The room smelled heavily of industrial lemon cleaner and old carpet.

There was a single queen bed with a stiff flowered bedspread, a wooden desk with a badly scratched top and a little TV bolted to the corner wall.

Hannah put her canvas bag down on the floor beside the desk.

“It’s freezing in here,” she said.

She sat on the edge of the mattress and folded her arms.

Her face looked pale under the harsh light of the one ceiling bulb.

“I’ll turn up the heat,” I said.