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the Companion’s room, just far enough for her to squeeze through the gap, and closed it quickly behind her. Most of the flats had three bedrooms for their usual three inhabitants, and when it had been decided that Metoo should serve Tobe in her dual role, the third room had become vacant. She was at liberty to inhabit it, as she was acting Companion, but she requisitioned Service to use it for another purpose. Masters, once housed, were never moved, their households revolving squarely around them. There was no question of them taking up residence in one of the smaller units, so Service had allowed her request.
    Metoo’s reasoning was both sound and simple. The flat had to be heated and cooled, and she would not use any extra light, because the sun provided all that she needed through the south-facing window. The room would cost nothing to run, except for her time and hard work.
    She had grown the first plants from seeds that she had saved from requisitioned fruit, putting them in saucers filled with scraps of blotting paperpro, or old cotpro socks. She was thrilled when little plants grew, and was soon producing small amounts of fruit. Gradually, over a number of weeks and months, she requisitioned more suitable receptacles and growing mediums, switching them out with her food and clothing rations, and she soon had a very viable indoor garden.
    During her second High alone with Tobe, Service had offered Metoo the use of part of the garden area that backed onto the flats. It had been intended for vehicles, when they had been privately owned, but had been returned to a more natural state in the last century. The robust, year-round planting was a natural aid to global cooling, but their seemed no reason why Metoo should not grow some of her own food, especially when it benefitted the rest of the community, both in terms of rations, and the pretty garden she had built.
    Metoo ambled around her room, which amounted to a combination potting shed and hothouse, spraying some of the larger plants, and releasing some of the germinating seeds from beneath their swathes of wadding. Not wanting to disturb Tobe, not wanting his company for a few more minutes, Metoo opened the tall window on the south side of the room, sat on its ledge, and swung her legs out, dropping gently down onto the grass on the other side. Her garden was only metres away, and she went to inspect the levels in her precious water-butts, and look at the seedlings she had already planted.
    Tobe sat at the kitchen counter in his clean robe. His hair was still a little wet, and it dripped slightly onto his neck, leaving a spreading run of water droplets down the back of his robe. He spooned the last of the eggpro into his mouth, and looked down into the empty dish.
    “It is the same,” he said.
     
     
    M ETOO LOOKED UP , suddenly. She gazed across the greensward that separated her from the flat, uncomprehending, and cast a brief glance through the garden-room window.
    She caught her breath.
    Tobe stood on the other side of the window.
    Adrenalin threatened to pump panic through Metoo as she stood among her plants, and her visual acuity was increased to the point where she could see a tiny drop of water fall from a strand of Tobe’s fringe, onto his forehead.
    “It is the same,” he said.
    Tobe turned from the window, and was gone before Metoo could reach him. She gathered her robe in one hand, and thrust one naked leg in through the window, without ceremony. She closed the garden-room door behind her, took one deep breath, and walked into the kitchen.
    Tobe stood on the other side of the counter, facing her, looking down into the empty breakfast dish that sat in the space between them. His hands were flat on the counter, and Metoo watched them for a moment. They were still. He did not seem agitated. She looked at his down-turned face, but could not catch his eye. Metoo reached across the counter and took Tobe’s face gently in her hands. He looked up at her, and