She surveyed the living room in search of Grant. Everything about that flat was brown. Brown or grey. Fake timber slats lined one of the walls. A corduroy couch made up of mediocre neutrals sat grumpily against the corner. The carpet was the dreary shade of an overcast sea.
Matthew, smiling now, stepped onto the landing. ‘I’ll get you a tea,’ he said in words that tripped over themselves. ‘Wou-would you like a tea, or...? Ah no. It’s raining.’ He swung round and looked back into the flat again, as though concerned Rosetta would see something she shouldn’t. ‘Um...well, why don’t you come in then? Come in and—’
‘I just dropped by to give Grant some old comedy DVDs. If he’s not there I’ll...’ Reluctantly she added, ‘...call round some other time.’ A part of her wanted to stay right there wi
