Tom came in carrying a glass of water. He offered it to Lena, then saw her cup of tea on the windowsill and drank some himself.
'How is she?'
'I don't know how to answer that.'
He nodded. He looked worn out, the collar of his shirt creased where he'd pulled it open. He sat in the chair by the desk rather than on the bed.
Lena drew her legs onto the sofa. She had changed into jeans. The dress hung in the wardrobe, and she would have to wear it again some day or give it away.
'I didn't mean to tell everybody,' Tom said.
'I know. She kept asking about the photograph.'
'I could have said no.'
'You did say no. We both did.'
He took another mouthful of water. 'Still. I made it sound like you'd ordered me to keep quiet.'
'You corrected it.'
He looked at her. 'You corrected it.'
She shrugged. Neither version changed what they would be doing tomorrow.
For a while there was only the sound of a car being unloaded below the window. Someone had come late and would find flowers, empty chairs, the wrong kind of weekend.
Tom set the glass down.
'I know what you said last night,' he began.
Her body stiffened before he had done anything. He saw it.
'I'm not going to kneel down or make a speech.' He reached into his trouser pocket and brought out the green box. 'But I've got this. And we've had two good years. Not all good. Good enough that I can't just zip my bag and leave without asking.'
She put her feet on the floor.
'Tom.'
'You don't have to answer quickly. You don't have to get married next year. I don't need the shop thing. I don't need the house.'
She watched his thumb rub the corner of the box.
'I could come away with you sometimes,' he said. 'Not twelve weeks. I couldn't shut the shop for that. But a weekend. Two weekends. I could do that.'
The offer reached her. It was a real thing, more than a drawing or an answer about money. He had begun to imagine a life arranged around some of her wants. If he'd said it six months ago, she might have felt differently.
'You're trying to change everything because I'm leaving,' she said.
'Yes. Because I don't want you to.'
He opened the box. She could see the stone properly in the lamplight, pale and bright. He didn't hold it towards her, just let it sit between his palms.
'I love you,' he said.
'I know.'
'Would you give us a chance? A proper one. Now I know what you were trying to tell me.'
The room blurred a little. She couldn't make herself say she loved him again. He'd asked her not to use it as comfort. She also couldn't take the ring, not even to look at it, because he would remember her holding it and believe the answer had almost been yes.
'No,' she said.
He shut the lid.
She heard the tiny click very clearly.
'I don't want you to spend another month hoping I'll come back,' she said. 'I've already done that to you for six weeks. I'm not doing it again.'
He put the box in his pocket. For a moment she thought he was going to leave the room, but he stayed seated.
'Has something happened with Kit?'
'Yes.'
His head lifted.
'Today,' she said. 'I tried to kiss him. He stopped me.'
Tom pressed his lips together. She waited because he had asked and she had given him something worse than he expected.
'Today,' he repeated.
'On the errand. That's why Nia left. He told her.'
He looked at the tea on the windowsill, as if it was something he didn't recognise.
'You told me last night it wasn't because he was here.'
'It wasn't. I decided six weeks ago. Before I knew he was coming. I told you that last night and it's true.'
'And today you're trying to kiss him.'
'Yes.'
He rubbed a hand hard across his forehead. 'What am I supposed to do with that?'
'I don't know.'
'You keep saying that.'
She looked down. He was right. She had made decisions and left the empty space afterwards for him to fill.
'I'm not asking you to make it all right,' she said.
'I didn't think you were.' His voice was flat now. 'I thought you were asking me to marry you. Or I thought I was going to ask. Christ.'
He stood and took his phone from the desk.
'We can't go back in the car together.'
'All right. I'll get a train.'
'I'm leaving in the morning. Early.'
'I'll stay to help Bea pack.'
He nodded once. 'I'll take a bag to my brother's. I'll need the rest of my things later.'
'Thursday? I can be home after six.'
He thought about it, then nodded again.
'I'll put everything together.'
'Please don't go through all of it.'
She stopped. 'Okay. I'll leave it where it is.'
The paints were on a shelf in the living room; his clothes filled half the wardrobe; his bicycle had left a mark beside the front door. He had moved into her flat with three boxes and a kettle she liked better than hers. She hadn't been able to work out how a breakup could happen among all those things. Now she had a day and a time. It would happen there on Thursday.
Tom put his phone in his pocket.
'I'm going downstairs.'
'For dinner?'
'For anything.'
She nodded. At the door he turned back.
'I don't want you looking after me. Not tea, not breakfast. Not checking if I've eaten. I can do it.'
'All right.'
He left.
Lena sat until her feet went cold. Then she got up, poured away the untouched tea and rinsed the cup in the bathroom. His toothbrush stood in the glass beside the tap. She didn't move it. Tomorrow he would take it himself.