Harry dumps the parcel onto his hallway runner and shoves the note into his letter holder. He walks across the floor, the rubber soles of his trainers squeaking against the floorboards, and he pulls out his couch just enough to inspect the carefully packed boxes he stores behind it: stacked, one after the other, long and flat and thin. Stamps and slips plastered all over the cardboard: Christie’s, Roseberys, Brick Lane Gallery, RA. 