Later that night they were celebrating. They ended up reducing the price by just £1,000 – and they spent a small chunk of that on a bottle of expensive champagne which they drank together in the bath at Jamie’s. They weren’t even going to be stuck in a chain. They were first-time buyers and the flat was empty. ‘Tomorrow,’ Jamie said, as he popped the cork on the bottle of champagne and Kirsty held her glass out, ‘I’ll phone Richard and give him my notice on this flat.’

They clinked glasses.

‘To our new home.’

The day of the party arrived, and during the afternoon Paul turned up with a white van full of bottled lager and four crates of white wine. ‘I know a bloke who does runs to Calais,’ he said. ‘Fills up a van and sells the contents to his mates. He can get you anything: booze, cigarettes, perfume. A nice wife from Latvia. Whatever you want. Not that you need a mail order bride, you lucky bastard.’

Jamie and Paul sat on the front step in the sunshine and sipped from small green bottles of continental beer while Kirsty and her best friend, Heather, blew up balloons indoors. It was a gorgeous day, gossamer clouds strung out like dinosaur bones across the blue sky. The city was warming up and London was coming back to life after a winter that had felt like a new Ice Age.

Kirsty came outside and crept up behind Jamie. She put a finger to her lips to quieten Paul, held a fully-inflated balloon behind Jamie’s head and jabbed a sharp fingernail into the balloon’s rubbery flesh.

‘Jesus!’

Jamie dropped his drink and clamped his hand to his heart. Kirsty and Paul rocked with laughter.

‘That’s for leaving Heather and me to do all the hard work. Now, give us a beer.’

She stooped and kissed him and he handed her a lukewarm bottle.

Six hours later, Jamie was standing among a crowd of party-goers feeling queasy but still very happy. He’d long since lost count of how many bottles he’d drunk. He’d also lost the plastic trident that went with his devil’s costume, which consisted of a red T-shirt, red velvet trousers and a matching cloak, plus a pair of plastic horns strapped to his head. People kept asking him if he was feeling horny. He roamed the party, chatting and drinking and laughing and feeling…wonderful. He still couldn’t believe the flat was theirs. All evening, people had told him and Kirsty how lucky they were to find it. This guy called Jason, who ‘dabbled’ in property, told Jamie he’d made a very wise investment. He shook Jamie’s hand. ‘If you ever want to sell,’ he said, ‘I might know a few people.’