For the first time she actually stood in open space in his living room; most of the papers and many of the box-files were gone. There was a place to sit on the tattered sofa, and the bizarre armchair of newspapers and magazines had been dismantled. ‘What did you do with all the paper?’ ‘Out the back for now. I’m hoping it doesn’t rain before the council come to take it away.’ There was a positive lift in his mood, the kind that comes with achievement. He couldn’t help looking pleased with himself, and Tara was happy to give praise where it was due. ‘Come and see the kitchen.’ He led her through the dim hall into a tidy space, where she could now identify a cooker, a fridge and worktops free of clutter. ‘Wow, you’ve got rid of all those foil trays, and you’ve washed up.’ ‘You haven’t mentioned my hair.’ He stood before her like a wife itching for praise from her husband. His hair did look better. Clean and trimmed, although it still reached his shoulders.
