3
By mid-evening the tension in the house had reduced to a slightly more bearable level. Michelle had been working in the living room for the last hour or so, arranging the little furniture they had and leaving spaces for the rest of their belongings to be slotted in tomorrow once the removal van had been and gone. George was in bed, Phoebe had crashed out on a beanbag with her face buried in a book, and Tammy was sitting on an inherited sofa which, Michelle hoped, would be dumped outside by this time tomorrow. Scott was messing with the TV, had been for a while. He’d just about managed to get a decent signal. The picture was occasionally distorted by bursts of blocky digital static but, on the whole, it was watchable.
‘Can’t we get Sky?’ Phoebe asked, not looking up.
‘We can’t afford i
