‘A good point. Lots of milk, no water and as much sugar as you want.’

‘OK,’ he said. That’ll do fine.’

‘Sit down. Take the weight off your feet.’

She took her coat off and hung it on the back of the door. He sat down on the divan and looked around. There was a table covered with books and papers, an armchair, two upright chairs, a sink and a small cooker in the corner, above which were some shelves that held plates and cups and some more books. A large cupboard was half-open and bursting with clothes and suitcases and frying pans and what looked to Joe like a box overflowing with pairs of shoes. There was a heap of coloured cushions on the divan, which was covered with a brightly striped rug. There was another pop from the gas in the cooker.

‘I’ll have some cocoa too,’ she said, emptying a bottle of milk into a saucepan.

‘Why do you have a carpet on your bed?’

‘Why not? You don’t have to put carpets on the floor, you know. You can hang them on the walls, put them on the bed, even cut them up and make clothes of them if you want to. It’s the same with most things really. You mustn’t be too rigid about things. Look at every object with an open mind.’

‘You could be a little mad.’

‘I could,’ she agreed, smiling. ‘But where’s the harm? The great thing is to make the most out of what you’ve got. What did I do with my poison?’

‘There, beside the cooker.’

‘Ah, yes.’

She took a deep drag and put the cigarette down in the saucer again.

‘Some people believe they have nothing. Then life gets very bad.’ She put two cups down side by side on the table, lining them up evenly, handles symmetrically sideways, as if it mattered.

‘You have nice things.’

‘Mmmm.’

‘These mugs. They’re nice.’

‘I got them in London. There’s a lot of things for buying in London, millions of people all buying, buying.’

‘My brother’s just come back. Did I tell you about him?’

‘Oops.’

The milk rushed up the side of the saucepan and over the top on to the stove before she had time to stop it.

‘Blast.’

She grabbed a cloth and mopped at the milk.

‘It always does that. Even if I’m staring at it, glaring at it, willing it to behave, it does it just the same.’

She poured the milk into two mugs and stirred in the cocoa.

‘Here. Take care, it’s blazing.’

She threw the cloth into the sink and came and sat down beside him on the divan, cigarette and mug clutched in the same hand.

‘Sorry for all that … you were saying something about your brother?’

‘Brendan.’

‘That’s a nice name. I like it better than Joe.’

He blew into his cocoa and watched the rings expand out to the sides of the mug. Skin might form, he thought with distaste.