9 HOURS
I pull back a chair from the solid pine dining set and sit down. The kitchen has loads of fitted storage units and appliances. I tell Alesha where everything is kept.
While the tea is brewing, she pulls open the fridge and lifts a plastic bottle towards her face. Her nose crinkles, her face taking on a distasteful frown. “Ugh, I’m afraid this milk is off.” She holds the bottle at arm’s length, inspecting the label. “It’s well out of date. I’ll pour it down the sink.” Looking around her, she adds, “The bread’s mouldy, too, or I’d have made toast. Can you take your tea black? I’m okay with it that way.”
“I can, but we don’t need to.” I point to a larder unit. “There should be a carton or two of UHT long-life milk if you’re okay with it. I don’t feel like food just now, but I have
