On Sunday afternoon the moon above the cinema foyer had stopped tilting.
Lena showed it to Kit on their way in. He stood beneath it with his head tipped back, hands in his pockets.
'I wouldn't have noticed if it was wonky,' he said.
'I would.'
'Which is why they pay you.'
She smiled. A little boy stopped beside them and asked his mother whether the moon was real. Before she could answer, he decided it was and went off towards the sweets.
Kit watched him go. 'Very convincing.'
'Don't tell the recycling critic. He'll change his review.'
They bought tickets and shared a carton of popcorn. The film was one neither of them had seen, chosen because the time fitted Kit's train. Lena had made the display for it but had only watched the trailer, and she felt strangely pleased not to know what was going to happen.
In the dark, Kit found her hand between the seats.
Halfway through, he leaned close to whisper something. She held up a finger. He obeyed, though she could feel him trying not to laugh. At the end she cried a little and blamed a piece of popcorn in her eye. Kit gave her a tissue without arguing.
They stayed until the last line of the credits, because Lena liked seeing all the jobs go past. People moved around them, coats rustling, bags lifted from under seats. The lights came up slowly.
'Now,' she said. 'What was it?'
Kit looked at her. 'What?'
'What you were going to say halfway through.'
'I've forgotten.'
'You have not.'
He grinned. 'The house had too many doors. Every scene somebody came through a different one. I think there were only four rooms, but nine doors.'
'Secret door subplot.'
'They spent the whole film missing it.'
'Coming soon,' Lena said, lowering her voice as they went down the steps. 'A house with no planning permission.'
'One man. Nine doors.'
'And not a single working lock.'
Kit stopped to hold the auditorium door for an older couple. Lena waited on the other side, smiling before he came through.
'What did you really think?' she asked.
'I liked it.'
'Even with the doors?'
'Because of the doors. I was invested in the doors.'
She poked his arm. He caught her hand and kept it while they crossed the foyer.
Outside, the rain had left the pavement dark but the sky was clear. The air smelt of wet leaves. Kit checked the time, then put his phone away.
'I've got to go to yours and get my bag.'
'I know.'
His train left in just over an hour. She knew because they'd checked before buying the tickets. The knowledge had sat quietly beside her all afternoon, without spoiling the film.
They walked back to the flat. Kit put the last things in his bag while Lena made tea. They had enough time to drink it, not enough to pretend this wasn't the end of the visit. He sat at the kitchen table with both feet stretched out, watching her find the mugs.
'We didn't go anywhere yesterday,' he said.
'We went to the shop.'
'For washing powder.'
'A memorable excursion.'
He nodded solemnly. 'I enjoyed it.'
She looked at him. 'So did I.'
They had spent Saturday inside until the rain eased, cooking something which needed more stirring than either expected, talking while he tightened the loose handle on her cupboard. She had done some sketches for the travelling contract at the table; he had answered work messages on the sofa. Not an adventure saved up for a visit. A day. She liked remembering it now, when the bag was packed by the door.
Kit rinsed his mug and put it on the drainer. She checked the clock, then took her coat from the hook.
'I'll walk you.'
'It's cold.'
'I've got a coat.'
He smiled and didn't argue.
On the stairs, she remembered the shoebox. It was on a shelf in the sitting room now, visible if you knew to look. Kit had seen it yesterday and asked. She had told him Bea returned it. He hadn't asked to read the letters.
She was glad about that. There would be things she could show him one day, and things she would keep as the record of what she had wanted then. Neither needed deciding on the walk to the station.
They passed the café where he'd arrived soaked on that first visit. The tray was no longer beneath the chair. Someone else sat there reading a newspaper.
Kit looked through the window. 'My monument's gone.'
'You can come back when it rains again.'
'I probably will.'
At the station the board showed his train on time. He bought water, then they went through to the platform together. The evening light lay across the rails. A few other passengers stood farther down, each with a bag and somewhere to be.
Lena's phone buzzed in her pocket. An ordinary reminder about a shift. She silenced it and looked at Kit.
'I'll call when I'm in,' he said.
'If it's late, send a message. I'll see it in the morning.'
'All right.'
They kissed before the train came. Not urgently, though she wanted to keep him there. His hand rested at her waist; the bag bumped her knee. She stepped back so he could lift it.
'I wish you could stay,' she said.
'So do I.'
The train slowed beside them. Doors opened. Kit waited until the people getting off had passed, then turned back to her.
'I'll speak to you tomorrow.'
'Tomorrow.'
He got on. Lena stayed behind the line and watched him find a seat. He put the bag above him, sat down, looked out of the window. She raised her hand. He raised his.
The doors shut.
Her chest tightened as the train began to move. She let it. He had work in the morning, and she had work in the morning. Wanting him to stay didn't have to turn his going into an insult.
When the last carriage had passed, she turned towards the stairs.
Outside the station she took her phone out. Bea's name sat in the messages, beneath the last practical exchange about the boards. There had been nothing since. No reason for Bea to ask for help, no reason for Lena to answer one.
She stood beside the wall and wrote, Would you like to have coffee next week? Tuesday after work, if you're free.
She read it once. It didn't say everything was all right. It didn't promise the whole of what they'd had before. It was a place, a day, something Lena wanted enough to ask for herself.
She sent it and put the phone away without waiting for an answer.
The walk home took her past the cinema. Someone had switched on the foyer lights. Through the glass, her moon shone above a group of people waiting with their tickets.
Lena paused to see whether the wire showed from the pavement. It didn't. The moon hung exactly where she'd put it.
She smiled and went home.