The air is steel. Conversation splutters into it from the six strangers perched around the off-cream kitchen table. Their eyes stick and slide over each other or dart around the room. The padlocked cupboards. The fridges and freezers breeding battles. Already, someone’s dirty pan sits, forgotten, in a metal sink.
Two girls laugh loudest. The air is softer between them – more malleable but the two men, caught in a sea of females, cannot permeate the cold, hard, metal of the air. They are too different, apparently.
Ghosts crash through their minds as they talk – chasing each other round corridors – their shrieks and laughter and stomping feet loud and unafraid.
Six strangers sit around a kitchen table. Their ghosts fill the room: standing between them, linking them together.