by K.S. Dearsley
It was exactly what Marian was looking for–a home of her own, an address to prove she existed. She looked around feeling someone behind her. Gareth entered the lounge carrying a packing case. He spoke over the top of it.
“It’s a bit of a mess.”
The previous tenants had left stained carpets, chipped paintwork and crayon on the walls.
“Nothing that soapy water and a paintbrush can’t fix.”