On Saturday morning Lena woke with one foot outside the blanket and a stiff line across her neck.
Tom was already dressed. He stood in the bathroom doorway with his toothbrush in his mouth, looking for something on the chest of drawers. When he saw her move, he took the brush out.
'Sorry. I was trying to be quiet.'
'It's all right.'
They had lived together for more than a year. She had never had to work out what to say to him before breakfast.
She sat up, pulling the blanket over her knees. 'What time is it?'
'Eight.'
Bea didn't need her until nine. There was an hour in which she had no reason to leave the room and no reason to stay. Tom went back into the bathroom. She folded the blanket, then unfolded it because it looked too much as if she was putting the room right for another morning.
When she came out dressed, he had put the towels in a heap and opened the window a little. Sea air moved the curtain.
'I'm getting breakfast,' he said. 'Do you want anything?'
'I'll come down.'
'You don't have to.'
'I know.'
In the restaurant, the chairs from last night's dinner had been moved back to separate tables. The weekend had resumed without them. A few wedding guests stood beside the toaster, watching the bread go round. Lena took a plate, uncertain how much food her stomach would hold.
Tom appeared beside her with two paper cups. 'I've asked if we can take it out.'
'Breakfast?'
'It's too nice to sit in here.'
Through the windows the sky was clear, with a low band of cloud over the sea. He had put two pastries and some fruit in a paper bag. She recognised the plan before he finished explaining it.
Breakfast picnics. It had started because she worked late on Saturdays and he opened early, and this was the hour they could steal. Even in winter he would wrap breakfast in a tea towel and take her to the little park behind the shop. They ate with gloves on, while dogs watched them mournfully from the ends of their leads.
'The steps down by the golf,' he said. 'We'll have time.'
She should have told him no. Instead she took the cup.
Before they reached the door, one of Owen's relatives called to them. Lena had met her last night and forgotten the name immediately, though the woman remembered hers.
'Come here. You two. I've been meaning to ask.'
Tom stopped. The woman wore earrings made from tiny blue beads and had a napkin tucked in her collar. She moved her plate to make room for them to stand close.
'We're down here for the first week of July,' she said. 'You should come. We've booked the big place we were telling you about. There's plenty of room.'
'Sounds good,' Tom said.
'Bring your bicycles. The routes are wonderful.'
'We'd love to.' He looked at Lena. 'Wouldn't we?'
The woman was smiling. A man beside her was finding a photograph of the house on his phone. Lena saw a wide green lawn, a table with chairs round it, the kind of holiday Tom would enjoy.
She nodded. 'It looks lovely.'
'I'll get your number from Owen,' the woman said. 'No excuses. We owe him a proper dinner anyway.'
Tom thanked her. Lena kept her fingers round the cup until the heat hurt. She could have corrected it. Even a gentle sentence would have done. But the napkin, the cheerful insistence, the phone held out for her to admire: she had let all of it carry her past the place where she ought to speak.
Outside, Tom walked a little ahead. At the bottom of the steps he found a spot out of the wind and set the bag between them.
'Right. Picnic rules,' he said.
'You get first choice because you carried it.'
'Incorrect. You get first choice because you always take mine if you don't like yours.'
She took the round pastry. He opened the other one, and custard slid onto the paper.
'I should have known,' he said.
Lena laughed. He glanced up, pleased, and offered her the corner which hadn't leaked. She took it. For several minutes they ate and looked at the water.
A gull landed on the wall beside them. Tom held the empty pastry bag up as a shield. The bird cocked its head.
'I've met your sort,' he told it.
'It's smaller than you.'
'It's better equipped.'
Lena threw a crust towards the sand before she thought about it. The gull dropped after it; two more arrived.
'Treachery,' Tom said.
She laughed again. He moved his coffee so she couldn't knock it over while avoiding the birds. She wanted this morning to belong to them without having to promise him any other one.
He brushed crumbs from his jeans. 'July would be nice.'
Her laugh died.
'Tom.'
'You said yes.'
'I said the house looked lovely.'
He stared at her. 'You nodded when she asked us.'
'I didn't want to explain in the restaurant.'
'You didn't have to explain. You could have said you weren't sure.'
She looked down at the coffee lid, a small drop collecting beside the opening.
'You're right. I should have.'
He set his cup on the step. 'I thought you might have slept on it. We had a good afternoon yesterday. We're having a good morning.'
'We are.'
'And I heard you about the shop. I'm not going to keep asking.'
Her throat tightened. 'My decision hasn't changed.'
The words sounded cold beside the paper bag and the sea. But everything warmer she had given him had turned into something he could use.
'So this is what we do now,' he said. 'You can laugh at my jokes and eat my breakfast, but if I think it means anything that's my mistake.'
'It means I care about you.'
He shook his head. 'Please don't do that.'
She stopped.
A couple with a dog came down the promenade towards them. Tom watched until they had passed.
'I shouldn't have said we'd go,' he said. 'I know what we agreed.'
'I shouldn't have let it stand.'
'You'll have to tell her.'
'I will.'
'Yourself, Lena.'
'I will.'
He gathered the paper bag and put the last piece of pastry inside it. They carried their cups back towards the hotel without touching.
At the restaurant window, Kit and Nia sat facing each other. Nia was leaning forward, her fork untouched beside her plate. Kit had one hand round his cup. Whatever she was saying, he was listening to it. Lena looked away before she could invent the conversation.
Tom held the outer door for her. She wanted to thank him for the breakfast, but he had asked her not to make his hurt easier with a nice sentence. She went upstairs for her scissors instead.