp . . . rug on the floor . . . got some shelves for his clothes,’ she says, looking round at the stark change inside. She sniffs the air a few times. ‘He’s using deodorant too.’

‘Thank God,’ Harry mutters.

‘Well,’ she says, turning back to Harry, realising the doctor must have left. ‘It worked then.’

‘Seems that way,’ Harry says.

He pauses in the corridor at the metal-riveted door marked with the names Harry Madden, Ben Ryder and Safa Patel. A quick, deep breath and he heads inside.

‘Morning,’ Ben says, his voice catching from both nerves and anticipation.

‘Ben!’ Harry grins, getting to his feet. Safa looks round in surprise with a slow grin forming.

‘Stay there,’ Ben says, waving for him to sit back down.

He gets up anyway and squashes Ben’s hand while shaking his head and smiling. ‘Aye, it’s good to see you, Ben. You okay?’

‘I’m fine,’ Ben says, staggering to the side from the enormous pat on the shoulder. ‘How you feeling?’

‘Ach, fine.’ The big man beams all toothy and happy.

‘Safa? You okay?’ Ben asks as she steps away from his door.

‘Fine,’ she says with a broad smile. ‘Look at you being all sheepish and shy . . . your room looks better by the way. Where’s your beard? You shaved it off? I liked that beard. Are you wearing jeans? You look better. Doesn’t he look better, Harry?’

‘Aye.’

‘You do. Got colour in your face,’ she says, examining him closely while smiling and talking non-stop without any sense of shame. ‘Yeah, I did like that beard, but then it’s nice to see you shaved again. Your hair’s a mess though. Anyway, stop fucking yacking on and get the brews in.’

‘What the fuck?’ Ben says, shaking his head at the onslaught.

‘Shit, and I thought I was slow at investigating,’ she says, still beaming at him. ‘Oh, for fuck’s sake . . . come here . . .’

‘Eh?’ Ben says as she flies at him.