The hallway was imprinted on her memory, but the rest of the visit had been a haze as she simply went through the motions. Still, she must have registered something, because she recognises the black painted fireplace with its chipped pink and blue surround, and she recalls how when she had emerged from the building, she had felt as if a spell had been lifted. How surprised Wayne had been when she’d told him she would take the flat and there was no need to bother the landlord about decorating because she would do it herself. Wayne hadn’t even minded when she’d explained she must delay moving in because she couldn’t afford double rent.

‘That’s fine,’ he’d said, beaming and pumping her hand, ‘and don’t worry if anyone else comes forward, I’ll tell them the flat’s reserved.’

As if either of them thought that would happen.

‘Where do you want them?’ says Ron, returning with a suitcase in one hand and a rucksack in the other.

‘Anywhere, thank you, but you don’t need . . .’

Too late: he disappears again, bounding away for the rest of her things, reminding Marina more of a rangy puppy than the wolf she compared him to at first.

The room is dark and claustrophobic after her flat in Wiltshire and she drags back the net curtains again to let in the fading light. There is a chemical smell, but already patches of mould are showing beneath the window.

Ron returns with the final bag and finds her peering at the wall. ‘I get that too,’ he says. ‘Bleach works. You can borrow mine.’

‘Thanks,’ says Marina, straightening. ‘I brought a bottle with me, but by the looks of this I’ll need a whole lot more. Don’t you complain?’

‘No point. Landlord’s a lazy bastard.’

‘I gathered as much.’

He stands without speaking, scratching his chin. She’s busy looking out the window. Apart from the maple tree, the view is parked cars, bricks and mortar. There’s a pair of semi-detached houses opposite. One is boarded up, the other has a window box waiting for spring.

‘Is it always this quiet?’ she says.

‘Pretty much, especially at the weekend.’

‘No children?’

‘It’s an old people’s road. People come and they stay. Apart from me, I suppose.’

Marina nods absent-mindedly. How long will she be here? In the end, she had told Ruth and David the truth about taking the flat in Harrington Gardens. She couldn’t just disappear with no forwarding address. They had questioned and worried but, as always, had supported her and even lent her money. Together with the cheap rent, her earnings from Agata’s editing job and a few more projects in the pipeline, it means she’ll survive for a while.

‘Is there anything you need to know?’ Ron ventures. ‘Bins, post, communal spaces, fascinating stuff like that?’