They served the food at three.
Some guests had left. The others sat where they could, not where the cards told them. A child moved two stands together to make a bridge for a spoon. Lena watched until his mother took the spoon away.
She had changed out of her shoes but kept the dress on. Upstairs Tom's jacket had been laid across the bed. He wasn't there. She had stood in the room long enough to realise that she no longer knew whether she should wait for him.
Now he was at a table near the windows, with two of Owen's friends. They had been talking about bicycles when Lena came in. She heard Tom answer a question, then the conversation dwindled as somebody looked towards the top table.
Owen sat at the end of it alone. He had been joined for a while by the man who'd come from Leeds. Bea was at the other end with her father. No one was pretending they were a couple at a wedding breakfast, but no one quite knew what to call the meal.
A waiter offered Lena chicken or fish.
'Fish, please.'
She had ordered chicken weeks ago. The waiter put fish in front of her, grateful for a simple answer.
Kit sat a few chairs away. He looked at her, then at the place beside him. She pretended not to understand the invitation and sat at Tom's table instead. There was an empty chair there. It didn't have to mean anything.
Tom moved his glass to make room.
'Have you eaten?' he asked.
'Not since breakfast.'
'You'd better.'
One of Owen's friends started talking again about a steep hill he'd cycled up. Tom asked where it was. Lena listened, trying to be a person at a table having lunch.
When the plates were half empty, Bea came over. She'd changed into the white shirt and dark trousers, but her hair remained in the careful pinned shape. With the dress gone she looked unfinished.
'The photographer wants to know if anyone still wants pictures,' she said.
No one answered immediately.
'We paid for the whole afternoon. There's no point wasting all of it.'
Tom put his fork down.
Bea looked at him, then at Lena. 'You could have one by the sea. Both of you. It's a nice day.'
'No,' Lena said.
'Why not? You don't have to look so—' Bea stopped, swallowing whatever she had been about to say. 'It's only a photograph.'
Tom pushed his chair back a little.
'We broke up last night,' he said. 'She asked me not to tell people.'
The table went still. Someone across the aisle turned.
Bea looked at Lena. 'You what?'
'We broke up,' Lena said. 'I ended it. We agreed to keep it private for today.'
Tom stared at the tablecloth. 'Yes. We did agree.'
Lena had not wanted him to take the blame for saying it. She had also not wanted the answer moving across a table where she'd been trying to eat a piece of fish. Her body was slow to catch up; the fork stayed in her hand.
'So you can keep your own things quiet,' Bea said.
Lena set the fork down.
'Bea, not here.'
'Of course not here. Not your things.'
People were looking now. Bea noticed too. She stepped back from the table, breathing through her nose.
'I'll tell the photographer,' she said, and went away.
One of the men beside Tom looked at his plate, then made a determined attempt to restart the bicycle conversation. Tom let him. He supplied the name of a spare part, and for a few seconds everything was almost ordinary.
Then Lena stood.
'I need to speak to her.'
Tom nodded. He didn't ask her to stay.
Bea had gone to the bar. She sat at a small table with a glass of water and a plate she'd scarcely touched. Her father was elsewhere, talking to Owen with both hands raised in a helpless gesture. Kit crossed the room towards Lena, but she shook her head before he reached her.
He stopped. 'You could come out for a bit.'
'I need to sit with Bea.'
'All right.'
He moved away. She went to the little table.
Bea looked up. 'What?'
'Can I sit?'
'You seem to be doing what you want today.'
Lena sat on the edge of the chair. There was a damp ring beneath Bea's glass. She resisted the impulse to put a coaster under it.
'I didn't tell them your story,' she said. 'I won't.'
'You told Owen.'
'Yes.'
'Before I could.'
'You asked me to wait until after the vows.'
Bea looked towards the restaurant. 'You could go and talk to him now. He listens to you.'
'He doesn't know me very well.'
'He believed you straight away.'
'Because you answered his question.'
Bea picked up her glass and put it down again without drinking. 'Tell him we've got good things. You saw them. You can tell him that.'
'He knows the good things you have.'
'Then make him remember.'
Lena looked at the plate. One potato had been cut neatly into four and left there.
'I can't persuade him to marry you.'
'You persuaded him not to.'
There was no answer Bea would accept. Lena stayed seated, letting the words hurt. If she walked away every time Bea said something unfair, she would spend the afternoon going in and out of rooms.
The waiter came to ask if they were finished. Bea said no, sharply. Lena shook her head. He left both plates.
For a while they sat without talking. Bea took a mouthful of water at last. Lena moved the salt towards her when she reached for it, a tiny old habit. Bea didn't thank her. She salted the four pieces of potato and ate one.
From the restaurant, Tom laughed.
It was a real laugh. Lena looked before she could stop herself. He had lifted a bread roll and was demonstrating something to the two men, who were laughing with him. The roll split in his hand and he had to catch half of it on his plate.
He saw her looking. His smile stayed for a moment, then faltered.
Lena turned back to Bea.
'I need my bag out of the bridal room,' Bea said. 'I can't go in there. Everybody keeps asking if I want something.'
'I'll get it.'
'And the book.'
Lena paused. 'Your copy?'
'Yes. Mine.'
'All right.'
She fetched them. The gift was still wrapped where Bea had put it. Lena carried the parcel under her arm and the bag by its short handles, checking the floor for anything Bea might have dropped. The bouquet stood in a jug on a side table, beautiful and useless.
When she returned, Bea took the bag and held the parcel in her lap. She didn't open it.
'You should have told me about Tom,' she said.
'Yes.'
'I arranged all that because I thought you'd be happy.'
'I know.'
'He looked so pleased.'
Lena shut her eyes for a moment.
Bea stood with the bag over her shoulder. 'I'm going upstairs.'
'Do you want me to—'
'No.'
Lena stayed at the table. Food was being cleared now. Someone had asked for coffee and someone else was looking for a lost jacket. The afternoon would keep passing, however many times they wished they could start it again.