On Monday, Mary went to the hall to see June and found herself sorting a cupboard with Tessa instead. June had gone to collect something nobody else could collect, which was how most of her mornings began.
Tessa had a netball bag beside her feet and a roll of tape held between her knees. She was labelling shelves. Mary had been asked to find the extension leads, a task that required removing almost everything else first.
“June says you've got news,” Tessa said.
Mary put down a box of tangled cables and held out her left hand.
“Oh.” Tessa stopped unwinding the tape. “Congratulations.”
“Thank you.”
“Who is he?”
“Adam. The sign painter.”
Tessa looked at the ring, then at Mary.
“Our Adam?”
Mary didn't particularly like our.
“Unless there's another one.”
“Sorry. I didn't know you were together.”
“It's quite new.”
Tessa pressed the loose tape onto a shelf. “I was with him for a couple of years.”
Mary stood holding an extension lead. She hadn't known. She had seen Tessa around the hall, liked her direct way of talking to people, and somehow imagined her life would remain separate from Mary's.
“Right,” she said.
“We split up two years ago. I'm not about to make a scene in a cupboard.”
Mary looked down at the cables and laughed despite herself.
“I wasn't expecting a scene.”
“You looked a bit prepared.”
It was true. Mary hadn't thought she would be jealous of a woman who had stopped seeing Adam before Mary moved home. Yet she disliked learning that Tessa knew him in ways she didn't. It felt as though she'd arrived excited at a place other people had already visited.
Tessa peeled another piece of tape away.
“He's good company,” she said. “I'd be lying if I said otherwise. He once came to pick me up from a match in such dreadful weather I couldn't see the car park. He'd brought dry clothes because I always forgot.”
Mary could picture it. She liked him for doing it and wished she hadn't been given the picture.
“Was it serious?” she asked.
“I thought so. We were together more than two years. But we never got much further than weekends and spare clothes.”
“You didn't live together?”
“No. I asked. More than once. He'd talk about it, and then there'd be a reason it wasn't the right time.” Tessa smoothed the label with her thumb. “Marriage was a conversation he didn't much enjoy.”
Mary touched the ring with her other hand.
“People do change,” Tessa said. “I don't know him with you.”
That was sensible. Mary resented needing it said.
“How did it end?”
“We agreed we wanted different things. It wasn't an exciting ending, if that's what you're hoping.”
“I'm really not.”
Tessa looked at her properly. “Good. I hope you're happy.”
Then June came back carrying a box that needed its own shelf, and the conversation ended. Mary found the extension leads. She stayed for a cup of tea with her friend and told her about the proposal, leaving Tessa's history alone for the moment.
By Friday she had almost persuaded herself it was encouraging. He hadn't wanted to marry Tessa. He wanted to marry Mary. That didn't have to be insulting to anyone.
Then she went to the florist.
She had made an appointment to talk about possibilities, without committing to a date or a booking. Nina had asked what kind of wedding she wanted, and Mary had said small, cheerful and preferably not a forest someone would have to dismantle afterwards.
Nina spread a selection of photographs across the counter. The shop smelled of cut stems and damp leaves. Mary liked a loose arrangement in cream and yellow.
“Do you know roughly when?” Nina asked.
“We're talking about it.”
“And your partner has opinions?”
“Adam says he'll survive whatever I choose.”
Nina's hand stopped over a photograph.
“Adam who?”
Mary named his work. She was beginning to dislike the look people gave her after she did that.
Nina set the photograph down.
“I went out with him,” she said.
Mary didn't answer immediately.
“Quite recently. I finished it at the end of March.”
The end of March was just before Mary had met him. She had known he might have a recent relationship. Hearing it from the woman, standing opposite her, was different.
“Are you telling me because we shouldn't do this?” Mary asked, gesturing at the flowers.
“I'm telling you because I think you should know.”
“Know what?”
Nina folded her arms. “He wanted us to be serious almost immediately. Within a few weeks he was talking about keeping things at mine, how often we should be together. When I said I liked having some nights to myself, it became about whether I cared enough.”
Mary looked at the photograph she'd chosen. A moment ago she'd been imagining carrying those flowers.
“What did he say?”
“That if I wanted him, I wouldn't make him feel like he was asking too much just by wanting to see me.” Nina's face flushed. “I was seeing him. I didn't want him deciding what every evening meant.”
“So you ended it.”
“Yes.”
Mary wanted to object that he had told her she could take time to answer the proposal. That he had stayed warm when she'd said no to looking at her designs. Those were real things. They didn't make Nina's account impossible.
“Thank you for telling me,” she said, though she wasn't sure she meant it yet.
Nina looked towards the workroom behind the shop.
“There's something else. I was at the hall before you met. He asked June to put him with you.”
“What?”
The bell above the door rang. A customer came in carrying an order slip, and Nina stepped back.
“I'm sorry. I have to deal with this.”
Mary put the photographs in a pile. Nina gave her a card and asked if she wanted to come back tomorrow, when it would be quieter. Mary said she did.
She didn't choose the flowers.
That evening, Adam came to her flat. She asked him to sit down before he took his jacket off.
“I've met Tessa,” she said. “And Nina.”
He looked at her for a moment, then put his jacket over the back of the chair.
“Okay.”
“They told me completely different things.”
“About me?”
“Tessa said you didn't want to live together. You didn't want to talk about marriage. Nina said she couldn't get you to slow down.”
He sat opposite her. “I didn't want to marry Tessa.”
“She wanted something with you.”
“I know.”
“And Nina?”
He rubbed the side of his face. “I rushed it.”
Mary waited.
“There was someone between them. It ended in January. I wanted it to work, and it didn't.”
“Who was she?”
He rubbed his palms against his trousers. “I don't want to give you her name.”
Mary stared at him. “Why?”
“I don't want this to turn into a conversation with her about me.”
“I haven't said I'd call her.”
“I know.”
He wasn't answering. He was telling her what he would allow her to know. She looked at the jacket he'd put over the chair and wished she hadn't been looking forward to his arrival.
“Then don't make her your explanation,” she said. “Tell me about what you did. When did you meet Nina?”
“In February.”
“And wanted her to move in?”
“Not straight away. But I wanted to know she wanted me there. I kept asking for more, because what she'd already said never seemed to be enough.”
“She says you made her feel bad for wanting time on her own.”
He looked down. “I did.”
Mary hadn't expected him to admit that so plainly. It made it harder to keep the angry answer she'd prepared.
“And now you're asking me to marry you.”
“Because I want to marry you.”
“That can't explain everything.”
“No.” He leaned forward, hands together. “I was frightened of being rejected again. With Nina. That wasn't fair to her.”
“How do I know this is different?”
He looked at her hands, then back at her face. “You can't know it because I say so.”
She was glad of that answer and annoyed by how little it settled.
She told him she was going back to see Nina. His mouth tightened, but he nodded.
“There's something she said about how we met,” Mary added. “I'm going to hear it properly.”
“All right.”
He came towards her at the door, ready to kiss her. Mary shook her head.
“Not tonight.”
He stopped. She wanted to put her arms round him, but she didn't want to step out of the conversation as though he'd answered everything she asked. She opened the door and let him leave.
Afterwards she put Nina's card on the kitchen table, where she would see it in the morning.