On Sunday Tom left while Lena was still putting her shoes on.
He had packed quietly, not to keep her asleep—she was sitting on the sofa—but because there was nothing useful left to say over the sound of a zip. He stood by the door with the holdall in one hand and his jacket over the other arm.
'Thursday. After six,' he said.
'Yes.'
'I've got my keys.'
She nodded. The keys to her flat were on the same ring as the car keys. He'd added them a little over a year ago, when his own tenancy ended and he came to stay properly. She remembered making room for his shoes. It had felt easy then.
'I'll text before I come,' he said.
He left without kissing her. She listened to the lift, then to nothing.
She could have watched from the window. She didn't. She packed her bag and went downstairs.
Bea was already in the reception room. The tables had been cleared, the cloths stripped off. All the things Lena had placed so carefully lay in little piles: card stands, ribbons, leaves. A vacuum cleaner hummed at the far end of the room.
'I've put yours here,' Bea said.
There was a box on a chair. Half the stands had been dropped in without care. Lena took them out and nested them together, painted sides facing inward.
'People have taken some,' Bea said. 'I told them they could. Before I remembered.'
'It's all right.'
'I can ask for them back.'
'No. It's all right.'
They packed in silence for a while. The green ribbon made a surprisingly big knot when it came off the chairs. Lena wound it round a piece of cardboard so it could be used again. Bea tipped unused candles into a bag.
Owen came in with a notebook and two cups of coffee. He put one beside Bea without asking whether she wanted it.
'I'll call the band tomorrow,' he said. 'We've still got to settle the balance. Can you do the photographer?'
She nodded.
'The hotel have put everything on the room account. I'm going to look through it before I go.'
'We paid most of it already.'
'I know. There are drinks from yesterday.'
Bea sat down heavily. 'I'll look with you.'
He hesitated, then put the notebook between them. Lena kept her eyes on the ribbon. There was no argument in their voices now, only the strain of completing something neither wanted to own. She didn't offer to call anyone for them.
After a few minutes Owen shut the notebook.
'I'll be at the flat on Tuesday. For the tools and some clothes.'
'I'll be at work.'
'If you can leave the case by the door.'
'I can do that.'
He got up. Bea didn't follow him. He took his empty cup into the corridor, and the vacuum cleaner started again.
Lena tied the ribbon spool with a loose end. Bea watched.
'Where's Tom?'
'Gone.'
'Kit too?'
'I haven't seen him.'
'Right.'
There was a question inside the word, but Bea didn't ask it. Lena didn't answer the one she guessed.
By ten the boxes were packed. The unused flowers had been put in a bucket; Bea couldn't fit them in her car with everything else. She would leave them with the hotel until she could collect the last things. Lena put her box of stands and scissors beside her bag in the lobby.
The woman from breakfast was there, checking out with her husband. The earrings were silver today. Lena had learned the woman's name from a card on the table, then forgotten it again. She felt awful about having to begin without it.
'Could I have a quick word?' she asked.
The woman turned at once. 'Of course. How are they?'
'They're sorting things out. Separately.'
'Poor things. Terrible shock.'
Lena nodded. 'It's about the July invitation. I need to say we won't be coming. Tom and I have split up.'
The woman's face changed. She looked towards her husband, then back.
'Oh, love.'
Lena's cheeks grew hot.
'I'm sorry we said yes yesterday. We already knew. I didn't want to explain in the restaurant.'
'Well. You hardly had to.'
'I should have said we weren't sure.'
The woman reached for her bag strap, giving her something to do while she chose an answer.
'I'll tell Owen not to send your number, then,' she said.
'Thank you.'
'You could still come yourself.'
Lena smiled, touched by the offer and unable to accept any more kindness she might later have to unpick.
'Thank you. I won't this time.'
The woman nodded. Her husband lifted a suitcase off the luggage trolley, and the invitation ended there. Lena stood a moment longer, not knowing whether she'd made it worse or merely finished it.
Bea came out of the reception room carrying her coat.
'I need to leave the flowers here,' she said. 'Can you tell them?'
Lena looked at the desk, two steps away.
'You can tell them. They're right there.'
Bea's mouth tightened. Then she went to the receptionist herself.
Lena took her box to the sheltered bench outside. She had forty minutes before her taxi to the station. The book she'd packed was in her tote. She could read, but the words meant nothing. She put it away and watched the tide draw back from the stones.
Kit came down the steps with his bag over his shoulder. He saw her on the bench and stopped.
'Need a hand with that?'
'No. Thank you.'
He glanced at the cardboard box. 'You'll have an interesting train journey.'
'I make displays. People expect me to be covered in cardboard.'
He smiled. Then he looked up at the hotel, the banner being taken down inside the glass.
'Next Sunday,' he said.
'Seven.'
He nodded. She didn't get up to hug him. He didn't lean down to kiss her. For once neither of them tried to improve the moment by making it mean more.
Her taxi arrived after he had driven away. The driver put the box in the boot, and Lena climbed into the back seat alone.
At the station she bought a sandwich and carried it onto the train. The seat beside her stayed empty. She put her bag there, then moved it to the floor in case anyone needed to sit down. Home was four hours away, and when she got there she would have to unlock the door herself.