On Thursday, 15 October, I took the same book back to Number Twelve.
“Optimistic,” Priya said when she saw it.
“I thought we might get round to it.”
“I admire persistence.”
Beth was already there, spreading three sheets of paper across the table. She had put a line through one figure and written another above it. Vivienne hovered with her red notebook.
“Shall we wait for Celia?”
“I can explain the costs now,” Beth said. “I’m the one who wrote them down.”
She had spoken to the support worker and to the guesthouse near the station. The room was small, but there was a shared kitchen. A short stay would give her time to work out what came next.
“It isn’t a permanent answer,” she said.
“It doesn’t have to be,” Priya replied.
Beth slid the estimate towards us. Accommodation, travel, replacing a few basic work items. The proposed contribution from the neighbourhood fund was nine hundred pounds.
It was less money than people on the crescent appeared to spend making their kitchens look unfinished.
It was also enough to make Beth’s hands tremble as she waited.
“You said the support was agreed,” she told Vivienne.
“In principle, yes.”
“What does that mean in practice?”
The doorbell rang before Vivienne answered.
Celia arrived carrying a tin and a cloth bag. She apologised for being late; a parent at school had needed a form explained after the office was supposed to close.
“Same form every term,” she said. “Different crisis.”
She put shortbread on the table, then looked at Beth’s papers.
“I’ve sent the summary through.”
“When would the money arrive?” Beth asked.
“There are a couple of things to reconcile.”
Priya took off her glasses.
“Before you pay, or before the next report?”
“Both, ideally.”
“What things?”
Celia pulled her chair closer.
“Old accommodation entries. Some reimbursements. I don’t want the paperwork getting confused.”
I thought of Helen’s receipts. This was not necessarily the same problem. Paperwork could be untidy without money being stolen. My own tax folder included a drawing of a rabbit.
“Is the account short?” Priya asked.
“No,” Celia said quickly. “No. It isn’t that.”
Beth stared at the estimate.
“The room won’t stay available because our paperwork’s confused.”
“Perhaps next week would be easier,” Vivienne suggested.
Beth pushed back her chair.
“Easier for whom?”
Nobody answered.
She stood by the window, looking at the reflection rather than outside. I recognised the effort involved in staying in the room instead of apologising and leaving.
Priya turned the estimate towards herself.
“How much has to be paid immediately?”
Beth named the amount. Priya asked two more questions, wrote the answers down and looked at me.
“I can advance part. Not all.”
I worked out what I could offer without taking money needed for our bills. The sum was modest. I said it anyway.
Between us, there was enough for the immediate cost.
Priya drew two columns on a spare sheet. She asked Beth which costs were confirmed and which were estimates, and made no attempt to improve the answers when they sounded uncertain.
“The train fare could change,” Beth said.
“Then we mark it as an estimate.”
“Does that make the request weaker?”
“It keeps us from spending it twice.” Priya tapped the margin. “Put a range here. We’ll use the higher fare for now.”
Beth took the pen.
“I don’t want private debts hanging over me,” Beth said.
“Then we write down what this is,” Priya replied. “Including what happens if the fund doesn’t reimburse it. You need to know what you’re agreeing to.”
Vivienne looked offended.
“The fund will reimburse it.”
“Fine. Put that in writing too.”
Celia opened her bag. “I can get this sorted.”
“Good,” Priya said. “But Beth shouldn’t have to wait for us to describe the same delay differently.”
We spent the next half hour making an arrangement plain enough that everyone could understand it. Amounts, names, purpose. No grand language about loyalty. Beth kept a copy, as did each person contributing.
Only when it was finished did her shoulders relax.
“Thank you,” she said.
“You’re welcome,” I answered, and left it there.
Celia passed her the shortbread. For a few minutes we talked about Friday’s presentation, and Beth showed us the draft seating plan on her phone. She explained a problem with sightlines that I would never have noticed.
Vivienne made a sensible suggestion. Beth accepted it. The room warmed again.
Later, while the others put on their coats, I asked Vivienne about Helen.
“You said we’d discuss the receipts.”
She glanced towards the hall.
“Not tonight, surely.”
“When?”
“I’ll find the correspondence.”
“Thank you.”
It was not an answer, but it was a commitment I could remember.
On the pavement, Beth stopped beneath the porch light and opened her phone.
“I’m confirming the room,” she said.
I watched her press the button herself.
Behind the glass, Celia had returned to the table. She was gathering the papers, separating Beth’s copy from the others.
For the first time, I noticed that I had seen estimates and promises, but no account statement.