Yet another '90s London novel which doesn't really get anywhere. This time the protagonist is a woman, which makes a nice change, and she's a single mother whose child gets a fully developed character, which is also good and unusual.
There's meaningless, over-described, adulterous sex as usual, petty crimes, family back story, race, class and stripped pine as usual.
It's well written and I enjoyed it as I read it, but overall the experience was fairly forgettable. Jill Dawson's later books are much better IMHO.