The speaker arrived at the wrong building.
The charity auction was in Brighton, well-funded but intended to look modest. Helen Cross had asked for warmth, no embarrassment and a microphone which worked.
The microphone worked. The speaker was two streets away, holding the first address Frankie had sent while looking at a message from Gideon. She'd corrected it three days later. He'd printed the first one.
“Get him here,” Helen said. “We can't keep everyone waiting.”
Frankie gave him the route and stayed on the line while he objected to needing it. Nina arrived with Sol and the sound equipment she'd asked them to bring. Frankie had agreed their fees before booking them; Mara hadn't been available.
Nina took in the unused lectern and the guests watching it.
“Can you welcome them yourself?” she asked Helen.
“For how long?”
“Until he gets here. They came because you asked them.”
Helen took a breath, then went to the microphone. Sol moved a cable where a coat had caught it.
The speaker complained in Frankie's ear that he'd followed her directions.
“The first ones,” she said, and nearly made that his fault. “I sent the wrong address. Turn left at the lights. I'll be at the door.”
When the speaker came through the door, Nina had already persuaded Helen to begin the welcome. He stopped, hearing applause for somebody else.
Frankie took his coat and gave him water.
“You're next.”
“I hope they haven't lost interest.”
Helen was making the room laugh. Frankie let him hear it.
The auction began.
A guest bid for a picture she later admitted she hadn't seen properly. Another wanted the number card as well as the sculpture. The speaker became funny once he'd stopped announcing how valuable his time was.
Frankie enjoyed herself.
Then Gideon called.
She saw the name. She put the phone in her pocket.
It rang again.
Nina, standing by the far wall, saw her hand move.
Frankie went to the cloakroom, shut the door and answered.
“What?”
“Celia.”
“Not now.”
“I'm asking about Friday.”
“I'll call tomorrow.”
“Your voice has changed.”
“I'm working.”
“So am I.”
There was an echo of Nina in the sentence which made Frankie close her eyes.
“Tomorrow.”
She ended the call before he could choose another subject.
Outside the cloakroom Helen stood with a guest.
Frankie knew she'd heard the name.
“Celia?” Helen asked.
“A part I'm playing for another event.”
Helen waited.
“Frankie,” she said to the guest. “Our organiser.”
The guest smiled.
Frankie smiled back.
For the rest of the evening she could feel Helen remembering the call.
Afterwards Sol helped stack the chairs while Nina checked the hours.
Frankie went to Helen.
“I'm sorry about the address.”
“Yes.”
“And the call.”
“I don't mind you answering a phone. I mind wondering which job is getting your attention.”
Frankie looked towards the room.
“Fair.”
“Your colleagues were good.”
“They are.”
“Do you usually work together?”
“Not usually.”
“You should.”
It might have been praise. It might have been a practical suggestion that Helen would remember their names next time.
Frankie accepted it as both.
“Nina Adebayo,” she said. “Sol Baines. I'll send their details if you'd like.”
“I would.”
She did it before leaving.
They helped Sol load the case. He had another job in the morning and drove away, leaving Nina and Frankie under the awning. The street was wet enough to reflect the shop lights without having been properly washed.
“Tea?” Frankie asked.
Nina rubbed her hands together. “Somewhere open?”
They found a place which had not yet decided to close. The chairs were being put onto tables at the back, but the woman behind the counter said they could sit near the window.
Frankie bought tea and a little packet of crisps because the sandwiches looked like they had been waiting for somebody else's better evening.
Nina opened the packet.
“Thank you.”
“For?”
“The job.”
“I needed you.”
“I know. That's why it was good.”
Frankie laughed.
Nina smiled, then looked at the packet.
“The festival was like that at first.”
Frankie didn't move.
“People coming because we'd asked. Things going wrong. Sol turning up with equipment he'd persuaded someone to lend us. It felt possible.”
“I remember.”
“You weren't there.”
She looked down.
“I remember the messages.”
“That's different.”
“Yes.”
Nina ate a crisp.
Frankie wanted to apologise in the sort of language which would make the failed festival fit inside this small warm place. She'd done it before: take the largest thing in a room and find a sentence which made it manageable.
“I read them,” she said instead.
Nina looked up.
“The messages.”
“All?”
“Yes.”
“And then?”
Frankie held the cup.
“I didn't reply.”
Nina nodded once.
“I wondered whether you'd read them.”
“I did.”
They sat.
The woman began wiping the counter. Outside, a bus went past almost empty.
Nina folded the packet.
“I want you to know when I choose a job.”
“I will.”
“You'll forget.”
“Probably.”
“Then I'll tell you again.”
Frankie smiled.
When they left, Nina walked towards the car park and Frankie towards her flat.
Her phone showed a message from Gideon.
Tomorrow. And use the name you like.
She could feel the threat in the choice he'd offered.
At home she opened Helen's follow-up first. A request for Nina's availability for another event.
She forwarded it without putting herself between them.