3.8
When she returned to the house, Angus was in the living room, a luxurious space, with walls of terracotta red, the damask of the sofas in complementary sienna, strong colours tempered by cream curtains, cushions and rugs. The room was a sanctum, sullied now by Angus slumped on the sofa with a can of beer, his eyes fixed on the television.
An even greater abhorrence unfolded on the screen. A close-up of a careworn woman, the voiceover telling viewers she’d just given birth to a premature baby and they both faced deportation to Nauru. Nauru. That hellhole! Yvette wondered what Dan would have made of it; at once troubled by her own lack of engagement, her initial interest dwindled to chaff drifting at the bottom of an empty sack of grain. The few morsels of Profits of Doom she’d managed
