Seven Names

At a quarter past seven Hester helped Fleur set the table. They had ordered no flowers. There was a jug of water, a box of supermarket biscuits and a stack of blank paper. The provisional feel suited Hester. She had reduced the folders to a single copy. Nobody needed to be handed a programme as though turning up already meant committing to something.

Tessa arrived first, with a rucksack and camera case. She kissed Hester's cheek, then stood back at arm's length to look at her.

'You've hardly changed.'

'Wait till you see my paperwork.'

'That was frightening enough back then.'

They set the case against the wall. Tessa photographed small businesses and museums, she said, though the museums were usually least sure of their budgets. She was available tonight and for a few hours on Tuesday, nothing more. Then she had two jobs requiring an early start. Hester wrote this down before Fleur could launch an enthusiastic plan for a continuous display.

The others arrived separately. Ruben draped his coat over a chair by the door. Daan chose the far side of the table. Merel put her cycle helmet beside her glass; Jasper fetched something else from upstairs and only sat down when Fleur began. Hester remained standing, programme in hand. She did not count heads, but noted the empty chair beside Tessa and the places where somebody could stand without having to pass anyone else. Familiar habits that did not feel entirely innocent tonight.

'Thank you all for coming,' Fleur said. 'The seven of us haven't sat round a table very often lately.'

'That's true,' Ruben said.

Fleur paused briefly, then went on. Sunday would start at two. First, a chance for the public to see the building, then time for former participants and volunteers. The order was still open. There was a modest exhibition budget. Not a grand retrospective, but a chance to show what De Werf had meant.

'To whom?' Tessa asked.

'The neighbourhood. Young people who found a place here.'

'And what are you showing?'

Fleur opened a folder of printouts from her website. Groups on the stage, a mural, a production for which Brecht had made a series of brightly coloured panels. Beneath the last image was a provisional caption: Under Marjan Koster's guidance, a shared world came to life.

Tessa held the sheet away from her. 'These are Brecht's panels.'

'It's a first draft,' Fleur said.

'I understand. So it can still change.'

Jasper asked if they were going to pick apart every poster. Tessa set the sheet on the table and folded her hands beside it, a controlled movement more threatening than a raised voice.

'If you want to use my photographs, the names have to be right. Not just mine. The people in them too, and whoever made the work you're showing.'

'That's a good point,' Hester said.

'It's not a point. It's a condition.'

Hester nodded. She crossed out a sentence in her programme. Until now she had treated exhibition as a collection of objects and captions. Writing exhibition into the schedule had not relieved her of deciding what it should contain. She was beginning to understand that.

Merel examined the image. 'Brecht made small cardboard versions at our house first. Mum wanted bigger blocks of colour. Brecht wanted to keep those lines.'

'We did keep them,' Jasper said.

'She kept them,' Tessa replied.

Daan passed the jug without pouring himself any water. An old recording of the production might still be at the school, he said. He would look, but promised nothing. Ruben asked whether the people on the recording would want their voices played in public. Nobody knew exactly who was on it. Hester took the recording out of the programme for now. That solved nothing from the past, but prevented a fresh problem.

Fleur asked whether they could take another group photograph, arranged as in the picture from the first production. Tessa shook her head before anyone could point out a position.

'Not me. I'm happy to photograph people who choose to stand together on Sunday. But no empty space I'm supposed to draw attention to, and no telling people to look exactly as they did then.'

'It needn't be that literal.'

'Then we needn't call it that either.'

Hester removed the group photograph from her list. Fleur initially reached for the sheet, read the line and let her continue. Not doing it cost almost nothing. Yet Hester could see they had lost the picture Fleur already imagined fronting the whole announcement.

Only after the practical questions did she lay out the envelopes. She slid each person's invitation into place. Tessa picked hers up at once. Jasper kept his closed. Merel put hers under her helmet. Daan looked at the eighth, which Hester had kept beside her notebook.

'A packet arrived this morning,' she said. 'We don't know who brought it. There was an invitation for Brecht too.'

Fleur folded her arms. 'On the board's behalf, I've asked whether anybody knew about this. They didn't.'

'So what are we supposed to do with it?' Jasper asked.

'I'm not asking you to do anything. It's not part of the job. I just didn't want anyone finding out later that I'd thrown away their post.'

Tessa read the card and looked at Hester. 'Who’s saving her a place? Well, all right.'

'All right?' Jasper dropped his envelope. 'We're being guilt-tripped by somebody who won't even give their name.'

'Perhaps it's working.'

'Tessa,' Fleur said.

'What? Am I only allowed to say it's outrageous?'

Ruben had not taken the card out of his envelope. He asked whether anyone had seen the packet being delivered. Fleur explained again that it was there when she arrived. Amir had been in the storeroom earlier. He had noticed no visitor, which did not mean nobody had come in. The front door had been open while he unloaded his van. There was no locked-room puzzle. Someone had simply dropped off an envelope.

The explanation briefly settled the table. Hester heard Jasper tapping a fingernail against his teeth. Merel wound her helmet strap round a finger. Daan asked whether Else was involved. It was the first time anybody had mentioned Brecht's mother.

'Why do you think that?' Hester asked.

'I'm only asking.'

'I haven't spoken to her,' Fleur said. 'Not about this.'

'But about Sunday?'

'I've sent an invitation. The normal one.'

Tessa leaned back. 'So Else is supposed to come and see work with the wrong name underneath. Lovely.'

'You could acknowledge that I'm trying to organise this,' Fleur said. Her cheeks had reddened. 'I don't have an archivist or a press office. I started with what was there.'

It helped Hester to hear her like that. Fleur was more than a polished voice intent on limiting the damage. She was a woman who had taken on work now threatening to overwhelm her. Hester could help without erasing the choices Fleur had made.

'No captions get finalised until we've checked the names,' she said. 'Tessa, can you tell us which images we can use and what you'll need? We'll agree a separate fee within the exhibition budget. If it won't stretch, we do less.'

Tessa nodded. Jasper asked what remained of an afternoon when everyone ought to feel proud of what they had built. Ruben looked at him.

'Nobody's obliged to be proud.'

A young woman came through the door carrying a roll of heavy paper. Hester had seen her earlier that afternoon by the loading area. She wore black work shoes and a dark red jumper, one sleeve tucked up at the elbow. A small tape measure hung from her keys. She stopped beside the table when everyone looked up.

'I thought the room wasn't needed until nine,' she said.

'Come in,' Fleur said. 'We're just finishing.'

The woman stood the roll against the wall and stopped by the small group of photographs on the table. She saw the print of the panels.

'Is this the wording?'

'A draft,' Fleur said. 'It's being changed.'

'That seems wise.'

Jasper pushed back his chair. 'Is everybody working on the programme these days?'

'I'm hanging it,' the woman replied. 'I'd like to know what I'm supposed to hang.'

Hester looked at Fleur, who was searching for her pen. The pause lasted just long enough to turn a normal introduction into something else.

'I'm Hester, the coordinator. We haven't really spoken.'

'No.'

'What's your name?'

The woman looked at the envelope in Hester's hand. Not startled; more the weary patience of someone who had known a moment was coming and still disliked it now it was here.

'Robin.'

Daan set down his glass. Not hard, but the sound stood out above Fleur gathering the papers. Merel looked from him to the young woman. Hester felt she was the only one missing an introduction.

'Robin's helping with the display,' Fleur said. 'She does installation work. I've booked her for a few hours.'

'You didn't say,' Daan replied.

'She's freelance. She doesn't need introducing to everybody.'

'Fleur,' Robin said.

Nothing more. Fleur stopped lining up the folders. Hester understood she had missed something beyond a production arrangement. She considered the young woman's age, Daan, the eighth envelope. The name was simple enough, but she did not want to decide who this person was for herself.

'Would you talk to me privately in a moment?' she asked.

'Now, please.'

The answer was quick and clear. Hester laid down the programme and checked the clock. Twenty to nine; they could confirm the rest by email. She named the three firm agreements: Tessa would look at material on Tuesday, Daan would only produce an inventory of his sound equipment, everybody else's contributions remained voluntary. No final exhibition texts, no surprise performances, no food arranged outside the catering.

'You're cutting it short?' Jasper asked.

'We've done what we can.'

'Fleur might see it differently.'

Fleur shook her head. 'That's enough for tonight.'

They got up, not together. Ruben put on his coat. Tessa asked Fleur's permission before putting the print of the panels in her folder. Merel picked up her helmet and said she would wait outside for Bram. Daan was last to remain by the table. He looked at Robin.

'I didn't know you—'

'No,' she said. 'I know.'

Hester asked whether they needed to discuss anything before he left. Daan shook his head, but not convincingly enough to reassure her. Robin simply waited. Eventually he took his invitation and went into the foyer. His school name tag tapped the door as he reached for his keys.

Fleur came to Hester's side, about to speak. Robin asked her to stay available afterwards, but not join the conversation. Fleur accepted the distinction with a small nod. She pointed to the kitchen, saying the light was on. Jasper had disappeared upstairs. Hester heard no door, only his shoes on the stairs.

She left her notebook. For once it would suggest someone needed to write a report before a conversation had begun. She did take her envelope and Brecht's from the table. Robin noticed.

'I didn't mean to frighten you while you were working,' she said.

'You did, though.'

'Yes.'

The kitchen was empty. Hester turned two chairs towards each other and left the side-corridor door ajar. Robin had picked up the paper roll again and set it carefully beside the fridge, as though at least one thing should survive this evening undamaged. Hester slid the envelopes onto the table.

'Go on,' she said.