This is what you get for the sake of a very cheap rent she thinks, grimly regarding the pull-down worktop-cum-breakfast-table. It is scratched and stained and by the look of it entirely forgotten by whoever made the half-hearted effort to clean the flat ahead of her moving in. She uses a knife to scrape away a smear of what could be dried egg or custard or pea soup. The cooker and fridge are ancient but serviceable, though the metal guards around the gas rings are stained. She removes the guards and puts them in the sink to soak. Nothing about this old-fashioned kitchen is quaint and no amount of bleach will get rid of the brown streaks caused by the endlessly dripping tap. At least the old boiler works, after a fashion: the water is scalding, the radiators lukewarm.

Shoving the provisions she brought with her into the fridge, she heads to the bedroom and there, trying not to picture who slept on it last, heaves the mattress over, quickly covering it with her own bedding. She dusts and hoovers, hangs her clothes in the ungainly wardrobe and then moves onto the bathroom where she grimaces again at the chipped bath and stained toilet bowl, the rusty cistern and chain. She won’t think of whoever lay in this bath before her. She won’t think of them sitting on the toilet seat. She won’t think of the man who died, or wonder where or how. It’s no wonder that this place is cheap.

The living room gets the same treatment and she cleans the mouldy wall with bleach. Delving into her bags, she drags out a pile of books and sets them on a shelf. There is a telephone directory and, oddly, a copy of the New Testament already there. She finds a framed photo of Ruth and David standing by the White Horse and places it on the mantelpiece. It was taken last summer on her birthday, 7 August. Only that isn’t her real birthday. It’s the date she was found. A tiny baby, the doctors had said she must have been early. Two or three days old. Nobody was sure.

Marina finishes arranging the room and has a cigarette, standing at the window. She contemplates the street, watching the comings and goings, which as Ron has said are few and far between. While she stands there she sees a man pulled along by a German Shepherd, a young woman riding her bike, an elderly couple walking hand in hand.