Beth collected the box at eight on Friday morning.
I handed it over in the kitchen while Poppy argued that wearing a coat would conceal the important part of her costume. School had declared a dress-up day. Nobody had consulted the weather.
“What’s the important part?” Beth asked.
“The wings.”
“Carry them until you get there.”
Poppy considered this advice from someone who was not her mother and immediately accepted it.
Beth placed the box on a chair and lifted out the frame. Her certificate had a pale rectangular mark where it had once stood in sunlight.
“I used to keep this on my desk.”
“You can again.”
“Yes.”
She said it to the certificate rather than to me.
The portfolio went into her bag. The remaining items fitted in a zipped holdall she had brought. When she folded the empty cardboard box, it seemed too small for the trouble it had caused.
“Thank you for keeping it.”
“Thank you for returning my cupboard to its usual state of incomprehensible rubbish.”
She laughed. Then her phone rang.
She looked at the screen, silenced it and put it away.
“Train?” I asked.
“Quarter past nine.”
I walked part of the way with her after leaving Poppy at school. She would not be presenting until late morning. There was time, apparently, to worry about every minute between now and then.
“Would you look at the first two pages?” she asked.
We sat in the station café. She showed me the printed proposal, with her name at the bottom.
BETH LAWSON. EVENT PLANNING AND DELIVERY.
“Is that too much?”
“It’s a description.”
“I haven’t delivered much recently.”
“You delivered a fair last Saturday.”
“A book table.”
“Then don’t claim it was the Olympics. It was still work.”
She read the line again and left it alone.
I noticed a typo in a supplier’s name. She corrected it, which was the extent of my contribution. The rest was hers: timings, costs, contingency plans, the things she would do if the weather or other people became difficult.
The next train appeared on the departure board. Beth stood, then sat down again to put the pages in order. I wanted to tell her she would be excellent. It seemed too large a promise to make for somebody else’s morning.
“You’ve prepared,” I said instead.
“I have.”
She checked the small clock above the counter.
“And if they say no, I’ll still have this.”
She tapped the portfolio. I finished my coffee and followed her to the barriers, where she checked her phone once more.
“Martin?”
She nodded.
“He wants to know whether the portfolio came from you.”
“It did.”
“I know. It’s just never the thing itself. It’s who knew, who helped, who let me.”
The announcement called her train. She put the phone away.
“I’ll tell him later.”
I went to work and spent the morning helping people find things. At lunch I checked my phone, then made myself stop. Beth did not owe me a live account because I had kept a box.
Her message came at half past two.
Could we have coffee? I’ve got news.
We met at the café opposite the library. She arrived carrying the same portfolio, but she no longer held it against her chest.
“They want me.”
I grinned.
“Imogen’s cosmetics launch?”
“Yes. And a small preview tomorrow. Someone dropped out. It’s mostly organised; they need somebody to run the room.”
“Can you?”
“Yes.”
There was no hesitation this time.
She told me about the meeting. The production manager had joined remotely. Imogen had challenged one cost, and Beth had explained it rather than reducing her fee to end the discomfort.
“She said fair enough.”
Beth looked astonished by the phrase.
“People do,” I said.
“I used to know that.”
She opened the portfolio to show me the amended schedule. Beside the professional notes she had written a reminder to herself: Ask about payment date.
“I asked,” she said when she caught me looking. “Before I left.”
The confirmation email had already arrived. She showed me the part outlining the work and the agreed rate. We celebrated with a second coffee neither of us needed.
Then she became quiet.
“I’m leaving tomorrow morning.”
The noise of cups and the coffee machine continued around us.
“Before the preview?”
“I’ve spoken to the support worker. I’ve got what I need arranged. I don’t want the first thing I do after getting a job to be asking whether I’m allowed to take it.”
“Do the others know?”
“I’ll tell them what they need to know. I want to check one thing about the room first.”
She closed the portfolio and put it on the chair beside her.
“I thought I’d be less frightened when something good happened.”
“Are you?”
She shook her head.
“But now there’s something on the other side.”