"And how did your friend Mal sound?" Miranda asked Rona, archly as if asking about someone she'd only ever heard stories about. It was her way of showing Rona that she didn't have anything invested in the gig next week; that she could take it or leave it. "Did he sound like maybe he needed a new house?" she added sarcastically.

Rona knew why Miranda was talking this way, because she felt the same way; but she suddenly saw the animosity that had started to seep between them, like water leaking into the cracks in a rock; she saw it as real as a shadow; she saw the water freeze in the cracks and split the rock. Diplomatically, desperately, she tried to change the tone of conversation: "It'll be over soon, Miranda" she said soothingly, "and we've managed so far." In her mind she knew what Miranda was feeling: that any new housemate would, in a way, be the death of Will; the death of his memory, and the final nullification of anything that had existed between him and Miranda. "You've just got to be willing" she said.

"To what? Believe?" Miranda scoffed, but she couldn't stay angry. It wasn't in her nature. To her anger was a poison: she saw all the herbs she lovingly tended through summer wilting in the winter chill and she felt that they were poisoned, that everything she touched was poisoned because of the tension between her and Rona, and the tension was created from so little. She reached out for the conciliation she heard in Rona's voice thankfully. "I'm sorry, Rona" she said. "It's been a long day at work." She wasn't ready to accept responsibility for her own tone of voice, not yet; she had to give herself and Rona an external cause. That would give them both hope.

"I know" Rona said. "I know what you mean. And hey, Mal knows people. He knows people we don't know. And they're good people, most of them. Maybe one of them needs somewhere to live. You never know!"

Miranda felt like asking Rona how she knew that Mal's people were good people, if they were people Rona didn't know; but she resisted the urge. It wouldn't do any good to ask such things. It would be poisonous.

"I think I saw half a bottle of wine in the fridge" Rona said. "What d'you say? It might be vinegar but it might still be good."

"Sure" Miranda said. "Why not. I mean that'd be nice." She smiled hopefully as she imagined the toast they'd make; as she imagined the toast that she and Rona and their new housemate would make together.