She hesitates before telling him she is Zoe. In the end, although she’d signed her middle name on the contract, she couldn’t hide her first name on the photocopy of her passport. She told them she preferred to go by the name Zoe and nothing much was said. But here in the house, there is still the worry that someone might remember her story – Marina, the baby in blue, and she doesn’t want to draw attention to that before she’s had a chance to settle.

He extends his hand and she removes her glove to shake it. His palm is as warm as hers is cold.

‘If you need anything,’ he says, ‘just ask.’

‘Thank you.’

He scratches his chin. ‘And sorry about my reaction out there. I’m not usually that unfriendly – or disbelieving. You took me by surprise. No one told us there was a new tenant and, to be honest, I didn’t think anyone would ever take this flat, people are a bit . . . well, you know . . .’

‘Superstitious?’

‘Exactly.’

‘Did you know him?’ Marina asks, thinking there’s no time like the present to start investigating.

‘The guy that died? No. Before my time.’

‘How long have you been here?’

‘Six months, but I’ve got something else lined up.’

‘So soon?’

‘Yeah, well, it’s not exactly the Ritz.’ He sweeps his arm around the room and grimaces.

Marina grins. ‘I’ve seen worse. I once had rats for flatmates.’

He frowns, not understanding. ‘You mean literally?’

‘Yes, literally. Rats. Under the stairs. Mind you I’ve lived with the human kind too.’

She rattles out a story about a boyfriend at university. Three weeks she had lived in his dingy flat listening to the sound of rodents scrabbling behind the walls and beneath the floorboards. One day a larger creature in a fur coat had turned up claiming to be his girlfriend. ‘And that was the end of that.’

Ron laughs. ‘Then this will seem like a palace.’

‘I hope so.’

There’s another pause. Ron taps his foot. ‘I’ll get some more bags.’ He is gone before she can stop him.

Alone, she looks around the room. It was two months ago that she met Wayne, the estate agent, a young man in a suit and shoes so pointed they were almost winkle-pickers. His first utterance had been an apology for the state of the decoration; his second, a promise that he could reduce the already low rent still further. They had climbed the steps together, him still talking, her breath caught so hard she couldn’t have answered if she had tried. Her head had pounded and his voice had faded into the background until she eventually gave up all hope of following or remembering what he said.