‘Hmm. Did you manage to do your usual thing with that woman, the unhappy blonde?’

‘Usual thing?’ Chris’s face was a study in mock outrage. ‘I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.’

‘I’m sure you don’t too.’ Nell stretched out her legs. ‘But she went away happy, yeah?’

‘She was a bit pissed off about the car, because did we know we were blocking access to the whole yard. But I apologised very nicely, and told her we wouldn’t make a habit of it.’

‘That’s my boy.’

‘I think her bark is worse than her bite. She seemed friendly enough, once we’d got things settled. I had the distinct feeling she was angling to be asked in.’

‘Wow. Fast work, love. Even for you.’

He shrugged. ‘Well, you’ve either got it or you haven’t.’

Nell considered her husband. He looked worried, she thought, underneath the smile and the easy charm. There was something going on, and she might have asked, if she hadn’t heard Maude coming down the stairs.

She poked her head around the door. ‘I’m hungry.’

‘Did you ring Jess?’ asked Nell.

Maude rolled her eyes. ‘Yes. And I’m still hungry.’

‘Right.’ Chris shook himself free and put the laptop to one side and stood. ‘Fish and chips all round, then?’

Nell nodded. It had been a long day, that was all, she thought, a long drive with too many delays, and nothing more than that. She should have insisted they break the journey; it wasn’t as if there had been any need to rush. ‘Sure,’ she said. ‘That would be great.’

*

Chris said it would be quicker if he went on his own, which meant Nell was left behind, in charge of Maude and the kitchen.

They played around with the switches, working out which one matched each range of lights, the small halogen bulbs that were embedded in the ceiling and the showier adjustable spot-lights over the kitchen counters and the oven. But it didn’t matter what they did, what combination they tried, they couldn’t seem to make the room quite bright enough.

‘Right,’ she said, ‘that will have to do. Plates. Cutlery. Glasses.’

There was a certain pleasure in opening the cupboards, in discovering where things were kept, in passing judgement on the owners’ taste; it was as if they were trying on someone else’s life for a while. Someone with expensive tastes, was Nell’s verdict, even if everything did feel impersonal, cold.

‘There’s no salt,’ she said as Maude set the table, ‘and we need vinegar too.’ She opened the fridge. ‘There’s butter, and they left us some milk, but we’ll need more.’

‘You should write it down,’ said Maude.

‘I should,’ Nell said, ‘or maybe you could write it for me?’

That was a request too far, though, Maude simply sighed and fussed with the knives and forks on the table.