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Tracey looked around the pokey sitting room, with its tatty furniture and threadbare carpet, and pulled a face. Ken had promised they would be there for only a few months, just until he got on his feet again after his business went under.
‘If we’d had our showroom in the high street, we’d have done better,’ he said. ‘It was simply bad luck.’
Tracey wasn’t so sure. She had never liked her boyfriend’s dodgy partner Barry, or the cars they sold. Some of them appeared overnight with wires dangling from under the dashboard and no paperwork. But when she’d asked where they had come from, Ken had laughed and told her not to worry her pretty head.
She’d been relieved when Barry found regular employment selling electrical goods, and Ken said he’d prefer office work himself.
‘I’m tired of getting my hands dirty with those oily engines,’ he said.
‘Why not try selling something at the market?’ asked Tracey. ‘My uncle does pretty