Anna stopped an impulse to say: You’re exaggerating. Because Molly was not exaggerating, and she could not offer this sort of dishonesty to Molly. ‘Do you know, Anna, when I look at Tommy, with that ghastly black thing over his eyes — you know, all neat and tidy, and his mouth — you know that mouth of his, set, dogmatic … I get suddenly so irritated …’ ‘Yes, I can understand.’ ‘But isn’t it awful? I get physically irritated. Those slow careful movements, you know.’ ‘Yes.’ ‘Because the point is, it’s like he was before, only — confirmed, if you know what I mean.’ ‘Yes.’ ‘Like some kind of zombie.’ ‘Yes.’ ‘I could scream with irritation. And the thing is, I have to leave the room because I know quite well he knows I’m feeling like that and …’ She stopped herself. Then she made herself go on, defiantly: ‘He enjoys it.’ She gave a high yelp of laughter, and said: ‘He’s happy, Anna.’ ‘Yes.’ Now it was out at last, they both felt easier. ‘He’s happy for the first time in his life. That’s what’s so terrible … you can see it in how he moves and talks — he’s all in one piece for the first time in his life.’ Molly gasped in horror at her own words, hearing what she had said: all in one piece, and matching them against the truth of that mutilation. Now she put her face in her hands and wept, differently, through her whole body. When she had finished crying, she looked up and said, trying to smile: ‘I oughtn’t to cry. He’ll hear me.’ There was gallantry in that smile even now.

Anna noticed, for the first time, that her friend’s cap of rough gold hair had streaks of grey; and that around her direct but sad eyes were dark hollows, where the bones showed, thin and sharp. ‘I think you should dye your hair,’ said Anna. ‘What’s the point?’ said Molly, angry. Then she made herself laugh, and said: ‘I can hear him now: I’d come up the stairs with ever such a posh hair-do, and I’d be so pleased with myself, and Tommy’d smell the dye or something, just sense the vibrations, and he’d say: Mother, have you had your hair dyed? Well, I’m glad you’re not letting yourself go.’ ‘Well, I’ll be glad if you don’t, even if he wouldn’t be.’ ‘I expect I’ll be sensible again when I’ve got used to it all … I was thinking yesterday about that — the words, getting used to it, I mean. That’s what life is, getting used to things that are really intolerable …’ Her eyes reddened and filled, and again she determinedly blinked them clear.

A few days later Molly telephoned from a telephone box to say: ‘Anna, something very odd’s happening. Marion’s started dropping in all hours of the day to see Tommy.’