Thursday

The back room was smaller than I remembered. When I came home at the end of the placement, Rafi let me in through the passage so I could see its separate door first. Boxes occupied the wall where I wanted the workbench. The window faced a brick yard and gave more light than its narrow frame promised.

“I can move the boxes,” she said. “The light is yours to decide about.”

Felix stood beside me, hands in his pockets. I had asked him to look for faults I might miss, not to draw a studio for me. He pointed out the loose catch on the window and the mark of damp below one corner of the sill. Rafi wrote both down. The landlord would need to address the damp before I stored anything there.

“I can’t sign until we know it’s dry,” I said.

“You shouldn’t,” Rafi said. “I can…