Appointment with Yesterday by Celia Fremlin

she tried again: “Well, I suppose.”
    “Yes,” said Milly.
    It still wasn’t clear who had won: but all the same, they couldn’t go on standing here in the hallway for ever: so after a bit, Mrs Mumford led the way upstairs, explaining, from long habit, that no one was allowed to run a bath after eleven p.m. because of the cistern. Only after she had completed this little admonition did she realise that every word of it had been insiduously strengthening Milly’s hitherto tenuous claim on the tenancy.
    “And of course, no late visitors!” she snapped, hitting out at random now, as she felt the initiative slipping from her grasp: and “No, of course not,” said Milly heartily. “I say, what a gorgeous room!”
    Nothing in her twelve years of landladyhood had prepared Mrs Mumford for this sort of reaction to her First Floor Back, Business Lady or Gentleman Only: and for a moment she stopped dead in the open doorway, staring first at Milly and then at the room, as if wondering who it was who was going mad. She couldn’t, of course, guess that the dingy little carpetless room was irradiated with the primeval, almost-forgotten glory of having four walls, and a roof strong enough to keep out the rain and the savage winter wind: nor that the narrow lumpy bed with its old-fashionedwhite counterpane was holding out the promise of that most voluptuous of all human joys: lying down in safety, with blankets.
    “Oh, I’m going to be so happy here!” cried Milly, feasting her eyes on the four solid walls holding up so marvellously against the sleet, and snow, and the bitter wind from the sea. The heartfelt sincerity in her voice seemed to bewilder her prospective landlady. After all these years in the business, Mrs Mumford knew well enough when she was being “got round”. She could have taken her PhD any time, in i dentifying “soft soap” and “flannel”, and all the other rent-postponing tricks that the wit of tenants could devise. But this sincere and unqualified admiration for one of her ugliest and most over-priced rooms was something that she could not place.
    If you can’t place it, it’s dangerous. She watched Milly’s incomprehensible enthusiasm through narrowed eyes. It was unnatural. And suspicious. And heart-warming.
    “Yes, it’s a nice little room, isn’t it?” she found herself saying, proudly. “And if you look at those curtains, Mrs Barnes, you’ll find they’re lined. Properly lined. I had them done professionally, I don’t believe in stinting, not where my tenants’ comfort is concerned….”
    Was it those lined curtains that decided the issue in the end? Neither Milly nor Mrs Mumford could have put their finger on it, but by the time Milly had obediently examined the said linings, stroked them with her forefinger, and agreed about the superior quality of the material, not like the rubbish they sell you these days—by this time, the whole argument was plainly over. Milly was here to stay. Both of them knew it. Milly had won.
    Aggrieved, and not a little bewildered at this turn of events, Mrs Mumford looked uneasily around for some small way of punishing Milly for whatever it was she had done to thus worm her way into the establishment. She expected co-operation from her tenants, she told Milly sharply: and she hoped Milly hadn’t brought a radio? They caused a lot oftrouble radios did, and she, Mrs Mumford, had always been one for avoiding trouble. Did Milly quite understand?
    Having thus re-established her ascendancy, Mrs Mumford took her leave, and Milly was left in undisputed possession of the small cold room, with its bare electric-light bulb and the pale damp winding its slow tides among the brown criss-cross pattern of the wall-paper.
    Victory! At last! The sense of victory was like a fever, and Milly was aware neither of cold nor of hunger as she pulled off her blouse and skirt and slid between the icy sheets. And as she lay there, in the darkness, she felt as an athlete must