These things aren't working. His size 11s tracked across my clean carpet to the door. Wrought iron telephone stand, black curves under glass. Silk and polythene flowers, colours like old ladies' dresses. Phone line frayed away to almost nothing. Leaflets for attractions mostly closed or fallen down anyway. Dripping tap in the second-floor bathroom, with a corroded smear I can't get rid of on the porcelain. Scratch marks on the door, someone's desperation or constipated boredom. Bolt ripped off, leaving a ghost outline of itself in the paint as evidence. Age-grey net curtains. God, how many before they start working?