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children off to school. She was not tired, for she was only eighteen ; but in ten years′ time she would look forty.
    The new baby was her mother′s sixth, not counting the one that died and some miscarriages. Did the old man not know about birth control, she wondered, or didn′t he care? If he was my husband I′d make bloody sure he knew.
    Gary knew all about taking precautions, but Anita wouldn′t let him have it, not yet. Sammy thought she was old-fashioned, making a fellow wait. Perhaps she was, but she found it wasn′t half so nice unless you really liked each other. Sammy talked a lot of nonsense, anyway.
    Sammy′s place was a terraced house with a basement, old but quite nicely done up. Quite a lot of wealthy people had renovated old houses in this part of Islington, and the area was becoming quite posh. Anita let herself in by the front door and closed it softly behind her.
    She looked at her reflection in the hall mirror. There had been no time to put on makeup today, but her round, pink face looked well without it. She never used much, unless she was going up West, of a Saturday night.
    The mirror had an ad for ale engraved in the glass, like something in a Pentonville Road pub. It meant you could never see the whole of your face in it, but Sammy said it was Art Deco. More nonsense.
    She looked into the kitchen first. There were some dirty dishes on the breakfast bar, and a few bottles on the floor, but nothing much. Last night had not been a party night, thank God.
    She stepped out of her street shoes, took a pair of moccasins from her tote bag, and slipped them on. Then she went down to the basement.
    The wide, low-ceilinged living room took up the whole depth of the house. It was Anita′s favorite room. Narrow windows high in the walls at front and back let in a little light, but most of the illumination came from a battery of spotlights trained on posters, small pieces of abstract sculpture, and vases of flowers. Expensive scatter rugs covered much of the block floor, and the room was furnished out of Habitat
    Anita opened a window and tidied up quickly. She emptied ashtrays into a bin, shook the creases out of cushions, and got rid of some flowers which were past their best. She picked up two glasses from the chrome occasional table; one smelled of whisky. Samantha drank vodka. Anita wondered whether the man was still here.
    She went back to the kitchen and pondered whether she had time to wash up before waking Sammy. No, she decided; Sammy had an appointment later in the morning. Still, she could probably clear the kitchen while Sammy was drinking her tea. She put the kettle on.
     
    The girl entered the bedroom and pulled back the curtains, letting the sun pour through like water from a bursting dam. The bright light woke Samantha instantly. She lay still for a moment, waiting for the last few cobwebs of sleep to dissolve in the awareness of a new day. Then she sat up and smiled at the girl.
    ″Good morning, Anita.″
    ″Morning, Sammy.″ The girl handed Samantha a cup of tea and sat down on the edge of the bed while she sipped it. Anita′s accent had the broad twang of a cockney teenager, and her bustling, motherly manner about the house made her seem older than she was.
    ″I′ ve tidied downstairs and done the dusting,″ she said. ″I thought I′d leave the washing until later. Are you going out?″
    ʺMmm.ʺSamantha finished her tea and put the cup down beside the bed. ″I′ve got a script conference.″ She threw the bedclothes aside and got up, crossing the room to the bathroom. She got under the shower and washed herself quickly.
    When she came out Anita was making the bed. ″I got that script out for you,″ she said. ″The one you was reading the other night.″
    ″Oh, thanks,″ Samantha said gratefully. ″I was wondering what I′d done with it.″ With the huge bath towel wrapped around her, she went to the desk at the window and looked at the volume. ″Yes, that′s the one.