‘Sure, sure, come in and close the door. You’re letting all the good air out,’ Elsie wheezed, turning left to the living room. As Sarah closed the door she was overwhelmed by the pungent odour of ammonia. Judging by the overfull litter trays, the stench was cat pee. She pinched the top of her nose as she held back a sneeze. She would not stay long. A hospital-style bed took up most of the living room. The surfaces were littered with religious pictures and cat ornaments, old mahogany furniture, cat beds and a variety of books. On every wall hung a mirror, covered in a thin layer of dust.

She watched as Elsie manoeuvred herself onto the bed. She must spend her day there, Sarah realised with a mix of shock and sympathy, thinking of the sweet wrappers in her own sofa at home.

‘Christian – he’s my son – usually lets people in.’ Elsie grunted as she hauled one leg, then two onto the mattress. Her calves were mottled purple, her ankles swallowed up by excess skin. ‘Not that we get many visitors.’ Elsie tugged on the overhanging handle as she tried to shift her weight. ‘Mother of pearl …’ she groaned, before looking to Sarah for support. ‘Can you fix my pillows? I feel like I’ve been chewed up and spat out today.’

‘Sorry for getting you out of bed.’ Sarah plumped her pillows, wedging them against the metal bed frame. A trail of sweat bloomed down Elsie’s back. The folds in her skin appeared itchy and raw. Judging from the staleness of the bed linen, it hadn’t been changed in a while. Elsie scooted back on each buttock as she sat up.

‘Don’t apologise. It’s nice to have visitors at any time of the day. I know you, don’t I?’ Slicing a square of kitchen tissue paper, she pressed it to her forehead to absorb the sweat.

Sarah nodded in response. ‘Yes, we went to school together many moons ago.’

‘That’s right,’ Elsie said, the air between them cooling. ‘I remember you. Have you moved back to Slayton or do you just work here?’

Sarah was staring at the empty crisp packets littering the bed. Heat rose to her cheeks as she realised she’d been caught out. ‘I live here, I’ve been here for almost two years.’

‘I don’t get out anymore,’ Elsie explained. ‘Are you Upper or Lower?’

‘Lower.’ The question wasn’t about her location, it was to judge her social status. Elsie’s terraced row of houses bordered Upper Slayton. They weren’t an accepted part of the well-to-do community, but they shared the postcode just the same. Judging by the smile creeping onto Elsie’s face, it was something she took pride in. ‘Not everyone’s lucky enough to live in this part of town.’

As she looked around the room, the last thing Sarah felt was envy.