The Seats She Saved

Liv had been away from the bakery for three hours when she announced that she might have left the coffee grinder on.

Nora looked up from the hotel bed.

“Running?”

“No. Switched on.”

“Then I imagine it's enjoying the break.”

Liv stood by the window in her slip, holding a green dress against herself. On the chair beside her were two pairs of shoes and a small bag of bakery biscuits she had packed, apparently, against the possibility of a city without food.

“I know I switched it off,” she said.

“You sent me a photograph.”

“Did I?”

Nora found it on her phone: the counter, immaculate; the grinder, dark; a corner of Liv's thumb.

Liv studied the screen.

“Good.”

“We've also established that the door is locked, the sign is up and the dog is staying with someone he likes.”

“He likes her biscuits.”

“A sound basis for a weekend relationship.”

Liv laughed and put the dress over her head.

***

It was the Saturday in June they had booked on a wall beside the river.

Since then, there had been messages, train arrangements, an agreement about the hotel and a discussion about shoes that had occupied most of a Tuesday evening.

Now they were here.

Nora tied the blue linen loosely at her neck. Signe had suggested turning it into a long, narrow scarf and sent instructions that began, First, tell me whether you own an iron.

The edges were hemmed. Not perfectly. One end was slightly narrower than the other, which Nora had decided to regard as evidence of her involvement.

Liv came out of the bathroom and stopped.

“Oh. That's lovely.”

“Thank you.”

“You made it.”

“With extensive remote supervision.”

Liv turned so Nora could fasten the dress at the back.

“How do I look?”

Nora took a step away.

The green suited her. So did the earrings, little gold drops that moved when she turned her head. Without the apron, the keys and the pencil she sometimes tucked behind her ear, she looked ready for an evening that somebody else had organised.

“Like we should go downstairs,” Nora said. “Before you remember another appliance.”

***

Ingrid was waiting at the restaurant with a glass of wine and the menu already open.

“Both earrings,” she said as Nora sat down.

Nora looked at Liv.

“How far has that story travelled?”

“Only to people who asked.”

“Who asked?”

“I may have encouraged them.”

They ordered supper. Ingrid asked about the bakery. Liv asked about Ingrid's sister. Nora discovered that the two of them had been exchanging messages about the trip for weeks, including a remarkably detailed investigation of the distance between the restaurant and the theatre.

“You could have told me you'd sorted it,” she said.

“You looked so happy with the map,” Liv replied.

Nora folded it and put it in her bag.

Halfway through supper, Signe sent a message.

No promises about getting out afterwards. There's a coat having a difficult evening. Enjoy it. Tell me EVERYTHING.

Liv read it twice.

“She might not be able to see us?”

“She'll try,” Ingrid said.

“Of course.” Liv set down the phone. “I just thought—”

“I know.”

Nora had pictured it too: Signe in the rose-coloured dress, waiting in the foyer, seeing them walk in. She had been looking forward to that particular look on her face.

Ingrid poured a little more wine.

“We'll be here tomorrow morning as well.”

“Yes,” Nora said. “We will.”

Liv took a piece of bread.

“Right. Tell me about the play. How worried should I be about the ending?”

***

The theatre stood at the end of a short street, its entrance bright against the evening.

Inside, people were checking tickets, unbuttoning coats and greeting one another with the sudden enthusiasm of people who had spent twenty minutes finding somewhere to park.

Nora bought a programme.

Liv leaned beside her while she found the production team.

There it was.

Signe's name.

Liv put a fingertip beneath it.

“Look.”

Nora nodded. She was smiling rather foolishly at a page, a professional hazard she had not previously encountered.

Ingrid looked over their shoulders.

“Good photograph.”

Signe was pictured in her workroom, looking directly at the camera. Glasses pushed up on her head. Tape measure round her neck. The familiar pink button on her green cardigan.

Nora took a photograph of the page, then thought better of sending it. Signe knew what was in the programme. What she needed was a quiet phone until the coat had recovered.

They found their seats.

Ingrid was a few rows behind them. Nora and Liv sat together near the aisle, with a good view of the stage.

Liv put the programme on her knees and smoothed the cover.

“We chose well.”

Nora glanced at her.

“We did.”

The lights began to dim.

***

For the first ten minutes, Nora tried to watch the play and inspect every costume at once.

There were wonderful cuffs. A waistcoat that caught the light when its wearer turned. A woman whose skirt moved so beautifully that Nora briefly forgot to listen to what she was saying.

Then the man in brown appeared.

Liv's hand found Nora's arm.

Neither of them looked at the other.

It took considerable effort to remain suitable members of the audience.

After that, the story caught them. Nora stopped counting buttons. Liv leaned forward. Somewhere behind them, Ingrid laughed at a line a fraction before everybody else.

By the interval, Liv wanted to discuss three characters, one marriage and an extremely good coat.

“The troublesome one?” Nora asked as they stood in the foyer.

“It behaved perfectly.”

“Perhaps we should tell her.”

Nora sent a message.

The coat was magnificent. We are fully invested in the wrong husband. Row G. Having a wonderful time.

The reply came while Ingrid was handing Liv a glass of water.

Wrong husband is correct. Stay where you are after the applause. I'll try.

Liv smiled at the screen.

“There.”

***

At the end, Nora clapped until her palms felt warm.

The actors came forward, bowed, stepped back. The woman in the beautiful skirt took the hand of the man in brown. The audience laughed at something he did with his hat.

Beside Nora, Liv was standing.

Nora stood too.

It felt odd to be applauding Signe when Signe wasn't there to see it. Then she looked at the line of people onstage, the fabric moving as they bowed, and clapped harder.

Afterwards, they waited by their seats while the auditorium emptied.

Ingrid joined them. An usher asked politely whether they needed help. Nora explained that they were waiting for someone and showed him the message.

He nodded.

“I'll let her know you're here.”

Five minutes passed.

Liv picked up her bag, put it down again and tucked the programme carefully inside it.

Then the side door opened.

Signe came through in dark trousers, soft shoes and a black shirt with a pincushion fastened at her wrist.

She stopped when she saw them.

“Oh,” she said.

Nora had imagined making a joke. Something about the sleeves, perhaps, or demanding a refund because the wrong husband had been so persuasive.

Instead she crossed the space between them and hugged her.

Signe held on.

“You came,” she said into Nora's shoulder.

“We sent you the seats.”

“I know.”

Liv was next. Then Ingrid, who said something quietly that made Signe press a hand against her mouth before laughing.

“Well?” Signe asked them.

All three began to speak.

***

She had twelve minutes.

There were notes to finish, things to check for the next performance and a team waiting for her. Nora could hear movement beyond the side door, voices calling to one another as the evening continued without the audience.

Signe took them to the end of a corridor where they wouldn't be in anyone's way.

Liv opened her bag.

“I brought these.”

The little packet of bakery biscuits appeared.

Signe looked at it, then at her.

“Of course you did.”

“For everyone. If there are enough.”

“I'll cut them into pieces and pretend it was intentional.”

She accepted the packet and looked down at Liv's dress.

“You look gorgeous.”

“You haven't seen the shoes.”

Signe leaned back to inspect them.

“Excellent.”

Then she noticed Nora's scarf.

Her expression changed.

“You finished it.”

“Don't look too closely at the left end.”

Signe lifted it gently, turning the edge between her fingers.

“You did the corners.”

“Several times.”

“They're good.”

Nora smiled.

From the far end of the corridor, somebody called Signe's name.

She raised a hand.

“Coming.”

Nobody apologised. Ingrid stepped back and picked up her coat.

“Breakfast,” she said. “If you're free.”

“Ten?” Signe asked.

Liv looked at Nora.

Nora grinned.

“We have absolutely nothing to open.”

***

Outside, the street was still full of people leaving the theatre.

Liv stood for a moment beneath the entrance light. She took the programme from her bag and opened it at Signe's photograph.

“I wanted to see her in the dress,” she said.

“I know.”

Liv looked back towards the side door.

“I liked seeing her like that.”

Nora nodded.

Ingrid slipped an arm through Liv's.

“Now. Is anybody hungry?”

“Again?” Nora said.

“It's been a long evening of appreciating people.”

They found a small place still serving dessert. Liv ordered something with cherries. Ingrid asked for three spoons before Nora had decided whether she wanted any.

Her phone lit up on the table.

A photograph from Signe: the empty biscuit packet, surrounded by several hands. Beneath it, a second message.

Ten o'clock. I'm wearing the silk. Nobody is allowed to ask me about a coat.

Liv read it over Nora's shoulder.

“What shall we wear?”

Nora reached for a spoon.

“Both earrings,” she said.