Still Light at Seven

At seven o'clock, Liv locked the door of The Morning Room, turned towards Nora and said, “Please tell me you're not going home to answer emails.”

The baker had changed out of her apron and into a blue jumper. Her dog stood beside her, wearing the expression of someone who had been promised something and was monitoring delivery.

“I'm not,” Nora said.

“Good.”

“I was going to decide what to eat while standing in front of the fridge.”

“Can it wait?”

“It's been waiting since Tuesday.”

Liv tucked the bakery keys into her pocket and nodded towards the river path.

“Come on.”

***

Signe had been gone for nine days.

She had sent a photograph of her new worktable, another of a pair of shoes she insisted were sensible, and a message that read: The man who doesn't wear brown has agreed to wear brown. I would like this recorded.

Nora had replied with a small drawing of a medal.

Liv had asked whether she was eating properly.

Ingrid had written: Ask him again after the first fitting.

The four of them now shared a message thread called The Sleeves Are Fine. Nora had named it. Signe had threatened to leave it. Nobody believed her.

Tonight it had been quiet.

Nora put her phone into her bag and followed Liv past the last houses on the quay.

At this hour in winter, she would have been drawing the curtains. Now the light lay across the water in long pale strips, and the willow leaves moved above them, new enough to let the sky show through.

Beyond the houses, the path narrowed. The dog went ahead on his lead, pausing over every patch of grass as though he had been asked to prepare a report.

“Does he always take this long?” Nora asked.

“Only when I have nowhere to be. He likes to fill the available time.”

Liv waited while he examined a leaf.

Nora waited too.

***

She hadn't walked this far along The Willow Path for weeks.

There was a place where the bank opened out and the river widened towards the coast. Liv led her to a low wall above a little slope of grass. From there, they could see the evening ferry making its way back towards the quay.

“You come here often?” Nora asked.

“When I can.”

“After work?”

“Sometimes. Before, in summer.”

Nora looked at her.

“Before the bakery opens?”

“Not a long walk.”

“I'd need to begin the previous evening.”

Liv laughed and sat on the wall. She unclipped a little water bowl from the dog's lead, filled it from a bottle and set it on the grass.

Then she took two wrapped parcels from her bag.

Nora stared at them.

“You've brought dinner.”

“I've brought sandwiches.”

“At this point in my fridge negotiations, that's dinner.”

They were thick slices of bakery bread filled with cheese, mustard and little pieces of something pickled. There were two apples as well, and a linen napkin that Liv spread across her knees.

Nora took a bite.

“I was going to have crackers.”

“I suspected.”

“With considerable flair.”

Liv handed her the second half.

***

For a while they ate and watched the ferry.

Nora told Liv about an author who had asked for a cover to feel “more like Sunday, but not a lazy Sunday”.

“What did you do?”

“Asked him which part of Sunday he meant.”

“And?”

“Apparently the newspaper, rather than the ironing.”

Liv considered that.

“I understand him.”

“So did I, eventually. It was a very good conversation.”

Below them, the dog finished his water and lay down with one paw across Liv's shoe.

“He misses her too,” Liv said.

“Signe?”

“He checked her chair yesterday.”

Nora swallowed the last of her sandwich.

“I nearly bought enough coffee for three this morning.”

Liv smiled, then looked back across the river.

“She sounds happy.”

“She does.”

“I'm glad.”

“I know.”

A gull landed on a post, inspected them and decided they were no longer interesting now the sandwiches had gone.

Liv shook out the napkin.

“I keep thinking of things to tell her. Then I remember I can just tell her.”

“You can send her the dog checking the chair.”

“I did.”

“What did she say?”

Liv reached for her phone.

“She said, 'Tell him I'm leaving him the good seat in my will.'”

Nora laughed.

Then her own phone began to ring.

***

Signe appeared on the screen from the shoulders up, wearing glasses Nora had never seen and a tape measure round her neck.

“Where are you?” she asked.

“Out,” Nora said.

“Together?”

Liv leaned into the picture.

“We had sandwiches.”

“Without me?”

“We saved you the mustard,” Nora said.

Signe smiled. Behind her, someone crossed a doorway carrying what appeared to be a large feather.

“Was that a bird?” Liv asked.

“A hat. Don't ask.”

Nora angled the phone so Signe could see the river. For a moment nobody spoke.

“Oh,” Signe said softly. “That's lovely.”

“It's still light.”

“I can see.”

Then a voice called her name from somewhere beyond the screen.

“Two minutes,” Signe called back. To them, she said, “I can't stay. I just wanted to check you'd seen the dates.”

“What dates?” Nora asked.

“In the thread. The performances. I've sent the booking information.”

Liv moved a little closer.

“And there's a favour.”

“How large?” Nora asked.

“Could one of you look in on the house? I think I left a bag of potatoes in the bottom cupboard.”

Liv closed her eyes.

“Signe.”

“I've only just remembered.”

“I'll go tomorrow.”

“Thank you. And ignore the bedroom.”

“Why?” Nora asked.

“No reason.”

The voice called again. Signe glanced over her shoulder, then came close to the camera.

“I miss you both,” she said quickly.

“We miss you too.”

“Even when you're being extremely rude about my potatoes?”

“Especially then,” Liv said.

Signe grinned, waved and disappeared.

For a second, Nora could still hear the distant bustle of the workroom.

Then the screen went dark.

***

They looked at the performance dates.

Nora enlarged the seating plan with two fingers. Liv leaned against her shoulder to see.

“This one,” Liv said, pointing to a Saturday evening in June.

“Can you get away?”

“I'll close for the weekend.”

Nora turned towards her.

Liv kept her eyes on the screen.

“I've been thinking about it.”

“The bakery?”

“The weekend. Ingrid's going that night too. I asked.”

“You've been making plans.”

“A few.”

Nora looked back at the seats, pleased enough that she didn't immediately trust herself to speak without making a fuss.

“Two?” she said.

“Two.”

She selected seats together, checked the date with Liv once more, and completed the booking.

The confirmation appeared.

For several seconds they simply looked at it.

Then Liv said, “I'll need something to wear.”

Nora smiled.

“I believe we know somebody.”

***

On the walk back, they discussed shoes, the journey and whether one night away could reasonably require three separate bags.

“Signe would say yes,” Nora said.

“Signe once brought a hatbox to lunch.”

“Was there a hat in it?”

“There was. Eventually she wore it.”

The dog had acquired a small piece of twig and carried it with great purpose. He abandoned it at the start of the quay, his work apparently complete.

The windows along the river were beginning to glow. Someone was setting a table behind an open door; somewhere else a radio played softly. The light on the water had turned cooler, but the roofs above them still held a trace of gold.

At the passage to The Glasshouse, Liv stopped.

“Five minutes?”

“Do we need to move anything?”

“No.”

“I'm learning to ask.”

They went through the garden.

Inside, the table was clear apart from a pencil and a folded newspaper. Nora's blue sign stood on its shelf. Beneath it, the herbs wore their practical little wooden labels.

Liv checked the lemon tree, then turned a pot slightly towards the last light.

Nora sat down.

She took out her phone and photographed the empty place beside her. Then she moved closer to Liv, held the phone at arm's length and took another, the two of them smiling rather badly because the dog had chosen that moment to lean against Nora's knee.

She sent both pictures to the thread.

Your chair is being supervised. Tickets booked.

Ingrid replied first.

Good. Supper before the show?

Liv nodded.

Nora typed yes.

Then Signe's message appeared.

Both of you?

Nora sent the seat numbers.

For a moment, nothing.

Then: I'll be the one crying into the expensive silk.

Liv took the phone.

Not before the interval. We want to see the dress.

***

At her blue door, Nora said goodnight.

Liv and the dog continued towards home. A few steps away, she turned back.

“Same time tomorrow?”

“For the walk?”

“Unless you have plans with the fridge.”

“I'll let it down gently.”

Inside, Nora put her bag on the hall table and went upstairs. Her desk was exactly as she'd left it: proofs stacked neatly, a pencil beside her keyboard, tomorrow's work waiting its turn.

She opened the window.

Down on the quay, Liv lifted a hand without stopping. Nora waved back.

Her phone buzzed once more.

Signe had sent a photograph. The rose-coloured dress hung from a hook, finished and ready. Beside it was a pair of silver shoes.

What are you wearing?

Nora looked towards her wardrobe.

Then she took the blue linen down from its shelf, unfolded it across the bed and sent a picture.

I may need advice.

The reply came almost at once.

Finally.