On Sunday morning, June woke before the alarm she had forgotten to switch off.
For a few seconds she lay still, expecting Ruby’s usual message after an evening out. It would ask whether she had got home, then tell her three things Ruby had thought of on the way. Sometimes June would reply before she sat up. Sometimes she would leave the phone on the pillow and speak into it while looking for her slippers.
Today there was nothing.
June turned off the alarm before it rang. She didn’t open Ruby’s messages to look at the last one. She got up and made breakfast.
The morning was bright. She opened the window and heard a man somewhere below explaining to somebody that a parcel had gone to the wrong door. Ordinary trouble. She liked it for belonging to people she didn’t need to rescue.
On the table were her notes from Saturday and the title the woman in red had given her. June searched for the film. It was older than she had expected, with a poster that showed a man holding an umbrella over nobody.
She looked at the picture for a long time. An invitation was trying to form before she had watched a single minute. She wrote it down, then crossed it out because she hadn’t earned an opinion yet.
She had intended to choose a comedy with a completely happy ending for the next evening. Something people could leave without defending. The suggestion from last night had a dreadful ending, apparently, and an empty space under an umbrella. She wanted to know why.
At eleven, she put the film on.
The opening was slower than she liked. She nearly stopped it. Then the woman in the story made a decision so obviously bad that June sat forward to find out how she would manage it. Half an hour later, she was laughing. Another half-hour and she had forgotten the breakfast plate beside her.
The ending was dreadful. Not badly made. Dreadful in the way the woman in red had promised: the wrong choice at exactly the moment June wanted the right one.
June said, “Oh, you idiot,” to the empty room.
She wanted to tell somebody. Ruby first, out of habit. Then Eli, who would probably have defended the man with the umbrella until June became ridiculous arguing with him.
She stayed with that want. She didn’t pick up the phone.
After a while she went back to the last scene and watched it again. She saw something she had missed: the woman knew what he was going to do before he did it. She was smiling at the beginning, waiting to find out whether he would surprise her.
June closed the film and opened her notes.
Nina sent a message while she was writing. A couple from last night had emailed to say they enjoyed themselves. Did June have a title in mind for the next one?
June sent her the suggestion and a short reply. I was going to do something happier. Now I’m interested in this. Can we see if it’s possible?
Nina answered, I’ll look on Monday.
She put the notes aside and went out for a walk. Near the hall she stopped at the revue poster. The singer’s second night was next month. June went inside while the desk was open and bought one ticket.
“Just the one?” the man asked.
“Yes.”
She folded it into her purse. It didn’t feel like an announcement. She was going to hear somebody sing.
At home, she opened the window wider and read the invitation she had begun. It needed a better first line. One sounded like Ruby. June crossed it out and read the next aloud.
She laid the revue ticket beside the page in the sunlight and tried another.