The door into the room shared by Ivor and Ronnie was standing open. Ronnie was singing, also on a note of parody. It was a song being sung everywhere in tones of yearning, howling desire. ‘Give me what I want tonight baby, I don’t want you and me to fight baby, kiss me, squeeze me, etc.’ Ronnie, too, was mocking ‘normal’ love; and on a jeering, common, gutter level. Anna thought: Why do I assume that all this won’t touch Janet? Why do I take it for granted that children can’t be corrupted? What it amounts to is, I’m certain that my influence, the healthy female influence, is strong enough to outweigh theirs. But why should I? She turned to go downstairs. Ronnie’s voice stopped, and his head appeared around the angle of the door. It was a charming coiffured head, the head of a boyish young girl. He smiled, spitefully. He was saying, as clearly as he could, that he thought Anna had been spying on him: one of the disturbing things about Ronnie was that he always assumed that the things people said or did referred to him; and so one was always conscious of him. Anna nodded at him. She was thinking: In my home I can’t move freely because of these two. I’m on the defensive all the time, in my own flat. Ronnie now chose to conceal his malice, and came out, standing negligently, his weight on one hip. ‘Why Anna, I didn’t know you, too, were partaking of the joys of children’s hour?’ ‘I dropped up to see,’ said Anna shortly. He was now the image of winning charm. ‘Such a delightful child, your Janet,’ He had remembered that he was living here for nothing, and dependent on Anna’s good-humour. He was now the very image of — well, yes, Anna thought — a well-brought up young girl, almost lispingly correct. Very jeune fille, you are, Anna addressed him silently, giving him a smile which she intended to convey: You’re not taking me in, and don’t you think it. She went downstairs: a glance upwards, however, showed him still there, not looking at her, but staring at the wall of the stairs. His pretty, oh-so-neat little face was now haggard. With fear. Oh Christ, Anna thought; I can see what’s going to happen already — I want him out, but I’m not going to have the heart to do it, because I’m going to be sorry for him, if I’m not careful.

She went into her kitchen, and ran a glass of water, slowly; running the water to watch it splash and sparkle, to hear its cool noise. She was using the water as she had used the fruit earlier — to calm herself, to assure herself of the possibility of normality. Yet all the time she was thinking: I’m right off balance. I feel as if the atmosphere of this flat were being poisoned, as if a spirit of perverse and ugly spite were everywhere. Yet it’s nonsense. The truth is, everything I’m thinking at the moment is wrong. I can feel it is … and yet I’m saving myself by this sort of thinking. Saving myself from what? She felt ill again, and frightened, as she had on the tube. She thought: I’ve got to stop it, I simply must — though she could not have said what she had to stop. I’ll go next door, she decided, and sit down, and — she did not finish the thought, but she had a mental image of a dry well, slowly filling up with water. Yes; that’s what’s wrong with me — I’m dry. I’m empty. I’ve got to touch some source somewhere or … she opened the door of her big room and there, black against the light from the windows was a large female shape which had something menacing about it. Anna said sharply: ‘Who are you?’ and turned on the light switch; so that the figure sprang into shape and personality against the defining light. ‘Good Lord, Marion, is that you?’ Anna sounded cross. She was confused because of her mistake, and looked closely at Marion because during all the years she had known her, she had seemed a pathetic figure, but never a menacing one. And as she did so she could see herself go through a process which, it seemed to her, she was now having to make use of a hundred times a day: she straightened herself, toughened herself, became wary; and because she was so tired, because ‘the well was dry’, she set her brain on the alert, a small critical, dry machine. She could even feel that intelligence there, at work, defensive and efficient — a machine. And she thought: this intelligence, it’s the only barrier between me and — but this time she did finish it, she knew how to end the sentence. Between me and cracking up. Yes.