Cindy and Mike loved the room instantly. It was formed from two attics, knocked through and lit by generous skylights. From their new home at the top of the house they could see clear across the city and the rent was ridiculously reasonable. To top it all, Mrs White – ‘Call me Martha, dearie.’ – Was a plum-shaped dream grandma as well as landlady. The house constantly smelt of baking, or soups and stews; food which was practically on a conveyer belt, on offer to both tenants and a couple of local cafes. Martha said she didn’t like to brag but she made a pretty penny from her dishes. Cindy’s only real complaint, and a petty one at that, was the décor. The room came furnished and it had more than a hint of twee old lady, replete with doilies, china ornaments and underlying whiffs of Lily of the Valley. Still, dusting the silly clowns and fairy gardens built in cups wasn’t the worst price to pay for such a sweet set of lodgings. The pair had been living at number 13 for a ...