With the Door Open

Roos stood in the breakfast room with sticky tape attached to her thumb. She'd torn off a narrow strip to fasten a loose corner of the sheet, but now it was stuck to itself and her sleeve.

‘Coffee's over there,’ she told Liv. ‘Pour it over my hands and this might come off.’

Liv put her roll on the table and helped peel the tape from Roos's thumb. Els came out of the kitchen carrying a laundry basket. Clean towels, a checked cloth, two cushions with matching flat hollows in the middle.

‘Those couldn't stay upstairs,’ she said.

‘That was the idea,’ Roos said. ‘Bringing things down.’

‘I'm only saying.’

Bram put his bag against the wall, out of the way. He took off his coat and pulled down the back of his jumper. Liv caught a glimpse of pale skin above his waistband. Strange how firmly a body placed someone in a room. Here he was, with fluff on his back and cold hands. She hadn't had to check.

He pointed towards the hall.

‘Anything going out goes straight through. Don't put it down at the foot of the stairs.’

Els looked at the washing basket. ‘Not this.’

‘Right. That can go here, then.’

He waited for her to put it down. There was no haste in his instructions, which helped. Roos fetched the coffee and asked who wanted some. Bram took a cup, so did Liv. Els said no, then came back with her own mug.

They drank standing up. Roos told them about a customer who'd insisted it was Tuesday that morning, even after she'd shown him the newspaper. Bram said she should have waited until he returned on Friday to complain his bread was stale. Els laughed into her mug.

Liv thought of Anouk behind her desk. It seemed like a different day. She'd done real work; the files were there, the comments dealt with. The afternoon light didn't reach as far into this house. Across the hall the stairs were dark, despite the light above.

Bram put down his cup.

‘Seven first. Then I'll clear some space in eight. I don't want to stand waiting on the stairs with something in my hands.’

The three of them went up. Roos stayed downstairs to receive things that could go straight onto the table without lifting. She'd left the breakfast-room window ajar and secured the door so every draught wouldn't shut it. Outside, someone unlocked a bicycle.

Els held open the door to seven. Liv saw the bed, the small table, the place where she'd left her things. The air smelt of a radiator that hadn't been on for a while. The blanket was folded back at the foot of the bed.

She took her slim folder of work notes from the table. The fishermen's names were on the top sheet, with a question mark beside one line. A boat's name. She remembered writing it here, her elbow against the wall, street noise below her.

‘This is mine.’

‘That's why I left it,’ Els said.

Bram lifted the chair away from the wall and set it on the landing. Liv put the folder in her bag.

‘We don't need to take the bed downstairs,’ he said. ‘Just move it away from the wall in a bit. We'll do that together.’

Els went to the wardrobe. Two blankets and a pile of hangers were still at the top. She carried the blankets to Bram at the door. He held them in both hands in front of his face and said he couldn't see. Els pulled the top one down.

‘You could always have smaller arms.’

‘Couldn't carry as much, then.’

They passed the things downstairs. Roos remarked on the amount of washing an empty house could still produce. Els said it wasn't washing if it was clean. No voice answered from somewhere else; the remark went no further than the stairs.

Once the wardrobe was clear enough, Els looked inside. A dark patch marked a shelf where a bottle had leaked. She rubbed it with her thumb.

‘Never could get that out.’

‘It's in the wood,’ Bram said.

‘Yes, I knew that at the time. People still see it, though.’

Liv hadn't noticed it. She'd hardly used the wardrobe on arrival, leaving most things in her bag. Now she saw the brackets, the shelf a little too short, leaving a gap at one end. Els shut the door carefully so the catch would engage.

Bram went into eight and came out with the separate chair with the woven seat. He carried it upside down, legs angled away from the ceiling. He turned it on the landing. One leg caught briefly in his jumper. He put it down before freeing the wool.

Liv held her hands half out. He looked at them.

‘I've got it. I'll tell you if I need to hand it over.’

She lowered her arms.

They went downstairs in single file: Bram with the chair, Els carrying a rolled cloth behind him, Liv with two empty drawers that seemed to belong nowhere. Downstairs Els showed her where to put them. Perhaps the little chest would come down later too; she wasn't even sure she wanted to keep it.

‘I'll leave them here for now,’ Liv said.

‘Not by the door.’

‘Here.’

Roos nudged a nearly empty box aside with her foot. A few plastic pine needles lay in the bottom, a broken red ribbon, the price tag from something bought years ago. Liv picked up the tag and put it with the rubbish on the kitchen table. Roos had her hands full with the cloth Els had rolled into too large a bundle.

‘The three Christmas boxes are down,’ Els told Bram. ‘And the ironing board. I don't want you thinking tomorrow we haven't done anything.’

‘I can see that.’

He took the chair outside. Street sounds came in through the open front door. A boy cycled past with a bag tapping against his back wheel. Across the road a van parked; the driver stayed at the wheel talking on his phone.

Els leaned against the sideboard, arms folded as though she didn't know what else to do with them, rather than in anger.

‘I got it all upstairs myself,’ she said.

Liv looked at her.

‘Not today. Back then. One thing at a time. There was always room somewhere.’

‘You didn't have to get it all out in one afternoon then, either.’

‘No.’

Els smoothed a fold in the sheet with her foot. ‘It looks as though I'm packing it in.’

Liv said nothing. She'd been about to tell her they were only clearing two rooms. But Els could count. She lived downstairs, among the things coming down.

Roos put the rolled cloth on the table.

‘You don't have to decide today what you want back. If all this stays here, at least you won't get bored.’

Els snorted. ‘I could do with being bored.’

Bram returned with a dark streak down the outside of his trousers. He checked his phone, put it away and stopped at the stairs.

‘We'll deal with that lot upstairs in a bit, with room round us. Some awkward angles in there.’

‘I'll just take the cloth off them,’ Els said.

‘Fine. Don't pull at anything that won't separate.’

He picked up his bag as he spoke. Els nodded. They weren't discussing anything extraordinary, just the chairs that had stood in an awkward stack upstairs for years, pushed together to make room for one more thing beside them.

Liv went upstairs with him. The landing window was dulled by the winter air outside. Eight was open. Against the right-hand wall, the missing boxes had left a paler rectangle and a strip of dust along the skirting. The ironing board had gone. The remaining chairs were still against the wall, different backs rising above each other. A broad, dark frame stuck out at the bottom. One rubber foot had worked half loose.

Bram looked underneath, put his foot beside the stack without pushing it and said they'd need to separate the chairs in the open part of the room, not in the doorway.

The window across the room was shut. Els went to open it. The handle wouldn't turn at first. She pulled it back, tried again and pushed the window outwards. Cold air entered. An empty flowerpot lay on its side in the courtyard. Liv could see part of the cover over the back entrance and the bare branches of a plant against the wall.

‘Some air,’ Els said.

Liv joined her. Below them, Roos came through the back door. She shaded her eyes and looked up, asking if there was anything else up there she could take.

‘Plenty,’ Els said.

‘That's not what I mean. I'm not climbing the drainpipe.’

‘Someone'll be down in a minute.’

Roos gave a thumbs-up and went inside. Liv looked at the distance from the window to the paving below. You could hear each other, but to see someone outside you had to lean over the sill. Cold caught her neck and she stepped back.

The wooden case was beside the door. She didn't need to go over to know where its brass lever was. She'd seen Els's wrist resting there, her fingers at the edge, that first night they'd stood here together. Now daylight lay in a broad stripe across the painted wall. The door cast its shadow over the case itself.

Liv turned to Bram.

‘I'm nearly packed. Just need to fold the tripod.’

‘Go ahead. I'll get the things I want ready for tomorrow. There's something at the back of the van I'll be hunting for later otherwise.’

‘Not today?’ Els asked.

‘No. Make space first. Work on the wall tomorrow. As we agreed.’

‘I was only asking.’

‘I was only answering.’

He didn't smile, but he didn't sound annoyed. Els pulled the loose cover off the chair backs. Dust rose; she turned away and folded it dirty side in.

Liv took it. It weighed almost nothing, yet she held it well away from her as she went downstairs. She put it beside the washing basket. Roos was filling an empty bottle at the worktop.

‘Water for upstairs?’ Liv asked.

‘For me. I've been back and forth all afternoon.’

Liv drank from her own bottle and checked her phone. It felt as though they'd been working much longer. She could still be home before dark if she didn't wait for every last thing.

Roos saw her looking.

‘How much have you got left?’

‘Pack my bag. Then I can help if there's something small.’

‘Keep it small.’

‘I will.’

Roos tapped the bottle against her forehead. ‘Telling myself too.’

Liv threw away her empty roll bag and went upstairs again. Halfway up she met Bram coming down, his coat over one arm, tool bag in his other hand.

‘Just going to the van,’ he said. ‘I'll hear you.’

She turned sideways to let him past. Downstairs Roos asked whether he wanted more coffee. Yes, he said, in a bit.

At the top Liv saw Els in eight. One hand held an upper chair back, the other the broad section lower down. The stack had moved a little away from the right-hand wall. Not far, but a gap had opened between wood and skirting. Els stood behind the chairs, further into the room. A loose thread from her sleeve had caught on a splinter in a chair back.

‘You're caught,’ Liv said.

Els looked at her arm, freed the thread and rubbed the spot with her thumb.

‘Bloody things.’

‘Bram'll be back in a minute.’

‘I'm only lining them up for him. So he can get at them.’

She turned the top chair slightly. The wood creaked. She stopped and looked at the place where two backs interlocked.

Liv stayed in the doorway. ‘Shall I wait?’

‘Go and sort your things. I'm not carrying this anywhere.’

She let go with one hand and nodded towards seven. Liv saw the other resting loosely on a chair back, not underneath it. She crossed the landing. In her room she checked the bed for anything left behind. A pen lid. She put it in the small pocket of her bag, though she didn't know where the pen was.

The door to eight scraped over the threshold. The familiar sound, then the dull click of the latch. Els had pushed it shut. Such an ordinary sound that only later would Liv try to put it into words.

She knelt beside the tripod and released the first clamp. The metal leg slid into itself with a short noise. She held the next before opening its clamp. Outside a car crossed a manhole cover: two clunks close together. No conversation in the hall.

She laid the folded tripod beside her bag and checked the recorder case's strap wasn't doubled into its zip. Her recorder was off, its cables disconnected. She folded the lead, tucked it into the mesh pocket and zipped it halfway shut.