And on. Through the next door. A hall, a mirror, a light hanging down in green glass. Stairs rising up. Cream carpets, rich and full. Another door, a living room, huge, extending back into a bright white kitchen under the glass of an extension. They walk through. The light is golden. Beyond the extension they see a garden, stretching back in parallel stripes, borders heavy with hanging leaves. In the centre of the lawn is a perfect circle of earth, and an apple tree grows out of it. All around the base are scattered apples, left to rot.

The wide space of the extension is filled with a long table made of a rich, red wood. A lamp hangs over it, suspended on a curved sliver of metal. In the opposite corner is a wood-burning stove, and a deep cream sofa.

For a moment, they stand still in the scented air. Then Aaron turns to Rose. His lopsided face, pulled tight with worry, eases into a wide smile. His hair sticks up in loose, greasy spikes. His skin is clouded with grime. But he is young. When he smiles, he is young.

Rose smiles back.

‘Can we eat?’ he says.

The kitchen is behind them. There are rows and rows of cupboards. She cautiously opens one. Bowls. Two stacks of ten each. She takes one out. It seems whiter than a normal bowl. She puts it back.

Then mugs. Fifteen mugs, all identical, all upside down. Cups too, with saucers. Then glasses, dozens of them. Different shapes, stacked in different areas. Big wide-bottomed goblets. Narrow flutes. Artisan water glasses. Then big bowls. Serving bowls. Blue, white, terracotta, with seagulls flying across them or fish swimming at the bottom. Plates, stacked twenty high, in three different sizes.

Then jam. Nine different half-opened jars of jam.

She pulls out strawberry, hands it to Aaron. She takes blackberry. He dips a finger in, hooks a strawberry, eats. She does the same then holds the jam in one hand as she opens drawers, finds a spoon. She gives him one and he switches to that, spooning the jam into his mouth.

The sweetness fills her.

She moves on. The lower cupboards have pans in. She checks them. More pans. Trays. Food mixers. Tea and coffee.

There is a door at the back of the kitchen. She opens it. Behind her Aaron is still spooning jam. A light clicks on.

From floor to ceiling are shelves of food.

Cans, packets, bottles. Wine, beer, oil. Boxes of cereal, six-packs of drinks cans.

Biscuits.

She steps into the cupboard. She looks back. Aaron has jam on his face, in the corners of his mouth. He looks like a toddler.

Let this work, she thinks to herself. Let us stay here, alone. Let us eat.