On Friday, the night before the wedding that wasn't happening, Lena bought dinner for one.
She stood in the shop holding a small packet of pasta, put it back and picked up a larger one because buying too little felt like making an announcement. Then she laughed at herself quietly enough that nobody looked.
At home she put the shopping on the table. The blue bowl was still there. She had used it every day since Daniel left, sometimes for fruit, sometimes for nothing.
She hadn't become good at the flat being quiet. Some evenings she enjoyed it. Some evenings she left the radio on in the kitchen and went into the bedroom because hearing voices through a door felt less lonely than sitting beside them.
Tonight she wanted to know what it sounded like without help.
She cooked pasta with tomatoes and too much garlic, because Daniel used to ask for less and she had always compromised without minding. She was glad of the garlic and then unexpectedly sad that he wasn't here to complain about it.
She ate by the window. Downstairs, people were beginning their Friday nights. A woman in a bright dress crossed the road holding her shoes. Two men argued cheerfully about where to eat.
Lena had thought this evening would be full of people helping her get ready. Bea arranging flowers. Jo telling her to stop touching the dress. Daniel somewhere nearby, seeing her before the wedding because she had never believed in pretending they hadn't shared a home.
She could almost hear the noise.
She put her fork down.
The crying came without a speech attached to it. She cried over the plate, irritated at herself when tears reached the food. Then she carried it to the sink, washed it and stood there gripping the counter until her breathing became ordinary again.
She didn't want Daniel back. She wanted the week before she knew, and the woman she had been when she still believed the wanting was mutual. She couldn't call either of them.
Her phone was on the shelf. She picked it up, opened Nate's name and stared at the empty message box.
He would probably answer. He would want to. That was what made calling dangerous in a way she couldn't blame him for.
She wrote, Did you find the blue mug?
He replied after ten minutes.
Yes. Back of the cupboard. Still chipped underneath.
She remembered making the chip. She had put it down too hard on a campsite stone because they couldn't find the tin opener. Nate had laughed until she threw a sock at him.
I did that, she wrote.
I know. I've never blamed the cupboard.
She smiled.
Then she wrote, I'm having a bad night. I don't need you to come. I wanted to say it without turning it into something else.
She set the phone down before his reply came.
When it did, it was brief.
I'm sorry. I'm here for a bit if you want company on the phone. Mug can go in the post Tuesday.
She thought about the offered call. She could accept a little company without making it a rescue. She could also leave the offer where it was and find out what she wanted to do with this hour.
Thank you. Not tonight. Send me a picture of the mug tomorrow?
He said yes.
She turned the phone face down.
In the small room the drawing lamp made a bright circle on the desk. Lena sat and opened the green notebook. She drew the blue bowl badly. It looked lopsided, as though it had a secret wish to fall over.
She tried again. The second version was worse.
After a while she began drawing the window instead, leaving the bowl in one corner rather than making it the whole page. She liked that version enough to keep going.
At ten Bea called to ask whether Lena wanted to meet by the harbour in the morning.
“Not for a special sad breakfast,” Lena said.
“Normal breakfast. We can be sad over toast like everybody else.”
Lena laughed. “All right.”
“Jo says she can get away later. If you want.”
“Yes.”
They agreed on a time. Bea didn't tell her tomorrow would be good. Lena didn't need that promise.
Before bed she took the dress bag from the spare hook in the hallway. Bea had helped her bring it home two days earlier. Lena hadn't opened it. She wasn't going to do that tonight.
She put it in the wardrobe, where it could remain a dress rather than a person watching her walk past.
Then she got into bed on her own side. She could have spread out. She didn't have to prove she enjoyed the space yet.
The window was open. She listened to the town until she slept.