Aisha’s remaining problem turned out to be Tuesday evening, not Monday morning.
The worker sharing her route had an appointment and could not bring her home after the later shift. The buses would require a long wait at an unlit stop. She could pay for a taxi when her wages arrived, but the booking service wanted payment before collection.
On Sunday she rang Vivienne and asked whether the offer of a small personal advance still stood.
Vivienne rang me afterwards, sounding almost suspicious of how uncomplicated it had been.
“She asked for twenty-eight pounds.”
“Can you afford that?”
“Yes.”
“She wants to pay me back on Friday,” Vivienne said. “I’ve put it in the diary.”
On Monday, I thought about Aisha while shelving travel guides. Somewhere beyond the bypass she would be finding the right entrance, learning names, working out where people put their coats. None of that depended on whether Vivienne felt forgiven.
At lunch, Marianne reminded me that my extra morning started the following Tuesday, the seventeenth. She handed me the opening checklist.
“Still on?”
“Yes.”
I put the checklist in my bag. Tom’s school run was already agreed; for once I managed not to offer to check it again.
On Tuesday evening, Aisha sent Vivienne a message saying she was home. Vivienne asked permission to let me know, since I’d helped with the calls. Aisha agreed.
The message contained a photograph of two muddy shoes beside a radiator.
First two shifts done. Taxi worked. Thank you.
Vivienne asked if I wanted to come over the next morning while she prepared the financial papers. I agreed after the school run.
When I arrived, she was taking down a framed certificate from the hall fundraiser. I thought at first that she was ashamed to display it.
“Dust,” she said, catching my look. “Not a symbolic gesture. Peter’s allergic to half the house.”
I laughed. She did too, cautiously.
The papers covered the dining table. This time the red notebook lay separately, with a note saying the police had been told about the later additions. She had not torn out or rewritten the page.
“Aisha doesn’t want to join anything,” she said.
“Did you ask?”
“No. She told me, rather firmly, in case repayment involved a raffle.”
I could imagine it. Vivienne looked almost pleased.
“We used to invite everyone. I thought it helped them stop feeling like recipients.”
“Did you ask her to sell raffle tickets?”
“Last week. I thought it might be a way of meeting people.” Vivienne sorted the envelopes more vigorously. “Yes, all right. I hear it.”
We worked for an hour. The applications went into a separate folder for Priya; Vivienne and I sorted the event papers.
Near the bottom of a box, Vivienne found an unopened packet of thank-you cards.
“Celia bought those,” she said.
I waited.
“For us to send to donors. Not for people to send us.”
“I wasn’t assuming.”
“I know. I keep explaining everything.”
She put the cards away. Outside, Peter was trying to persuade a wheelie bin over a ridge in the paving. Neither of us went to rescue him. After a moment he found another angle and managed it.
Priya arrived carrying a laptop and a list. She did not sit down immediately.
“Before I start,” she said, “we need to be clear about what I’ve been asked to do and what access I’m being given.”
Vivienne reached for the kettle.
“Tea first?”
“The agreement first. Tea can happen while we read it.”
For a second, I saw Vivienne’s old irritation: the wish that a person would simply be helpful without making help sound so conditional.
Then she put the kettle on and brought the papers over.
“Yes,” she said. “Let’s do that properly.”
My phone buzzed as I moved a chair for Priya. Tom wanted to talk that evening about work.
Good news, he wrote. Probably time to tell Poppy soon.
I read the message again.
Tell her what?
I rang him from the pavement. He was between meetings and tried to postpone the conversation until supper.
“Not the details,” I said. “Tell me what subject you think we’re explaining to our daughter.”
“The new role. Bristol. I thought I’d mentioned the possibility.”
He had mentioned an interview, weeks before. I remembered asking him to tell me how it went.
“We’ll talk tonight,” I said. “Before anything is said to Poppy.”