Cal arrived carrying dinner and a bag of oranges.
“You don't eat fruit unless someone peels it,” Nora said.
“That's why I brought them here.”
He put everything on the counter, took two plates from the cupboard and stopped when she came to see what he'd bought.
“Sit.”
“You sit. I can get a plate.”
“I've got them.”
“Then stop telling me.”
He turned, a plate in each hand, and gave her a long look.
“It's going to be a lovely evening.”
She laughed before she meant to. He waited for it, smiling, then went to the little table.
There was rice, chicken, vegetables in a sauce she liked and the dish she always insisted she would not order because she would only want two bites. He had ordered it. She took the lid off and the smell made her suddenly, properly hungry.
“You went to the one near the old flat.”
“I went past.”
“You didn't go past.”
“I might have.”
The journey was out of his way. She took her chair and let that be something nice he had done without forcing him to admit it.
He sat opposite. For the first few minutes they ate almost quietly. Nora had forgotten that hunger could make a room less frightening. Cal tipped more rice onto her plate, and she pushed a piece of chicken toward him because he'd been leaving the best bits for her since she came home from hospital.
“I'm not being delicate,” she said.
“I didn't say you were.”
“You're behaving as if I am.”
“You were shouting at a stranger about a hinge when I left this afternoon.”
“He wasn't a stranger. He fitted it.”
“That makes you acquainted, then.”
She smiled. “It closes properly now.”
“I know. I did it before you arrived. You were shouting at him about the one I took off.”
Nora put her fork down.
“Why didn't you tell me?”
“I was enjoying myself.”
“You're vile.”
“You apologized?”
She had, though it had cost her something. Cal laughed when she told him, delighted by the exact words she had used: I may have been looking at the earlier fitting.
“May have,” he repeated. “After he showed you the one in the bin.”
“He didn't have to be so pleased about it.”
“I'd have been pleased.”
“You were.”
They finished the chicken. Cal moved the containers out of the way and leaned back. The table remained uneven, despite the wedge beneath it. He rocked it once with his knee.
“You've moved my bit of wood.”
“It needed moving.”
“That'll be why it's worse.”
He bent to look. Nora watched the top of his head, the familiar small place where his hair changed direction. When he was sixteen she'd cut it in the kitchen because their mother had spent the money she'd left for him to get it done. He'd complained for a week. Then someone at school had liked it, and he wouldn't go to a barber until Nora refused to cut it again.
“You still owe me for the haircuts,” she said.
“You owe me for looking like that.”
“Girls liked it.”
“One girl liked it. She liked everything.”
“You weren't complaining then.”
He sat up. “She put a note through the door.”
“I remember.”
“You opened it.”
“It said Vale.”
“It had a heart on it.”
“I didn't know who was sending me hearts.”
He laughed, and Nora laughed with him, recalling the girl's elaborate instruction to meet behind the sports hall, which Nora had read aloud before realizing what it was. Cal had been furious with both of them: with the girl for using paper, with Nora for being home when he thought she was out.
“You gave it back eventually,” he said.
“I gave it back immediately.”
“After reading it.”
“After seeing you.”
“That's worse.”
There had been afternoons when he couldn't bear the sight of her because she had paid for his school things and knew whether he'd eaten. There had been evenings when he stayed awake until she came in, pretending he hadn't, because he didn't trust the house without her. Neither of them had found a name for the arrangement which didn't make the other angry.
Now he was thirty-one, asking why she hadn't eaten lunch, and she was still tempted to remind him to get a receipt for work he'd been doing longer than some of her clients had owned their houses.
She did remind him. He rolled his eyes.
“I've got it.”
“I only meant—”
“I know what you meant.”
He cleared the containers. Nora let the brief irritation pass; they had so much practice with it that it usually did.
At the sink he rinsed the plates and stacked them. She watched him wipe the counter under the orange bag. He hadn't been a tidy boy. Sometimes the grown man startled her more than his care did.
“Have the police spoken to you?” she asked.
His hand stopped, then kept going.
“At the station. With a solicitor. They cautioned me.”
Nora set her fork down. “You didn't tell me that.”
“What was I supposed to tell you while you were dealing with them?”
“What did they ask?”
“About you. The accident. Something Iris showed them.”
“What something?”
“A message I sent. I gave them a statement. They know you were alive when I sent it.”
“You sent her a message?”
“I told her to stay away.”
“And the house?”
“About where it happened.”
She waited. He folded the cloth.
“I gave them what they needed.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means I didn't say Iris smashed you through a door while we were robbing somebody.”
The bluntness took the air out of the room. Nora looked toward the apartment door, though no one was there.
“Keep your voice down.”
“Why? You asked.”
“I didn't ask you to say it like that.”
He pulled his chair back out and sat. It had been easier when he was moving.
“That's what happened.”
“I know.”
“Then we're not helping each other if you ask me the same thing and get upset when I answer.”
“I'm trying to find out what you told them.”
“The accident.”
“Which property?”
“I said I was sorting out old materials. Which I was.”
“At Wren House?”
He looked at her. “You said you hadn't been there.”
“That doesn't mean they won't work out I have.”
“No. It means that's what we need to keep straight.”
Nora drew her good hand across the table. There was a little rice caught near the edge, too small to pick up easily. She pressed her thumb on it.
“They found the blood.”
“There would be blood.”
“You said you'd dealt with things.”
“I got you off the floor. I got you to hospital.”
“I know.”
“You weren't asking about the floor then.”
It hurt because he was right. Nora remembered wanting someone to take the arm away from her, wanting whatever the people at the hospital said they could give. She had not asked what remained behind. Cal had been there when she woke enough to recognize him. She had let him tell her they were going home.
“I'm asking now,” she said.
He put his hand over hers. He didn't press or trap it. His palm was warm, a little rough near the thumb.
“I did what I could.”
The gentleness almost made her cry. She didn't want to be generous to it, but she could feel the strength he had lent her when she couldn't stand up by herself.
“What about Dominic?”
“What about him?”
“Hannah doesn't know where he is.”
“He wasn't supposed to be there.”
“I know he wasn't. I'm asking if you've heard anything.”
“No.”
“Iris might have.”
He withdrew his hand.
“Iris left you bleeding.”
“I haven't forgotten.”
“You talk as if she's someone you can ring up and ask.”
Nora had not said she would ring. Hearing him object to it made the idea more distinct.
“Why did she think I was dead?”
“Because she didn't wait to find out.”
He stood, took an orange from the bag and began to peel it over a plate. Nora watched the skin come away in strips. He pulled a stubborn piece off with his thumbnail, the movement so ordinary that she felt embarrassed by her questions.
“Mina knows she stayed here,” she said.
“Mina knows plenty.”
“She won't say otherwise.”
“Then tell them you remembered. Tell them you were scared. That's true, isn't it?”
“Yes.”
“We don't have to make everything worse at once.”
He divided the orange and put half on her plate. Nora took a segment.
“The woman this morning liked the cabinet,” she said.
Cal glanced at her, accepting the change with relief she could see.
“She's going to order one.”
“You don't know that.”
“I saw her face.”
“People look at things. They don't always buy them.”
“She'll buy it.”
Nora wanted him to be right about something. She let the police stay outside the room for the rest of the meal.
Before leaving, he put the orange skins in the bin, checked whether she needed anything from the shop and took the rubbish down. She stood in the doorway while he made sure she would turn the lock.
“We'll get there,” he said.
She knew he meant the showroom. She also knew he wanted the sentence to cover everything.
“Ring when you get home.”
He smiled. “Yes, Mum.”
She made a face at him. He went down laughing, and she shut the door with the sound still coming up the stairs.
At the table, the plate of orange remained. He had left three segments for her and eaten the smallest himself. Nora sat down and ate them, one after another, taking care not to let the juice run onto her dressing.