Chairs in the Hall

Roos had rearranged the breakfast room. A row of chairs stood along the short wall, backs towards the tables. The tables were clear. Beneath the windowsill a folded blanket held two empty boxes.

‘Those haven't come from upstairs,’ she said when Liv looked. ‘They were here already.’

Liv put her bag on the bench. She had taken off her coat in the car and left it on the next seat, one sleeve under the seat belt. Fetching it just now, she had briefly thought something was tearing. Only the buckle scraping the cloth. Now she hung it properly and took Roos's container into the kitchen.

Els was on the phone, keeping her notebook open with one finger. With her other hand she pointed Liv towards the coffee pot. Nothing for Liv to take or pass on. She poured a cup and stood by the door until Els finished.

A room for next week, Els said. Someone visiting family who couldn't stay with them. Two nights, perhaps three. She had asked if she could ring back. Having a room available wasn't the same as knowing she could get it ready.

‘You've still got plenty, haven't you?’ Liv said.

Els looked up from her book.

‘I didn't mean it like that.’

‘How did you mean it?’

Liv sat down. She had run through the eight numbers on the drawing so often she hardly thought of a bed to change, a bathroom, someone wanting breakfast on time.

‘I'm only thinking about seven and eight.’

‘Yes. Those take quite enough.’

Els shut the notebook. Today she wanted to bring down whatever they could manage without Bram. Not the same chair again. That would wait for the other heavy work. Roos didn't have to be carrying furniture on stairs.

Roos came into the kitchen. ‘I'd decided that myself.’

She took the container, examined the unfinished name on its lid and asked whether Liv had meant to shorten her to three letters.

‘The pen gave up.’

‘Some people have that effect on me too.’

Els smiled, but Roos hadn't said it to erase everything that happened yesterday. She put away the container and showed Liv the space she had cleared downstairs. The Christmas things could go beneath the window, dry and out of the way. For now the ironing board would go behind the door to Els's own sitting room, on the side where it wouldn't obstruct the opening. She pointed to the hinges and demonstrated by opening and closing the door.

‘And when we stop, we can walk through here again. I want to go home without leaving you stuck among everything.’

It didn't become a meeting. Els went upstairs to check the boxes were properly closed. Liv followed empty-handed. Upstairs was warmer than the hall. Seven's window caught the last low sunlight from the street. Through its open door Liv saw the edge of the bed and, beyond it, the wall where she had found the grille. She didn't close the door to lose the view. She went to eight.

Els had pushed the loose chair a little further towards the window. The place it had occupied yesterday was paler, edged with dust. Liv wanted to put it back, but Els stopped her.

‘Leave that now. Boxes first.’

She pointed to the three. Their lids were on; yesterday's cable was back in the same bag. Els took the smallest box by its base. It weighed little. Liv held the door fully open as Els came through.

Downstairs Roos asked where she should stand. Els answered as she reached the last step. Liv could see her all the way. She still held the door, and only let go when Els had set the box on the empty table and called that it was all right.

The second box was wider. Liv carried it herself. With her arms a little lower, she could see over the top. Halfway down she stopped to improve her grip. Els stood by the banister at the top and asked whether she was all right. Yes, Liv said, noticing herself turning to see the face that went with the voice.

She needn't make a fool of herself. She could simply look, too.

Roos didn't take the box off her on the stairs. She waited until both Liv's feet were on the floor, then indicated the clear table. She moved another box aside so nothing would overhang the edge. That was all. Liv put hers down and felt the pressure leave her fingers.

A soft, dry rustle came from inside: paper strips wrapped round the garland. Liv kept her hands on the rim. Roos looked at her, not the box.

‘Want to sit down?’

‘No.’

Roos nodded. She didn't ask whether Liv had heard it. Els brought down the third box. All three were now in the breakfast room. She ran her hands over their lids and surveyed the space they took up.

‘I'll be walking round those every day, then.’

‘Until the other work's done.’

‘No date on that anywhere.’

Roos began to answer, then didn't. Liv thought of agreeing to help after work, the hours she had drawn as a little block. For Els it went on outside that block, even when the other two were home.

They carried the ironing board down together. Els first detached the little rack that might catch by the hinge and held it against the board. Liv took the bottom, stopped when Els needed to turn and didn't leave her to judge by a voice whether she still held it. Upstairs they had room to start upright. They took their time at the bend. Once the board tapped the wall, lightly enough to leave no mark.

Downstairs Els unfolded it and pressed the catch until it locked with an ordinary, clear click. The board fitted its new spot, but not if she wanted a chair beside it.

‘The chair goes somewhere else, then,’ Roos said.

Els looked into her sitting room. Two newspapers she still wanted to read lay on the sill. A glass of water stood on the table with a ring beneath it; a cardigan hung over a chair back. She didn't move anything to prove to the others how easily it fitted.

‘For now,’ she said.

Two more loose chairs could safely come down, ordinary straight ones with no legs entangled in the rest. They carried one each. The mixed stack stayed along the right wall, clear of the door's swing. Els crouched beside it without pulling. The dark armrest passed through a lighter chair's back. A leg ran diagonally between two seats.

‘I can't remember how my father got them like this.’

Liv looked at the split rubber foot. Start at the top, she thought, perhaps tilt the light frame first. She almost reached out, then kept her hands to herself.

‘Bram, then.’

‘Bram. With someone. I don't need to discover how many come with it.’

Els stood. There was visible floor on the other side of the room now. Something white lay in the corner. Liv thought it was paper, but it was a small broken wall hook with a screw still in it. Els picked it up, turned it over and dropped it into the rubbish bag. She didn't look for what had hung from it.

Roos called up that she needed to go. Liv checked her phone. Not quite six. They hadn't finished the room, but they had finished what they had agreed.

Els went to the rear window to inspect the damp patch, no longer hidden by the ironing board. She pulled the curtain aside. Outside Liv could see the courtyard, the rusty fixings of an old drying rack on the wall, Roos's bicycle by the door. Standing at this window, Els could be seen from below. Further into the room, the wall and high sill would hide her.

She put her fingers on the cold paint. ‘Another thing that needs doing.’

‘I'd put it on Bram's list.’

‘That list'll have more rooms than my guesthouse.’

She straightened the curtain. Liv had kept the wooden case in the edge of her vision without looking directly. Now she looked. The lever pointed towards the route they had chosen that night. A lighter patch showed where someone had wiped away dust. Just a wooden case you could rest a hand on. Nothing to warn anyone passing not to.

Els walked past and pulled the door almost shut. It stuck at the scrape. She pushed harder until the latch fell into place.

‘I'll leave it like that.’

Liv didn't say good, or better. She followed her downstairs.

Roos waited by the front door with her bag. She asked when Els was coming for dinner. Els had picked up her notebook again and didn't immediately look up. Someone to ring back first, she said. Roos pointed at the phone and gave her fifteen minutes to settle something that could simply be answered.

‘I'm not your mother,’ she added. ‘But I do need to know how many potatoes to put on.’

‘One.’

Roos looked at her.

‘For me. Decide the rest yourself.’

Liv laughed. Roos pretended to write the number on her palm and said goodbye. The door closed. No silence followed: Els's phone rang before Liv had fetched her coat.

She answered and asked the caller to spell the names again. Liv went to the breakfast room for her bag. The three Christmas boxes stood beneath the window. Two extra chairs were against the wall. The room was narrower, but the back door was clear.

Els came in with the phone against her chest. ‘It's for two people after all. They asked for one at first, but that isn't what they mean.’

‘When?’

Els said next week. ‘I'll ring them back tomorrow. I need to know what's happening here first.’

Liv looked at her closed laptop. ‘That seems sensible.’

‘I'm not asking whether it's sensible.’

‘No.’

Els put the phone to her ear and promised an answer tomorrow morning. No excuse about a broken pipe or a painter due any moment. She said she couldn't promise them a room yet. It seemed less work than a booking, but her face didn't brighten.

Liv took her bag and waited by the door. When Els finished, she asked whether Liv was coming tomorrow. No need on account of the things upstairs, she said. The bigger stack would stay until Bram came.

‘I've got the listening afternoon,’ said Liv. ‘I need to work for it.’

‘Of course. Your fishermen.’

Els didn't ask whether it was going well. She asked what Liv was playing for them. Liv told her about Willem and the one morning, Joop talking about different boats. Els nodded as though she might have known the men, but only said that nobody at a breakfast table had had quite the same weather, either.

Liv said it was a little like that. Not exactly. She didn't need to explain the comparison before she could leave.

Outside she opened her car door. From the back doorway Els said next time she could just come for coffee. Not always with a bag full of work. Liv raised a hand and sat down. From the seat she couldn't see eight's window. She didn't lean forward to look.

At home she read Anouk's confirmation. Arrive at half past two, start at three. A short list of people they could expect. Not an audience coming for Liv, but people with questions and memories of their own.

She set out the drive. Her hands still smelt of the ironing board's metal. She washed them, hung up the towel and went back to put tomorrow's extracts in the order they had agreed.