There is a row of shops including a green-painted bookshop called Crystal’s Books, with flowers in the window and spotlighted displays. Next door is an electrical shop with its windows crammed with vacuum cleaners, kettles and heaters. Further along is an old-fashioned looking cafe called Ruby’s, a grocer’s and a newsagent’s.

In the cafe, Marina orders a salmon and cucumber sandwich to take away and a cake soaked in honey and topped with pistachios. Outside, she is tempted to browse the bookshop, but is distracted by a tall man hurrying towards her. Ron. The way he is struggling to put on his leather jacket as he walks, shoving an arm in one sleeve and groping for the other, makes her smile. He waves and she suppresses a laugh watching him turn circles as if he’s chasing his tail.

‘Need a hand?’ she calls.

‘You’re all right,’ he replies, ‘I know when I’m beat.’ He folds the jacket neatly and hooks it over his arm. ‘It’s too small. Or I’m too big.’

He asks her which way she’s going and she nods vaguely along the street. ‘How about you?’

‘Meeting a mate.’ He indicates the same direction. ‘You can join us if you like. We’ll probably get something to eat.’

She holds up her food. ‘No thanks. I’ve got mine.’

Still, they set off together. For a while, they are silent, dodging people with bags and buggies. Ron rolls a cigarette with a practised hand and offers it to her. She accepts and borrows his lighter, hooking back her hair, using one gloved hand to cup the flame against the breeze, inhaling quietly while he rolls another.

‘So,’ he says after a few more moments of quiet. ‘What brings you to this godforsaken place?’

‘You think it’s godforsaken?’

‘The house, not the neighbourhood. I like it here.’ He glances around appreciatively at the mixture of buildings and the littered street.

‘The house has character,’ she replies cautiously, ‘although I admit it needs work.’

‘That’s an understatement.’

She shrugs. ‘I like a challenge.’

‘What do you do?’ he asks curiously.

‘I teach, usually.’

‘What subject?’

‘French and German. But I’ve moved into editing.’ She tells him a little about her old teaching job in Bristol and her work with Agata. ‘How about you?’

‘I work at the Natural History Museum. I’m a curator.’ He looks at her sideways and she can tell he’s proud of his job.

‘Sounds interesting,’ she says, smiling at him. ‘I’m keen on museums and galleries.’

‘Well, you’ve come to the right place – London, I mean.’ He finishes rolling his cigarette and tucks it behind his ear. ‘Anyway, you haven’t said . . . What brings you here? Not the tourist attractions, I assume?’

She laughs. ‘No. Change.’ It’s mostly true.

‘Fair enough. Change is good.’

They’ve reached his destination. A block of modern flats.