Chapter SevenTommy Morgan hated his one-room bedsit. Undoubtedly, it had been a fine, large bedroom for someone many years before, when the house would have almost certainly have been occupied by a family of fairly substantial means, but as a living room, bedroom and kitchen rolled into one, it served poorly.
Rented as “furnished” accommodation, the furniture consisted of an old two-seater settee and armchair, which Morgan presumed to be a match, though the pattern was so faded and grimy it had passed beyond recognition, a rickety tubular-legged coffee table with grubby, Formica top and a small wardrobe set against the wall. The threadbare carpet covered only half the floor, surrendering the rest to bare floorboards. A single bed was tucked against the wall, adjacent to the wardrobe. A ta
