The kitchen was unwide and Julie found herself hoping that Ruth would not enter it, for then they would brush against each other, something she did not relish. The cat saved her from this by looking around from behind the cooker, and then walking straight up to Ruth. "What's her name?" asked Ruth.

"Mohawk," said Julie. Terry had called the cat that, and she had thought it clever, at the time. But it was a stupid name, typical.

And Ruth did not employ the name. Instead she got down on her knees and held out her hand for the cat to sniff. The cat inspected her fingers, finding something fascinating.

The cat's face was coal-black with one white dot, like a speck of paint, on its forehead. The yellow eyes shone like lemon fruit-drops.

" 'Dark they were and golden eyed,' " said Ruth.

"Pardon?"

"It's Ray Bradbury," said Ruth. "The Martians in the short story."

"Oh. Terry reads sci-fi," said Julie, dismissively.

Ruth did not respond. She had picked up the cat, and held it in her arms, her cheek against its sleek black back. The cat purred with a high grasshopper whirr.

Julie felt annoyed, as she did about that Macdonald woman next door, the one who had complained about her music and who stole her cat. Julie would often shut the cat in, but then the cat would shit in the bath.

After all, Julie pushed by Ruth with an aggressive "Excuse me," and went to the music center. She selected one of the most vibrant tapes, put it on, and stepped up the volume.

The beat came, and she moved to it for a moment, knocking against a toffee-wood table by the settee.

When she glanced round, Ruth had gone with the cat out of the back door into the weedy garden.

Usually over the weekend Mrs. Macdonald tried to keep to herself as much as possible. It was at these times that she felt the most threatened. Weekends, and in the evenings, when the loud music was played and the noisy visits went on. Her house was separated from the house of Julie Sawyer and Terry Purvis only by the width of the wooden door, which was joined onto both their properties, and led into Mrs. Macdonald's back garden. The two gardens ran side by side.

She did not go into the garden at weekends or in the evenings, once the better weather came. Julie and Terry, and sometimes their friends, were often out there, and then they took a portable tape machine out with them.

Occasionally, on Saturday nights, beer cans were thrown over her fence by the one they called Blackie.

Today Mrs. Macdonald had risked going out quickly, because the cat had drunk all the water she put out for the birds.