Viv counted twelve chairs and thirteen people. Then Sima came through the gate with her little boy, and the chair problem grew teeth.
“Bring him,” Viv had said that morning. “There’s always room.”
There usually was. Every Thursday she made a large pot of food, pushed two tables together, and opened her kitchen to people who would otherwise be eating alone. She had begun when Len worked away. Now he was home, between jobs, and she was still doing it.
He was due to leave at five the next morning.
“I thought we said six people,” he said quietly beside the cooker.
“Six regulars.”
“We didn’t say regulars.”
The lid rattled. Viv lifted it, releasing a smell of tomatoes that filled the room more confidently than the tomatoes would fill the bowls.
Sima introduced her son as Hal. He had already found the cupboard containing the baking trays. One tray slid out with a splendid metallic crash.
“He’s exploring,” Viv said.
“He’s putting it back,” Sima said, and helped him do that.
She had moved into the old chemist’s flat last month. Viv had invited her three times and had been delighted when she’d finally accepted. Now Sima stood by the door, holding her coat, while the other guests discussed where to buy the cheapest eggs.
“Let me take that,” Viv said.
“We’re staying an hour. Then Hal’s bedtime.”
“You could let him sleep upstairs.”
“No, thank you.”
The answer was pleasant and complete. Viv took the coat without improving the offer.
Len had set his small suitcase beside the stairs. Someone had put a bag of rolls on it. He lifted the bag, put it on the counter and moved the case into the sitting room.
Viv followed him.
“Are you cross?”
“I’m hungry.”
“So is everyone.”
“I know. I’d hoped to have supper with you.”
“You are.”
He looked towards the kitchen. Three people were standing where his chair normally went. Beryl from the corner house was describing a removal van. Sima’s boy struck two fingers against the baking tray he’d just put away, testing whether it had stopped being interesting.
“You’ve had other evenings,” Viv said.
“I’ve had evenings when you were planning this one.”
That was unfair in detail and uncomfortable in bulk. She had spent Tuesday finding a folding table and Wednesday making telephone calls. Len had walked to the shops with her and carried the heavier bag. She had assumed that was participation.
He sat on the sofa. “I’ll eat after. I don’t want to make a scene.”
Viv went back to her guests. She cut every roll in half. The sharp crust scattered over the worktop. She found smaller bowls.
Mr Pike saw them and said he wasn’t very hungry. Then he said it again to the person beside him, so that everyone would know he was doing the decent thing. Viv gave him a normal bowl.
“We have bread.”
“Not a criticism, my dear.”
She hadn’t thought it was until he said that.
When they finally tried to sit, the end chair blocked the door. Hal couldn’t get through to his mother. Sima stood to let him pass, bumped the table, and caught a glass just before it fell.
“This isn’t working,” she said.
Viv began to apologise for Hal’s chair. Sima stopped her.
“Not him. The table.”
Beryl looked through the window. “Could we eat outside?”
The yard was dry. It held Viv’s washing, two empty flowerpots, and the long folding table she’d borrowed for a jumble sale. She hadn’t returned it because the hall’s caretaker had been away.
“It’s dusty,” Viv said.
“Then I’ll wipe it.” Beryl stood. “Where’s your cloth?”
Pike said there might be a draught. His neighbour offered him a cardigan. They went out to inspect the yard before Viv could issue six instructions about setting up the table.
Sima lifted Hal onto her hip.
“We can leave if you need the space.”
“No. I asked you here.”
“Yes. We came to eat with people. You don’t have to show me you’ve made a good decision about inviting us.”
Viv put down the ladle. It left an orange ring on the counter.
From the yard Beryl called that she’d found the cloth herself. Two of the regulars unfolded the table and moved it away from the wall, one walking backwards and giving useless commentary. Somebody took the chairs out. Beryl brought the low bench from the laundry room; three of the regulars fitted on it. Pike took his bowl, before there was anything in it.
Viv went into the sitting room. Len was tying his boots. His socks were green, the pair she had told him she’d thrown away.
“They were in the rag bag,” he said when he saw her looking.
“They had holes.”
“In the wrong place for a rag.”
She sat beside him.
“Will you eat with me now?”
“Out there?”
“Here. Or in the kitchen. Everyone’s gone outside.”
“You can’t just abandon them.”
She heard herself being offered her old excuse by the person it had hurt.
“I can ask.”
In the yard the guests had already divided themselves between the sheltered wall and the strip of late sunshine. Hal was making a road with clothes pegs. Sima checked her watch, then came to the kitchen door.
“Is there anything without tomato for him? He forgot he dislikes it until he saw it.”
Viv found cheese and a pear. There was enough bread. Sima put them on a plate.
“I can bring the bowls out,” she said.
“You didn’t come to work.”
“Three journeys isn’t a job.”
Viv looked past her at Beryl, who had the bread basket, and at the regulars who knew where the spoons lived. She asked whether they could serve themselves. She explained that Len was going away before morning and they wanted half an hour together.
Pike looked surprised. “On supper night?”
“Yes.”
Beryl said, “Go on, Viv. Before you change your mind.”
Viv filled two bowls. There would be enough for everyone if she left the rolls on the table.
Len brought two chairs back into the kitchen. They sat at opposite ends of the bare counter, eating from the same bowls as everyone else. He told her about the room he would have at the new site. It had a window over the bins. She asked whether it opened.
“For fresh bin air.”
“Don’t be clever. It gets hot there.”
“It opens.”
They discussed when he would call, what needed collecting from the repair shop, and whether he should take the green socks. In the yard someone laughed so loudly that both of them looked up. Viv almost rose to find out why. Len lifted an eyebrow. She stayed sitting.
Sima appeared at the door with Hal in his coat. She thanked them for supper and said next Thursday might work. She didn’t offer to repay them or explain how difficult her month had been. Viv liked her better for it, though it gave her less to tell anyone afterwards.
When the half-hour was up, Len carried his bowl to the sink and went out to join the others. Viv watched him take the end chair, which had been left free. Beryl asked about his new work, and for once he answered for himself.
There was a little food left in the pot. Viv covered it for his breakfast. Then she took a chair into the yard. Pike asked if there would be pudding.
“No,” she said.
He considered this. “That was good soup.”
She passed him the last piece of bread.
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