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But it’s a male voice she hears coming from Amber’s room. “We can let you have some cardboard boxes.” The accent is local. “It doesn’t all have to be out today. We can give you another week.”
“That’s kind of you.” A female voice, older, strained. “I’ll take what I can and pack the rest. My other daughter will collect it next week.”
“Right you are, love. Let me just deliver these and I’ll get you the boxes.” The man steps into the hallway. He’s in an Abbeythorpe maintenance team shirt and carrying three parcels. “Morning, love,” he says cautiously to Imo.
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