In the damp place behind the toilet, the cream-painted wallpaper was black with mould and peeling away from the wall.

“I know,” said Ava despairingly. “We’ll fix it, I promise. As soon as I get my first month’s pay.”

“No, you don’t understand.” Finn took hold of the edges and, with one smooth quick movement, tore it away and threw it on the floor. “Not that wallpaper. This wallpaper.”

The tear exposed a shiny brown approximation of wood panelling, like a bad photograph endlessly replicated, marked with patches of adhesive. Ava touched it gently with her fingertips.

“I’d forgotten that,” she whispered. “I can’t even remember which room it was in.”

“The bathroom,” said Finn.

“Was it? Oh my God yes, it was! How come you can remember? You must have only been about three or four.”

“Our baths used to take hours. I used to wonder if they’d gone to sleep downstairs.”

“They’d put us in together,” said Ava. “And we argued over who got which towel. We both wanted the one with the whale on it.”

“And the one with the orange circles was the worst one. It was always a bad day when one of us had to have the worst towel.”

“Then one day,” said Ava, “there was a new towel. Do you remember? With… ”

“Pawprints! And the whole towel ranking changed overnight.”

Ava looked again at the battered panel of wallpaper. “Maybe it’s a sign.”

“Course it’s a sign,” said Finn. “This is where we’re meant to be.”

Ava leaned back against the bath. “What have I done? You were better off before, you had a proper big bathroom with decent towels and a nice bedroom and – all right, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” Finn was looking at her as if she’d grown an extra head. “You’re right. It’ll be great. Won’t it? We’ll manage.”

“And then they’ll get bored of checking on us and leave us alone.”

“I wouldn’t count on that. Fuck, we need to get our stuff in off the pavement before someone nicks everything.” Finn grinned. Ava pointed a stern finger. “Don’t say that word. Not ever.”

“You can swear in front of me, I don’t mind.”

“I’m supposed to set a good example.”

“You do set a good example.”

“No I don’t. But I’ll try.”

Miraculously, their possessions were where they’d left them, neatly stacked into cardboard boxes and ancient suitcases. They brought everything inside in slow, cumbersome shifts – first into the lower hallway, then up the stairs. On the street the collection had seemed insignificant, but once inside, the boxes filled the living room floor.

“We should unpack,” said Ava.

“Let’s have a picnic,” said Finn.

“There isn’t anywhere to go.”

“An inside picnic.”

“The floor’s covered with boxes.”

“We can sit on the landing outside.”

“We really should – oh, you know…” Ava hesitated. “I’m supposed to be acting like a grown up, it’s not a proper meal really.”

Finn was rummaging in the food box.