This book absolutely shivers with a detailed understanding of lower middle class London life. Try this, the first paragraph:
“Two women stood outside in the shadow of the overhang from the walkway above, for Mrs Davies lived on the ground floor of a block of council flats; a mixed blessing, for although it meant she had no stairs to cope with and need never worry whether the lift had been put out of order yet again, she was a sitting target for hit-and-run bell-ringers, letterbox rattlers, window-bangers and dog dirt. And worse. So far she had been lucky, but she knew better than not to keep her door on the chain.”
It’s banging. I saw this writer described as ‘Austen but with murder,’ and this is a better description than any I can come up with. It’s very clean, contained, comic writing, but just that it includes a lot of crime.
It tells the story of a two female con artists. But don’t think these are fun, glamorous cons. It’s a sad little scheme aimed to bilking old ladies out of whatever cash they have after pension day and any few bits of their mother’s good jewellery they might have been able to hang on to.
It’s an interesting one, because I found it comic and miniature while reading it, but it has grown in my mind since, getting bigger and sadder over time.