Liv, who hadn’t spoken, who had thrown herself face downward on the sofa, suddenly sat up and said, “Are you meaning the apartment at number nineteen will be for rent?”

Simultaneously Silver and I knew what was on her mind. We found that out when we compared notes afterward. While she was at Silver’s she was with Jonny, had to be with Jonny. If she lived down the road, she’d be free to be Wim’s girlfriend. I could as easily imagine Max and Selina allowing Liv to rent old Mrs. Fisherton’s as I could picture them letting it to a homeless family. I said nothing of this, Liv looked so hopeful and pathetic, but I did explain that they only let me have the place because I was a sort of relation. Liv shrugged.

“What am I to do?”

“Stay here and sort yourself out, I should think,” said Silver. He added in a kindly tone, “You don’t have to share that room with Jonny. Not if you don’t want to. You can still be here, we’ll find a corner for you. There’s nothing to worry about.”

“You are always saying that,” Liv said hotly. “Naturally, I wish to be with Jonny. He is my lover.” She eyed Mabel. Having made sure she would know every piece of furniture again and every square inch of the ragged bit of carpet, Mabel had curled herself up on a patchwork velvet cushion someone had dropped or thrown on the floor. “Is this cat to live here?”

“You heard me say she can’t,” I said. “She’d fall off the roof.”

“Cats never fall.” Liv could be dismissive and dogmatic at the same time. “A cat can jump fifty meters and not be harmed. I have seen this.”

“I’d rather not take the risk.”

“Good. You say she is hunter. She will be hunting my mice.”