By the time they reached the sea, Lena had decided to leave Tom on Sunday for the seventh time.
There had been other dates. The Sunday after his birthday. The Wednesday when he closed the shop early. Last night, while they packed, with his socks lying beside her green dress on the bed. Each time she had found a reason why that particular day would be cruel.
Now there was Bea's wedding.
Tom lowered the passenger window. Cold air lifted the hair off Lena's neck, and the sea appeared between two houses, a sharp blue slice.
'There you go,' he said. 'Worth four hours behind a horsebox.'
'You waved at the horse every time we stopped.'
'He waved back. You were on your phone.'
She smiled. He had spent twenty minutes naming the horse and another ten supplying its complaints about the driver. She had laughed so hard at one point that he had missed a turning. It would have been easier if the journey had been awful.
The hotel stood above the promenade, cream paint, broad windows, a terrace with blue chairs turned upside down against the weather. Two men were carrying a stack of white folding chairs through the side entrance. Beyond them, a banner congratulated Bea and Owen. Tomorrow, at two, Bea would come down those steps in the dress Lena had helped her choose.
'Before we go in.' Tom put the car in park. 'I've got something to show you.'
He reached into the pocket behind his seat and brought out a folded sheet. A drop of coffee had dried at one corner. He opened it across the steering wheel with both hands, careful of the creases.
It was the front of his bicycle shop, drawn from above. Lena recognised the repair stand and the till. Beside the window he had made a space with a wide workbench, shallow drawers and a little square marked L.
'I measured it properly this time,' he said. 'You'd get the whole window. I could put the tyres on the back wall.'
Her stomach sank. The drawing was lovely. He had even included the tall stool she liked, the one with the curved wooden seat, and a separate cupboard for her paints.
'Tom.'
'It wouldn't have to be bikes all the time. You could do your cinema things in here. Posters, commissions. That travelling job isn't guaranteed to lead anywhere, is it? Whereas this—'
He tapped the square with her initial.
'Twelve weeks,' she said. 'That's all the contract is.'
'I know. I'm talking about spring. Longer term.' He glanced at her face. 'And I worked out the money. You wouldn't have to bring in half straight away.'
She had told him she wanted to keep her work at the cinema. She had told him she wanted to travel with the display company if they offered her the job. She had told him she did not want to work in the shop. Somehow they kept arriving here, at a kinder, better furnished version of the same answer.
Six weeks ago, he had taken her to look at a house ten minutes from the shop. She had stood in the spare room while he measured for her desk, and known. Not that she didn't love him. That he was building a life she did not want, and she kept helping him measure it.
'You've put so much work into this,' she said.
'Only a couple of evenings.' His thumb moved along the edge of the paper. 'It's nice, though, isn't it? You could make it look brilliant.'
'It is lovely.'
He smiled at the drawing, then at her. She felt the small, sick relief of having pleased him.
He folded it again. 'Right. Wedding.'
Sunday. They had his car, one paid room, her dress hanging in the back. Bea's other bridesmaid had pulled out a month ago and Bea had asked, with her forehead pressed against Lena's, for one weekend when nobody needed rescuing. Lena could give her that much. Two more nights, and then she would say it on the drive home, or before they left, somewhere that didn't have flowers pinned to the chairs.
Tom got out and opened the boot. She stayed a moment longer, looking at the little drawing he had slid into the door pocket.
'Captain?' he called.
It was his name for her when she navigated, though she was terrible at it. She got out.
Bea came through the hotel doors before they had reached the steps. She wore trainers and a white cardigan, with a pen stuck through her bun. She caught Lena round the waist so fiercely that Lena dropped her tote.
'You're here.'
'We said we'd come.'
'I know, but now you actually are.' Bea pulled back and inspected her. 'You look tired. Did you eat?'
'A whole service-station sandwich. I'm very resilient.'
Bea hugged Tom too, quickly, and took the garment bag from him. 'Owen's in the bar. Don't let him lift anything. He's decided marriage requires a slipped disc.'
'I've already put my back out on your shoes,' Tom said. 'What have you got in that bag?'
'Options.'
Lena followed her into the hall. It smelt of furniture polish and something frying. Guests were collecting key cards at the desk; someone had laid a silk jacket over a suitcase, and a child was trying to climb the suitcase as if it were a hill.
Bea stopped beside the staircase and lowered her voice. 'Are you all right? Properly?'
For a second Lena thought she might tell her.
Then Bea reached for the zip on the dress bag, checking that it was closed, her hands moving even while she waited. There was a red mark beside her thumbnail where she had chewed the skin.
'Just the drive,' Lena said.
'Good. You'll have a bath later. I've got the table things in the reception room. You don't have to do them immediately.'
'Which means immediately.'
'Only if you love me.'
Bea picked up Lena's tote. A cardboard corner poked out of it: place-card stands, made from the scraps of a cinema display. Lena had spent three evenings painting them, and Bea had cried when she saw the first one. There were plenty of things Lena could still do right.
They had been friends since they were nineteen. Bea had held her hair in a nightclub toilet, lent her rent money, sat beside her through a truly dreadful first attempt at selling her own work. Four years ago she had taken a shoebox full of letters Lena had written to Kit, some sent and returned, some never sent at all. Lena had asked her to keep it somewhere she couldn't fetch it on a miserable evening.
She had not thought about the box for months. Now, in a hallway full of people coming to see Bea get married, she remembered the blue lid and the elastic band she had put round it.
Owen appeared carrying three loose table legs.
Bea stared at him. 'What did I say?'
'It's not heavy. It's a small repair.'
'You have a clean shirt on.'
He looked down at the streak across his stomach, surprised to find it there. Then he kissed Bea's cheek and handed the legs to Tom, who took them without knowing what they were for.
'Hello, Lena.' Owen bent to kiss her too. 'Thank you for all the little things. They're lovely.'
'Wait till you see what I charge.'
'I probably can't afford it. I'm getting married.'
Bea laughed, and leaned against his arm for a second. Some of the tension went out of her face. Lena wanted to keep that look there.
The outer door opened behind them. Wind stirred the banner on the welcome table.
She knew Kit before she turned properly. The sound of him saying, 'Hold on, I've got it,' had lived in her kitchen once. He was letting a woman through ahead of him, one hand on the door, a black overnight bag slung over his shoulder.
He had cut his hair. That was the first useless thing Lena noticed. Short at the sides, a little untidy on top, with the pale scar above his eyebrow showing clearly.
The woman wore a rust-coloured coat and carried a soft green case. She turned to say something to him, smiling, and he dipped his head to hear her.
Lena's hand closed on the tote strap.
Bea moved first. 'Kit. You made it.'
'Only just. She drove the last bit. I was becoming a danger to the public.'
The woman looked towards Lena and Tom as Bea introduced her. Nia. Kit's date.
Lena heard herself say hello. Nia's hand was warm and her grip firm.
Then Kit looked at Lena. Really looked, past the greeting and the luggage and the people between them.
'Hi,' he said.
'Hi.'
Tom shifted the table legs into one hand so he could shake Kit's. He knew who Kit was. They had met once at Bea's birthday, back when Lena had been able to believe an ex was simply a person you had stopped seeing.
'Good journey?' Tom asked.
'Eventually.'
Owen began explaining the table legs. Nia laughed at something he said. Bea led everyone towards the bar, giving out instructions as she went.
Lena bent for her dropped bag. When she straightened, Kit was still by the door.
He waited until Tom had turned the corner.
'Can we talk for a minute?'
She looked through the glass towards the terrace. The upside-down blue chairs had begun to knock together in the wind.
'All right,' she said.