She looked across at him through the fern on the table, through its tiny green leaves. They sat in the small room with its white walls, lit up by the sunlight and his skin looked more coloured, more a definite colour, against the white. In his own room, with its old, pink peeling walls and dark corners, he harmonised much more. That quality, of something intense, understated, she liked in him and also in his room. And his room had been the main setting of their closeness so far.

In the evening, she sat in the small white room with Steven, another resident. This was, in fact, Steven’s room. The sky was very luminous, it reminded her of that rich blue cloth with crescent moons and stars. The window was a sky light or clerestory and only the sky was visible. She talked about her feelings of homelessness. Steven asked her what she thought were the differences between men and women.

She had been waiting, before she moved or took a step in any direction, for something, anything, to become clear, to manifest itself with certainty. But nothing ever did and she had taken steps anyway, even if the original reasons, perhaps certain at the time, had later collapsed. In conversation, the same kind of thing kept coming up.

Steven suggested they go for a walk, they were both feeling disturbed and it was one o’clock in the morning. They took the most obvious route to the water, down the main streets, rather than through the lanes and rough tracks. Soapy water was running in the gutters. They leant against the pipe and wire fence looking at the water. There was a row of lights at regular intervals on the opposite shore, reflected in the water. Steven pointed out that some of the reflections had detached ends whilst others were continuous along their length. The reflections rippled and wavered and were absorbing to watch like fires are and for the same reasons. They stood there for a long while. Steven had his own troubles and she couldn’t get that idea out of her head, the one written in the back of a book, a quote from Jane Austen ‘. . but do not faint.’.

They walked through the dark hallway and found Steven’s girlfriend listening to loud music in the dining room. The two women danced and danced, jiving, spinning round and round, drinking scotch.

She went upstairs, leaving Steven and his girlfriend talking quietly, knee to knee. The pink room was dark except for the street light shining in through the balcony doors. You could hardly see out because the light seemed to get caught up in the mosquito wire in front of the glass. She lay down next to him in bed and put her arm around his chest. She felt faint, why don’t you give me a home, she thought. She felt sick, she sat up. He helped her into the bathroom.

They lay in bed, looking at the sunrise. The sky was full of pink clouds above the convent. They talked about some of the paintings in the exhibition, – the gentle Vulliard interior with its brushstrokes which were strokes of light, hovering on a brownish ground. It grew warmer and she felt like going for a walk. He opened the balcony doors and they went to sleep.

The sun beat down on their backs as they sat on the marble slab table in the garden, their feet in the grass, cold and wet. She sat, looking over his shoulder at the paper, eating a piece of toast. The headlines – Govt puts case for higher profits. Next door, the clattering voices of the old Hungarian brother and sister. The brother stood on a box and stared at them over the fence, just stared without speaking and then got down again. She walked to the shops to get some cigarettes, as though she were leaving her own house. Leaving her things in the house, just taking her purse. Leaving her shoes in the house and going barefoot. She sat alone on the balcony, reading.

She felt dreamy and the time passed so pleasantly.