In her head Ella had pictured a minimalist space with a wooden floor, neutral colours on the walls and a little old lady wearing a grey cardigan with her hair in a bun, singing along to the radio, but instead Ella was mesmerised. Standing in front of her was a tiny, slim woman wearing cherry-red lipstick and a matching bright-red beret on the top of a mass of blonde curly hair, a vivid peacock-blue blouse over a large chest that was draped in orange beads, a black skirt and green tights. The outfit was completed by a black feather boa draped around her neck and fluffy animal-print kitten-heel slippers.

The living room was cosy with two armchairs, a sofa and a coffee table facing a pretty tiled fireplace. To the left a bookcase was stacked with romantic comedies, and to the right an old record player sat with hundreds of vinyls piled next to it. There was a TV like no other Ella had ever seen, the carpet was a vision of brown paisley swirls, and the walls, decorated in red and gold stripes, were covered in frame after frame of photographs.

‘Wow, what an amazing room,’ exclaimed Ella, feeling like she’d stepped inside some sort of museum.

Dolores smiled at Ella and stared from underneath her heavily mascaraed lashes. ‘Who do we have here?’ she asked, taking a seat. ‘You look like you are in need a good meal.’ Dolores clearly wasn’t afraid to say what she thought.

Callie tipped a wink at an astonished Ella who was captivated by Dolores’ appearance. She knew she was staring but she couldn’t take her eyes off her.

‘Dolores, this is my friend Ella. She’s staying with me for a while.’

‘A while? Are you in trouble or mending a broken heart?’ Dolores was watching Ella carefully. ‘In my experience, it’s usually one of the two.’

Ella snagged a fleeting glance towards Callie, who was grinning. ‘She doesn’t miss a trick,’ whispered Callie.

‘And there’s no need for whispering. I may be old but I’m not deaf – not yet, anyway.’

‘No, I’m not in trouble,’ replied Ella with a smile.

‘Mmmm… boy trouble, then? It will tell me in your leaves.’

‘Leaves?’

‘Dolores can see your future in your tea leaves.’ Callie gave her a knowing look.

‘They aren’t worth it, you know… boys. Everyone needs a McCartney and Fred instead.’

Ella looked bewildered. ‘A McCartney? A Fred?’

Dolores pointed to the bird cage on the balcony. ‘Fred, my canary.’

‘Named after Fred Astaire, as he dances around the cage,’ chipped in Callie.

Ella glanced at the blue-and-yellow canary that was happily pecking away at the bird food before bobbing his head. He looked comical.

‘And McCartney,’ Dolores pointed her stick to the tiny Yorkshire Terrier asleep on the bed in the corner of the room.

Ella was surprised he hadn’t moved a muscle since they arrived.