and their sport.’ She limped across to open a door. ‘Be better in the kitchen.’
As Jude walked past her, the girl giggled again and asked, rather daringly, ‘Are you Ray’s girlfriend?’
‘Just a friend.’ It was a lie, but a fairly white one.
‘I’ll see if he’ll come down.’ And Kelly-Marie crossed slowly towards the stairs.
The kitchen in which Jude found herself was large. The size of the range, the number of fridges and the extent of the cupboard space suggested that this was where all the cooking in Copsedown Hall was done. The residents did not have their own kitchens in their flats. Whether this was because they could not be trusted to cook unsupervised Jude did not know, but she suspected that it might be the case.
Stuck on the fridge doors were handwritten names on green fluorescent labels. Four fridges, two names on each, suggesting that Copsedown Hall contained eight residents, presumably each in a different self-contained flat. Kelly-Marie shared her fridge with another girl. Ray shared his with someone called ‘Viggo’.
Whoever did the cooking, there was clearly a strict tidiness regime enforced. The draining boards were bare, and every surface gleamed. There were two large bins, sternly marked FOR RECYCLING and NOT FOR RECYCLING. The functional, institutional space gave Jude the feeling of an army kitchen. Not that she’d ever seen an army kitchen except on film or television.
The table at which she sat was surrounded by eight chairs, suggesting that at least sometimes the residents ate communally. She waited nearly five minutes before Ray appeared in the doorway.
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