Bea was sitting on the floor of the reception room in her dressing gown, trying to cut ribbon with nail scissors.
'Why didn't you call me?' Lena asked.
'I did. In my head.'
Lena put her own scissors beside her. Bea snatched them up, relieved, and cut a length cleanly.
The tables had been laid overnight. Glasses caught the morning light. Someone had ironed the cloths, making the rough shapes they'd left yesterday look deliberate. Lena walked down the room, straightening a place card here, lifting a paper leaf there.
'I told you they'd do it right.'
'Mostly right.' Bea picked a thread off her dressing gown. 'I've lost the extra clips.'
'They're in the blue box.'
'They're not.'
Lena went to the blue box, moved a packet of candles and found the clips. She held them up. Bea looked so grateful that she couldn't enjoy being right.
'You're good at this,' Bea said.
'I'm good at finding things you put down.'
'Also important.'
They fixed the leaves along the top table. Bea stood on a chair this time, while Lena passed them up. The ribbons had curled in their bags; she ran the scissors lightly along them to make it look intentional.
'Tom said you'd had an argument,' Bea said.
Lena pressed a clip shut. 'We have things to talk about.'
'Can I help?'
'No.'
Bea glanced down, surprised by the speed of it.
'Sorry,' Lena said. 'I just want to finish this.'
'All right.'
She climbed down. Her feet were bare, the toenails painted a soft pink. Lena remembered sitting with her on the floor of their old flat painting one another's nails because neither could afford a proper appointment. Bea had put a little gold star on Lena's big toe and been very proud of it.
When the top table was finished, Lena stepped back to see it from the doorway. Bea joined her. For a moment they stood shoulder to shoulder without needing anything from each other.
'We did well,' Bea said.
'You picked the colours.'
'You made them look like colours people ought to have picked.'
Lena smiled. With Kit here, she wanted the letters back in her own keeping. Bea's phone buzzed on a nearby table, but before she moved to answer it, Lena touched her arm.
'That box you kept for me. With the letters.'
Bea looked at her.
'Could I have it back? After the weekend. Not today.'
'Why?'
'It's mine. I think I should have it.'
Bea pulled the dressing-gown belt tighter. 'Yes. Of course. It's packed away at home.'
'Still in the shoebox?'
'Yes.'
'Good. There's no rush.'
Bea's phone buzzed again. She looked at the screen, and her face lost the softness it had had a second before.
'What is it?' Lena asked.
'The present. Owen's book. It's coming earlier than he thought.'
'Isn't that good?'
'Yes. I just need to check where they're bringing it.' She typed with both thumbs, then stopped and rubbed at an error with her fingertip. 'Could you get more of those little clips? We've got nothing left for the outside bit.'
Lena looked towards the glass doors. There were six short strings of paper leaves ready to go above them. No clips in the box.
'The hardware shop should have them,' Bea said. 'We could use clear ones. Or wire. Ask them. You know what I mean.'
'I've got to get changed.'
'It's only ten. We've got ages. If you do that, I'll sort the delivery.'
Lena took the packet so she could show the shop what they needed. It was a small errand. Bea had a hundred things to do and this was one Lena could actually complete. She also did not want to go upstairs and find Tom waiting for another conversation about July.
'I'll go now,' she said.
Bea had already started typing again. 'You're wonderful.'
In the lobby, Kit was crouched beside his open bag. He held a pair of shoes and looked as if he was trying to solve something with them.
'Trouble?' Lena asked before she could stop herself.
'Sand. I've brought most of the beach inside.'
He tipped a shoe over the bin. A faint stream fell out.
'Where's Nia?'
'Getting ready. She takes less time than I do, apparently. We're testing that.'
Lena held up the empty clip packet. 'I'm going to the hardware shop.'
'I need a walk.' He got up. 'I'll come.'
She should have left before he put his shoes back on. Instead she waited while he fastened them, standing close enough to see the parting in his hair.
'Tom still winning at golf?'
'By one. Which he'll be putting on his gravestone.'
Kit smiled, then looked at her properly. 'You all right?'
She wanted to give him the truth. Not the neat version which would make everything between them simple.
'I broke up with Tom last night.'
His smile went. 'Oh.'
'We're keeping it private until after the wedding. Unless someone asks. So please don't—'
'I won't.'
He opened the door. She went through, glad to have said it and frightened by how different the sunlight felt on the other side.