Leah couldn't find the small spanner.
She knew which drawer it should be in. Cass knew which drawer it shouldn't be in. Between them they opened both and several others, becoming steadily more indignant.
Daniel stood by the bench, sorting the things she had already found into the bag.
“Is this coming?”
“No.”
“This?”
“Yes.”
“They look the same.”
“They aren't.”
He put it in the bag.
His right arm was healing, slowly enough to make him impatient. He'd been told what to avoid, and lifting Leah's tools was one of the things he avoided by making the bag come nearer instead of moving it. The left hand had its own exercises, its own limits, familiar now without being accepted.
Cass emerged holding the spanner.
“Where?”
Leah turned.
“Where do you think?”
“In the drawer.”
“In the drawer neither of us opened because you said it wouldn't be in that drawer.”
Leah took it.
“I was wrong.”
“I want that in writing.”
Daniel smiled.
They had come to the workshop early on the morning she was leaving. Leah wanted the tools she'd lent, the ones she'd put down during a job, the few she didn't trust anyone else to pack. The yard would have equipment. That wasn't the point.
Cass went out to move a customer's boat away from the doorway. Daniel heard her calling to someone in the yard.
Leah zipped the bag.
For a while they stood without touching.
“Have you got the mug?” he asked.
“Yes.”
“Charger?”
“Yes.”
“Old gate?”
“Still a mystery.”
He laughed.
She came closer and put her hands on his shoulders, lightly enough not to hurt the new wound.
“You don't have to keep asking whether I've packed.”
“I know.”
“You can ask something else.”
He looked at her.
He wanted to ask when she was coming home. The end of February was a work date, not a promise. He wanted to ask whether coming back to Briarfield would mean coming back to their house.
“I'll miss you,” he said.
She nodded, then rested her forehead against his.
“I'll miss you too.”
The answer helped and didn't help.
At home there were bags in the hallway and a lunch he'd packed because the drive would be long enough for her to get hungry. He'd chosen food which wouldn't drip. She noticed.
“Workshop standard.”
“Yes.”
“Very professional.”
He put it with her coat.
They made one last circuit of the rooms because she kept remembering things. A book, a cable, the old jumper from the radiator. Daniel followed, then stopped following when he realised he was making her feel watched.
He waited in the kitchen.
She came down carrying the jumper.
“I want to try it,” she said.
“The job.”
“Yes. The boats. The place. Being there.”
“I'm glad.”
She looked at him.
He took a breath.
“I am. I wish you weren't going. I'm still glad.”
She put the jumper in a bag. Her own account had been taken separately; there were more questions waiting for her too. Going to the yard wouldn't leave them here with Daniel.
“I don't know what I'll want in February.”
“I know.”
“And I don't know what we'll be.”
He sat down before the leg began to shake.
She came to the table but didn't sit.
“I love you,” she said. “I haven't stopped. That hasn't made everything fit.”
“No.”
He remembered trying to explain the air in the woods, the pleasure which hadn't made anything innocent. Loving Leah didn't make him safe. Killing Silas hadn't made the house untouched.
She reached for his good hand.
“Call me,” he said.
“I will.”
“When you get there.”
“Yes.”
“And when something's good.”
She smiled.
“That too.”
He walked outside with her.
A neighbour across the road lifted a hand. Leah waved back and opened the car. Daniel wanted to help with the heavy bag. She saw the movement and gave him the lunch instead.
He put it on the passenger seat.
That was what he could carry.
They kissed beside the car. Her mouth was cold from the air. He kept the kiss brief because if he made it longer he might turn it into a request she hadn't agreed to answer.
She got in.
“Don't forget to eat,” she said.
“You've met me.”
“That's why I'm saying it.”
He smiled.
She started the engine, checked the road and pulled away.
He watched until the car went round the corner.
Then he went inside.
The house had become quiet differently. Not the frightened quiet of September, listening for somebody at the door. Not the quiet after October, when she had gone to Cass and he had waited for the phone to tell him whether she would return.
This was a person going where she'd chosen to go.
He couldn't make it less painful by being pleased for her.
In the kitchen he found the other half of the lunch on the counter. He'd made enough for himself without thinking. He unwrapped it and ate standing by the sink.
Apple, chicken, mustard.
He could taste each part.
Not as he had in the woods, not from far away, not enough to find the person who had touched the bread before it was wrapped. Only what was in his mouth.
His phone rang late in the afternoon.
Leah.
She'd found the old gate. It had turned out to be behind a new gate, which she considered unreasonable. The kettle in the room was indeed ancient. The woman showing her round had a dog which disliked everybody until they sat down.
“Have you sat down?”
“Eventually.”
“Did it like you?”
“It hasn't decided.”
He laughed.
She described the room: the bed, the small window, a view of somebody else's wall. Nothing magnificent. Enough to belong to her for a while.
“What are you doing?” she asked.
He looked at the kitchen.
“Eating.”
“Good.”
“It's the second time.”
“Show-off.”
They spoke until someone knocked at her door to take her to supper.
Daniel heard a new voice in the background, friendly, already using her name.
“I'll let you go,” he said.
“I'll call again.”
“I know.”
Afterwards he washed the plate, slowly, and put it away where she had always put it.