Mrs Tiarks said she heard that Captain Standish was doing some very distinguished things. In the War, of course. Mrs Macarthy agreed, in a rush of spit. But there the matter ended at once. Mrs Macarthy looked at Mrs Tiarks. Mrs Tiarks looked at Eden. The air became very meaningful.

Yes, yes, Mrs Macarthy sighed.

Soon after that Mrs Tiarks left, and Mrs Macarthy took Connie up to her own bedroom so that she could have a cry. Downstairs you listened for the crying of Connie Tiarks. Your ears strained towards the ceiling.

Listen, you said.

You could just hear.

Let’s go and listen on the landing, said Eden.

You stood on the landing, and the crying of Connie Tiarks was a thin mewing through the door. After a bit it began to get dull. You simply went away.

I don’t like her much, said Eden.

No, you said. Not much.

Eden thought she was silly, that she wouldn’t like her at all.

Because Connie Tiarks was the third face, tagging down the passage behind, drinking milk opposite at tea, her hand touched the cup that yours had touched, and like your hand, the cup was yours.

Why are your bows white? asked Eden.

I don’t know, Connie said.

She looked as if she was going to cry.

I don’t like them white, said Eden.

Eat up your tea, Julia said. It’s none of your business, anyway.

But Julia didn’t understand what it was about the bows of Connie Tiarks. She gathered up the plates afterwards, rumbling and thoughtful after tea. And Connie watched her sweep the crumbs. Connie was afraid.

Bedtime was like this too, but worse. She was placeless, and sleeping in a strange bed, she began to shiver long before there was any question of cold sheets. If she had a bed. But Mrs Macarthy had still to make up her mind. It was her neuralgia, she said, holding the hot water bottle. Tomorrow we shall see, Mrs Macarthy said, but tonight you shall sleep in Eden’s bed, she said. That made the lights quiver, the linoleum cold. But getting undressed, watching, at least you kept to opposite corners, unlike sharing a strange bed, or having a stranger in your bed.

Where are you going to sleep? asked Eden.

As if she didn’t know, sitting up already in bed.

Mrs Macarthy said, began Connie.

Her knees shook inside her nightdress, which was as cold as sheets. She was standing alone in a linoleum desert. She could not move towards the bed.

Once last summer, when it was hot, we had our mattresses out in the orchard, Eden said agreeably.

But she was watching, there was no move made of which she approved, if this were a move towards the bed. She resisted with her eyes.

Now then, Connie, Julia said, coming briskly into the room. It’s time you thought of getting into bed. Make way for Connie, Julia said.

I thought, said Eden, I thought so! No one’s coming into my bed.