Strong arms closed around her. She was being tugged into a sitting position. She made herself inert. Nobody tells me what to do, she thought. Going to stay here as long as I want. They can't tell me what to do.

Erika stopped pulling, but her hold didn't loosen. "You have to help. Please."

"Let me alone. For god's sake, go away and let me die."

Kate could feel her sizing up the situation, balancing and planning. She smiled a little. Then the blue-sleeved arm tightened around her waist, this time with a concentration of effort that had her on her feet before she could brace herself. She stood slumped over Erika's arm, swaying, held as though by steel wire.

"In bed, please. Before my back breaks."

She sat hunched on the rumpled and soiled bed, glowering over the trickery of it.

Erika let out a deep breath, pulling a sleeve across her sweaty forehead. "To die isn't so easy," she said. She looked around for cigarettes, found them on the floor under the bed, shook one out of the pack and lit it, scratching the match on her belt buckle. Her stance was exactly that of a man who has been working hard and pauses for an earned rest.

"How did you get in?"

"Master key. Missus Brownlee lent me hers last night. I'll have to get one made if you do this very often. Do you do it very often?"

"No," Kate said. She shut her eyes to hide the lie. "Oh god, you don't know how I wish I could die."

"If you wanted to die, you would," Erika said. "No ashtrays in this place?"

"How do you know I haven't tried?"

"Oh, that way. People like you always make sure someone is around to stop them. If you really want to die, go ahead. It's not hard."

It was silly to lie here and argue with this girl. She was calm, she knew all the answers, talking to her was like pounding your head against a stone wall. Kate's head felt—now that she was awake enough to sort out her feelings—as though it had in fact been beaten against something hard and heavy. "This is my room," she said. "Go away."

Erika sat on the side of the bed, not touching her, but so close that Kate could feel the warmth of her body. "Do you always cry when you're drunk?"

"Of course."

"Not when you're sober too? No, the drinking makes it possible to cry. You have bad dreams too?"

"You sound like Doctor Liebermann."

"We read the same book." Erika got off the bed and walked out of the room without looking back. Kate lay still, relieved of her presence and at the same time feeling lonely and empty. But in a moment she was back, with a cold, wet towel.

"Ouch!"

"It's bad for the eyes, all this crying. And the skin. And the thinking. A waste of time."

"I know. I look awful." Her tongue was thick. She felt more confused than ever. "Why don't you go away?"