Beth opened the door with a plate in her hand. She had made toast and was eating it dry.
Claire had walked over because the phone had gone unanswered and because tomorrow they were supposed to work together. Both facts seemed to make arriving reasonable. Beth's expression did not.
“I wasn't ready to speak to you,” she said.
“I know.”
“Then why are you here?”
Claire looked past her at the little kitchen. The coat Vivian had brought back from the hotel was not there. Nor was the overnight bag. She had gone with Graham and stayed gone.
“Can I come in?”
Beth stood aside. Claire entered and took the chair she usually took, nearest the radiator. She realized this too was a habit that made the place seem hers.
Beth set the plate on the table and filled a glass with water. She did not offer one to Claire. After a moment she moved the toast closer so they could both reach it, which hurt more than refusing would have.
“I can write to Caroline,” Claire said.
“No.”
“Explain it was my—”
“No.”
“You shouldn't lose work because of me.”
“I shouldn't. I have.”
Claire watched a crumb fall from the edge of the plate. “I could pay for the second dress.”
Beth looked at her. “You can't pay me to have a client.”
“I meant the work.”
“It was work with her. She was going to tell someone else. She liked what I did. You were there.”
“I saw.”
“And she asked for it to be private. It wasn't.”
Claire leaned back in the chair. “I didn't know he'd come.”
Beth pushed the plate aside. “Well, he did. And now Caroline won't even open my message.”
The answer was too plain to fight. Claire picked up a piece of toast and put it down without eating.
“I got frightened he'd stop her talking,” she said.
“So you told him where to stop her.”
“I thought he believed me.”
“He did.”
Beth took the plate and carried it to the sink, then returned with it because there was still food on it. The restless movement was familiar from their mother, who had rearranged the kitchen whenever an argument would not reach a conclusion. Claire thought of saying this and knew it would be unfair.
“I didn't want Vivian to go back,” she said.
“Neither did I.”
“You let her.”
Beth's face changed.
“I didn't drag her down the corridor in the other direction.”
“That's not what I meant.”
“You say a lot of things you don't mean.”
Claire swallowed. She was tired enough to be cruel by accident, which didn't make the cruelty feel accidental to the person hearing it.
“I'm sorry.”
Beth sat opposite her. “What did you tell him the picture meant?”
“That she'd speak to Evan.”
“About what?”
“What happened.”
“She agreed to talk. She didn't agree to give him everything you wanted.”
“He needs to know.”
“I know.” Beth rubbed her face. “I know, Claire. You aren't the only one who heard her.”
The room quieted. From the flat below came the sound of a television, a man laughing at something neither of them could hear.
“I don't know how to help her,” Beth said. “I don't know how to look at her and think about him on the road. I'm trying anyway.”
Claire reached across the table. Beth let her touch the back of her hand, then withdrew it to push her hair away.
“I thought after the mirror—” Claire began.
“That was good. We did something good.”
“Yes.”
“It didn't make you right about all the rest.”
Beth looked down at her uninjured hand. Claire had kept watching it all week. Now she was using it to protect a distance between them.
“Tomorrow,” Claire said. “Can we work tomorrow and deal with this after?”
Beth lifted her head. “I'm not coming.”
“To the wedding?”
“Yes.”
“Annette and Milo are expecting us.”
“They're expecting you.”
“I booked you.”
“You did.”
“You can't cancel the night before.”
Beth glanced at the clock. “I've just done it.”
Claire stood, then sat again because standing made the room feel like an argument she intended to win.
“It's paid work.”
“I know how paid work feels when someone ruins it.”
The sentence landed, and Beth looked as though she hadn't intended its sharpness until it came out. She did not take it back.
“You need the money,” Claire said.
“Don't.”
“I wasn't—”
“Don't tell me what I need while I'm telling you what I'm doing.”
Claire closed her mouth. The toast sat between them, cooling into something hard. She had bought groceries, once, for a whole year without asking Beth whether she wanted the cereal Claire liked. Beth had been seventeen and grateful. Claire could feel that old gratitude like a language she still expected to work.
“Are you going to help Vivian?” she asked.
“If she'll let me.”
“Tomorrow?”
“I don't know yet.”
“What will you do?”
Beth looked at her for a long moment. “Not tell you everything before I do it.”
Claire felt the answer like a loss. She picked up her bag.
At the door Beth said, “You'll be good tomorrow.”
Claire turned.
“At the wedding. You always are.”
“I don't feel good at anything.”
“I didn't say everything.”
They looked at one another. Claire wanted to hug her. Beth did not move toward her, and Claire left the wanting alone.
*
Evan answered her call later that night. She apologized for the hotel, without beginning with what she had meant to do.
“You should tell Vivian,” he said.
“I will.”
“When she wants to hear it.”
“Yes.”
Claire sat on the floor beside her open camera case. Both bodies were still on the shelf. She took down her familiar one and put it in the padded space. The other remained where it was.
“I need to ask you something,” she said.
“All right.”
“Beth's not coming to the wedding tomorrow. I can do the pictures. I need someone to carry things, find people for groups, keep me from leaving a bag in a hedge.”
“Those sound like three different jobs.”
She smiled despite herself. “The hedge is optional.”
“I've never worked a wedding.”
“I won't give you a camera.”
“That's reassuring.”
“It's a long day. I'll pay you.”
He was quiet long enough that she imagined the refusal and began arranging what she would do instead. One body, one case, the couple's cousin for gathering family. She could manage. It wouldn't be as good, and she would be tired, but she had done worse days alone.
“What time?” he asked.
“Nine.”
“What do I wear?”
“Something you can move in. Not work trousers covered in dust.”
“There goes my first choice.”
She laughed, then stopped because gratitude was beginning to make the invitation larger than it was.
“You don't have to,” she said.
“I know. I'll come.”
She closed the case after they hung up. Annette wanted her elderly aunt in the photographs but had written that the woman disliked fuss. Milo had warned that his family became loud when nervous. Their wedding had a seating plan, a missing father, relatives who would bring their own unfinished conversations into the room. They deserved the photographer they had booked.
Claire laid out clean clothes and the trousers Beth had repaired. She touched the hem, then moved her hand away.