Gerald and Cynthia stare at each other across the bare living room. Both are seated on dining room chairs pre-dating the Scandinavian conquest of British showrooms: dark split-cane curved into tense arcs ready to spring into injurious action at the loosening of a bracket. They were fine once, but now serve as little more than metaphors for the relationship playing out in this stark, damp room at the rear of number twelve Star Street.