Where the Table Stands Now

After the show, Mila helped stack the cushions. A toy car lay on the front one. She took it to the door, where the boy who'd kept pointing at the stage light was still talking to his dad. He whisked it into his pocket so fast she barely heard his thank-you.

In the side room, Grandma and Eva checked the cover round the large rolled cloth. It had been completely empty of light since last night. Now it could go home on its roll. Mila watched Grandma pass her hand over the cover, where the yellow stitches lay underneath. Then she tied it shut.

The wooden frame stayed against the community-hall wall. Ilyas arranged its loose feet so nobody would trip. The painted window was still on its supports in the main hall. Aron wanted to leave it there for now; more children were coming to rehearse on Monday.

‘I'll take the tin,’ he said.

He put it in his bag with the spoon. The fisherman had left a little mark on his hand. Mila showed him the red patch on hers, where the newspaper had rubbed.

‘Dangerous weather,’ Aron said.

She laughed. He said he'd show her a better cloud next time. She asked him not to finish it all before she came. She wanted to rehearse it with him.

‘You'll have to be on time, then.’

‘I will.’

Eva and Grandma carried the broad roll outside together. Mila went ahead to hold the doors. Her bag hung from one shoulder. Inside was the template, with the loose blue threads in a separate little bag. They didn't need to hold anything in place any more.

Outside, the paving was dry. A cyclist waited for them to pass. Eva raised her end of the roll a little so Grandma could keep to the wide part of the pavement. Mila walked beside her mother. The round end came about level with her shoulder.

At Grandma's building, she opened the front door ready for them. Grandma and Eva turned the roll on the landing, one end first. Inside the flat, they stood it safely in the corner beside the linen cupboard. Tomorrow Grandma would make space in the long compartment on the right. Tonight, she mostly wanted to sit down.

Eva made tea. Mila fetched three mugs, including the one with the broken handle that Grandma kept her pencils in.

‘Perhaps not that one,’ Grandma said.

Mila put it back. She almost reached for a different cupboard to find the good cup from the old house. Then she saw it beside the plates, in its new place.

They sat at the dining table for a while. Eva asked whether the sandwich falling in the sea had been part of the show. Mila looked at Grandma. Grandma started laughing again.

‘No,’ Mila said. ‘It really fell.’

‘I thought so. Your eyes nearly popped out.’

Mila showed them how the fisherman had stared at his empty hand, using a teaspoon for his cap. Grandma picked up her mug before anything could fall into it.

When Eva left, she promised to bring the little table with Ilyas the next morning. He'd offered to help carry it. Grandma waved from the door. Mila stayed beside her until she heard the car drive away below.

In the spare room, her bag was still beside the bed. She took out her pyjamas and looked at the coat on the high hook. Its sleeves hung down. From bed, the dark bump round its collar could look like a head again.

She took it down and put it on the lowest hook. Now one sleeve almost touched the skirting board. It was plainly a coat, even when she switched off the main light to check.

Grandma brought in a clean pillowcase. It had no buttons.

‘The other one's been washed,’ she said. ‘But I think you'll like this better.’

Mila slipped her pillow inside. She rubbed her cheek across the fabric, then settled it under her head. The radiator ticked twice.

‘Door shut?’ Grandma asked.

‘Leave it open a bit.’

Grandma left a gap. In the strip of light, Mila could see the yellow carpet and the bottom of her coat. A cupboard door closed in the hall. She listened until Grandma put her shoes down outside her bedroom. That was the last thing she remembered.

Next morning, Mila picked up the two cardboard strips from the floor. She kept the envelope with the measurements. Grandma had cleared the space beside the window and tied the packing paper into a bundle. The chair was ready.

When the bell rang, Mila went downstairs. Ilyas held one end of the table and Eva the other. Without the Nativity scene on it, the top looked bigger than Mila remembered. Even so, it went easily through the door.

Mila followed with Ilyas's tool bag. Upstairs, Grandma showed them which way the table should face. Eva and Ilyas put it down. When they leant on it, one leg tapped against the floor. Ilyas looked underneath and added a thin felt pad.

After that, it stood firm.

Grandma drew up her chair. She could sit down, stand up and open the drawer in the little cupboard beside her. The tabletop stopped well short of the radiator. Mila laid the tape measure on it, but Grandma moved it aside.

‘I need coffee first.’

The four of them had a drink. The round mark on the table showed beneath Grandma's cup. Mila traced its edge with a finger. This table didn't give softly under her hand. When her knee knocked it by accident, everybody heard.

After coffee, they put the sewing box in its new place. Grandma opened it for her ordinary scissors and a measuring tape. The red pincushion went beside it. The cardboard template didn't belong with the sewing things. Mila folded it small for the paper recycling and added the loose blue threads to the ordinary leftover cotton, unwinding them completely.

In the linen cupboard, Grandma moved a pile of winter blankets. At the back of the long right-hand compartment, the broad roll could stand upright with its bottom on a thick, clean cloth. Its protective cover stayed on. Grandma wrote a new label naming what the large weave still held: the sewing room and the conservatory.

Mila held the label while Grandma tied it to the cover. She watched the pencil point.

‘We don't need to put the kitchen on it,’ she said.

Grandma set down the pencil. ‘No.’

At the front, on a different shelf, lay the small cloth. Grandma took it out to check it was still clean. Mila held two corners. The grey fabric hung softly between their hands. A single loose fibre stuck out at the edge.

Mila let go of the cloth and caught the fibre on her thumb. It was dull. Even when she held it closer to the window, it didn't turn silver. She blew it away and watched it fall onto the carpet.

Together they folded the small cloth. Grandma put its own label beside it: ‘Borrowed moonlight. Keep in one piece. Before morning, unfold outside with the shining side towards the sky.’ She loosely tied the blue ribbon round the bundle. It went separately at the front of the cupboard.

Mila closed the door and turned. At the new table, Eva sat in Grandma's chair, trying to thread a needle much too close to her nose.

‘This way,’ Grandma said.

She leant over Eva's shoulder to show her. Mila pulled up a second chair. It just fitted beside the first if she moved her legs a little to the left. She rested her hands on the real wooden tabletop and stayed there.