The smell of warm bread wafted down the stairs of their flat to greet Jack as he got home from work. Also, there was a picture of a door stuck on the front door. Inside a picture of a white shagpile rug was sellotaped to their threadbare brown carpet.

“I’ve been doing some decorating,” Jill told him when he raised an eyebrow at the A5 cutting of a Florence Knoll antique brown leather sofa, fixed to the side of their white Ikea futon. “Welcome to your new home.”

She had spent the day rampaging through her collection of home interior magazines armed with scissors and an imagination. Although they couldn’t afford their ideal home Jill could still create one.

His battered rocking chair would be replaced by an Eames lounger, although ideally they would have a bespoke version in green corduroy, Jill explained. Lamps would be Bestlite throughout, be they wall, ceiling, floor or table.

They ate pizza that night. Jill had been too busy decorating to prepare the hotpot and the loaf in the oven hadn’t risen fully. As they lay in bed (potentially from Heals, with a buttoned leather headboard and a Vi-Spring mattress), Jack stared up at a ceiling thick with cobwebs. Their pad needed a spring clean.

There was a picture of a chandelier next to the ceiling lamp. When the pictures faded or got torn they could be easily replaced, and their home, in all it’s scruffy glory, would forever be the stuff of dreams.

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