‘Are you sure?’

‘Putting the kettle on.’

She follows him through a narrow sitting room, noting the blue futon, TV, ornate coffee table, sprawling fern. The kitchen is outdated like hers, but it’s larger and warmer. Family portraits and black and white photographs cover the walls – pictures of past London. Books and papers are stacked in piles on a large pine table that dominates the room. Ron gestures for her to sit. Instead of putting the kettle on, he grinds coffee beans, fills the coffee pot and searches for matches to light the stove.

She bends to examine the books. They are mostly historical non-fiction, but there are a few novels too. She spots Clarissa and Tristram Shandy.

‘Have you always been interested in history?’ she asks, straightening.

He turns, sugar bowl in hand, and gestures at a photo. ‘Mum’s influence.’

Marina follows his gaze. In the photo, a younger version of Ron stands beside a tall, elegant, middle-aged woman with grey hair and angular features. Ron has his arm thrown around her shoulders and is looking at her, smiling. The woman stares boldly out at the camera.

‘She left school with nothing and had me young. But then she took an archaeology course. I used to go with her on digs. My first memories are of dirt and bones.’

‘What about your father?’

He shrugs. ‘Never met him. Mum was a single parent.’

‘Have you tried to find him?’ The question is out before she can stop herself.

‘No. I’m not interested. If he wasn’t bothered about sticking around, why should I care about finding him?’

She bites her lip to stop herself from asking how he knows it was his father’s choice. Families are complicated. She sits down at the table.

The coffee pot splutters. Ron fusses, setting out cups and saucers, a bowl of sugar lumps, a jug of milk, a plate of ginger nuts. Marina watches, eyebrows raised.

Reading her mind, he grins. ‘It’s the details, don’t you think? Makes the coffee taste better.’

She agrees, even though she’s the instant, make-it-quick variety of coffee drinker.

‘So, how’s it been?’ he asks, pouring coffee for them both and settling in the seat opposite her. ‘Since this morning?’

‘Good.’ She reaches for the milk.

‘Still want a low-down on the tenants?’

She stirs her coffee, adds two sugar lumps and jumps straight in. ‘I’ve already met Mrs Hyde.’

‘Mrs Misery.’

‘How long has she been here?’

‘Forever, I expect.’

‘She didn’t want to talk to me.’

‘She doesn’t want to talk to anyone. Except God.’

‘God?’

‘She’s very religious. Goes to bible classes, church every Sunday.’

‘That’s fair enough. Does she have a husband?’

‘If she does, she keeps him hidden away.’

Marina laughs. ‘Well, Selena Hamilton was friendlier. She gave me a plant.’