Freezing damp was seeping from the walls which Shaun had stripped of their paper and Tina had inadequately tried to patch up with pink emulsion the colour of Elastoplast. And because one of Shaun’s recent DIY efforts had been to pull out the old storage heaters used by the previous tenants, the only heat in the room came from a single bar electric fire which had once belonged to Shaun’s mother, and was probably a relic from the 1950s. ‘Sit down, will you,’ Tina nagged him. ‘You’re making me feel all on edge.’ She was standing under the single light-bulb hanging from the ceiling, putting on her mascara, staring into a tiny pocket mirror and concentrating hard. She was dressed for work; a tight white sweater, a tiny black denim skirt and black high heels. ‘Why do you make funny shapes with your lips when you’re messing about with your eyes?’ Shaun demanded. ‘I’m not,’ she said. ‘Yes, you are.’ ‘Oh, stop trying to stir things.’ She glanced at him, anxious yet defiant.
