‘Right then, guided tour. This, Mrs Saunders, is your parlour. It’s also your hallway, dining room, office and anything else that’s not a bedroom.’ He pulled her across to the other side of the room, where a rectangular alcove was built outwards from one wall to contain the kitchen, which had sagging old cupboards with peeling paint, but a new cooker and fridge.

‘Good thing I never swing cats,’ she joked, opening and shutting one of the cupboard doors, then peering into the huge fridge, empty except for a few cans of beer and lemonade. She switched on the fridge at the socket.

He took her hand again and led her across the main room, whose table, chairs and two sofas were not only new, but beautiful, the sort of furniture she would have chosen herself. She paused to stroke the wood. ‘This is lovely.’

‘I’m glad you like it.’ Flinging open a door, he flourished a bow. ‘Now this, madam, is the larger bedroom. It looks more like a cupboard, I know, but it does fit the bed in – just.’

‘It’s the same size as my aunt and uncle’s bedroom,’ she said quietly. ‘Quite large enough for me, Ben.’

He squeezed her hand and nodded, as if he had expected that answer.

The other bedroom was even smaller and was unfurnished, with bare dusty boards and a sagging blind at the window. Megan could just picture it set up as an office, a place where she could write the stories that were seething inside her for expression.

She frowned as they went back into the main area. ‘Um – isn’t there a bathroom?’ She didn’t mind a humble home, but you could get a bit too primitive.

‘The bathroom’s outside.’ He opened the door at the back of the main room to disclose another small veranda with what looked like a lean-to shed at one end. This proved to contain both a shower and laundering facilities of sorts.

Megan dissolved into giggles at the sight of the huge concrete laundry trough. ‘Where’s the stone?’

He looked puzzled.

‘I’ll need a stone to beat my washing with in that thing.’

He chuckled. ‘I’ll get you two stones. Much more efficient.’

‘Isn’t there a toilet?’

‘Voilà!’ He opened the door of what she had taken to be a cupboard and revealed a bright pink pedestal with a blue seat and cistern. She started laughing again, so much that she had to lean against him for support. ‘Whoever chose that thing?’

‘The owner, I presume. It’s in working order, so I didn’t like to disturb it for mere aesthetic reasons. But I thought we might paint the walls bright yellow and get some green toilet paper. That should really brighten up our quiet moments.’

By now, she was helpless with laughter and his deeper chuckles punctuated her gasps and splutters.