I folded the dress once, then again, and put it in my case.
It would crease. I knew that. I wasn't going to carry it on a hanger through the house as if I were only moving rooms.
My hands shook while I took the rest of my clothes from the wardrobe. I put them wherever they fitted. The hair clip lay on the dressing table, beside the marks from my old postcards. I picked it up and put it in the small pocket of my bag.
Then I called Ruth.
She answered on the third ring.
“Can you come and get me?” I asked.
“Now?”
“Yes.”
“All right. Have you got your things?”
“I'm packing.”
“Keep going. I'll be there soon.”
I tried to thank her, but the words stuck. She waited a second.
“You can tell me later,” she said.
I put the phone down.
Bea stood in the doorway. She hadn't come in. I hadn't heard her reach the landing.
“Ruth?” she asked.
“Yes.”
She nodded, then looked at the case.
“You can come to the flat. I'll take you. We don't have to stay here with Mum.”
I went to her and took the spare key from my pocket.
“I can't use that room,” I said.
She looked at the key but didn't lift her hand.
“It was for you.”
“I know.”
“I wanted you there.”
“I know that too.”
I held it out until she took it. The plain ring made a little sound against the ring on her finger.
“I'm not going with you,” I said.
Her fingers closed around the key. She stepped aside.
I returned to the bed and pushed down on the case. The zip caught on the sleeve of a shirt. I pulled it free, got the case shut and stood it on the floor.
Bea was still at the door.
“Do you want help?”
“No.”
She didn't ask me to let her explain again. I was grateful for that, and angry that I could still feel grateful to her.
I opened the bottom of the wardrobe. There was a box of books and small things I'd left when I moved to Ruth's. I hadn't expected to take it this week. I had thought I could always come back and sort it.
Now I lifted it onto the bed and checked what was inside. A sketchbook, two old paperbacks, a little photo frame without a photograph in it. Nothing I couldn't live without. I wanted it anyway.
Bea moved away from the door when I carried the box toward her. She went down ahead of me without touching it.
Nate stood at the foot of the stairs. He saw the case, then the box against my chest.
“Can I carry that?”
My arms were already hurting. I didn't want to prove I could manage a box.
“To the gate,” I said. “Leave it there.”
He took it carefully. Our hands didn't touch.
I went back for the case. Mother had come into the hall by the time I reached the bottom step.
“This is unnecessary,” she said.
“Ruth's coming.”
“I can see you're making arrangements.”
I pulled the case past the hall table. The handle caught against one of the empty jar boxes. I stopped, moved the box and tried again.
“You might have a little more care,” Mother said.
I kept moving.
Outside, Nate had put my box by the gate, in the shade. He stood beside it, holding his keys.
“I can take the rest,” he said.
“Ruth will have room.”
“Okay.”
He looked back at the house. Bea stood in the doorway. Mother had stayed behind her, where I could hear her but couldn't see her face.
“Would you like me to go?” he asked.
“Yes.”
He nodded, got into his car and drove away.
There was no last look through the window. I watched the car reach the corner, then sat on the low wall beside my box.
Bea came down the path. She stopped a few steps away.
“Are you going back to the coast?”
“Not now. I'm going to Ruth's.”
“Will you answer if I call?”
I rubbed my hands against my knees. There was a faint mark on my palm where I'd gripped the key.
“Not tonight.”
She nodded. “Okay.”
I wanted her to leave me alone. I wanted her to sit on the wall beside me and somehow become the person she'd been before we walked into the kitchen. Both wants hurt.
She folded her hands in front of her.
“I'll tell Mum not to call,” she said.
“You can tell her. You can't promise what she'll do.”
Bea lowered her head. “You're right.”
Ruth's car turned into the road before either of us spoke again. She pulled up, got out and opened the boot.
“Hello,” she said to Bea.
“Hi.”
Ruth picked up my box. I brought the case, and we fitted it beside a bag of potatoes she'd bought that afternoon and forgotten to take inside.
“They've been on a tour,” she said.
I almost smiled. Almost was enough for now.
Mother came to the door.
“Ruth, you aren't helping.”
Ruth shut the boot. “I'm giving Lucy a lift.”
“She needs to calm down.”
“She can do that at mine.”
Mother looked at me. “We'll discuss this when you're ready to behave reasonably.”
I got into the car.
Ruth closed my door, went around to her side and started the engine. Bea stayed by the gate with the spare key in her hand.
I looked at her once.
Then we left.