She ripped open a couple of binbags in her search for the outfit she wanted. ‘Really? What was she like?’

‘She seemed nice. She wasn’t at all pissed off with us about the party, which was a relief. I was quite worried about it.’

‘The considerate neighbour, that’s you. Did you meet her husband?’

‘No. He’s not very well, apparently.’

Kirsty sipped her tea. She always left the teabag in the cup while she drank it, a habit Jamie couldn’t understand but nevertheless found endearing. He didn’t drink tea himself – he was a coffee man – but he liked the taste of it on Kirsty’s lips. He sat beside her and kissed her now.

She broke away gently. ‘We’ve got to get on with the unpacking, Jamie.’

‘I guess so.’

‘What do you want to do about dinner? We’ve got no food in. Let’s get a pizza delivered.’

‘Good idea. And there’s some wine left from last night.’

Kirsty pulled on the black, sloppy jumper she had been searching for and stood up. She prowled around the flat, just looking at it, marvelling at every empty cupboard, at the Victorian fireplace, the intricate ceiling rose, the taps in the bath, the grain in the floorboards.

‘I still can’t believe that it’s ours,’ she said. ‘I was convinced that something would go wrong before we moved in. I thought we would get gazumped, or the owners would decide they didn’t want to sell after all. Even today, at work, I was stressed out, thinking that the phone was going to ring any minute and it would be you, telling me that the flat had burned down taking all our possessions with it.’

She came to a halt before the bedroom window and Jamie came up behind her and put his arms around her, resting his chin on her shoulder. They looked down at the garden. It was very neatly kept, with a large square of lawn surrounded by flower beds, the flora in full bloom. There was a little shed at the back of the garden. Only the occupants of the basement flat had access to the garden, although as this block of flats had once been a single house (only converted into flats earlier in the century) it was physically possible for the occupants of the ground floor flat to get down there. A set of concrete steps led from the bathroom balcony down into the garden. Kirsty planned to set a washing line up on this balcony. It was tiny and not at all private so it would have little other use.

‘You smell really sweaty,’ she said as Jamie kissed her cheek, wrinkling her nose.

‘That’s because I’ve been labouring hard all day – sweating under the hot sun.’