The clothes rail collapsed while Beth was hanging the third jacket on it.
We stared at the heap for a second, then she started laughing. It was an exhausted, helpless laugh, and I joined in before checking whether anything had broken.
“This,” she said, lifting a sleeve clear of the floor, “is why we rehearse.”
The missing bolt turned up in the bag. Once fitted, it made the rail disappointingly competent. We finished arranging the display and photographed it from the client’s likely viewpoint.
Priya arrived as we were packing away. Beth had asked to see her about the remaining paperwork for the money we’d advanced. I went to make tea while they checked it, returning only when they said they had finished.
“There’s something else,” Priya told Beth. “I may need permission to confirm a limited detail about the accommodation estimate you supplied.”
Beth stiffened.
“My current place?”
“No. The original proposed booking. I’m not asking you to disclose where you live now.”
Beth relaxed a little.
Priya explained that the review had contacted a guesthouse appearing on earlier reimbursement claims. The manager had searched the specified dates and references and could find no corresponding stays. The printed documents supplied with the claims did not match bookings in their records.
“The place by the station?” Beth asked.
Priya confirmed the business, not anybody’s identity.
“That’s where I first asked about a room.”
“I know. I want to distinguish your genuine estimate and cancellation from the older claimed expenditure. They mustn’t become one story because the supplier is the same.”
Beth sat down slowly.
“I have the cancellation email.”
“Keep it. With your permission, I’ll confirm only the relevant dates and whether any charge was made.”
Beth agreed. She opened her own phone and forwarded the exchange. I watched her do it herself, then put the device away.
“Are you saying people never stayed there?” I asked.
“I’m saying this supplier doesn’t recognise the claims they’ve checked. We need to resolve whether another booking name or route explains that. So far, the explanations supplied haven’t done so.”
Beth looked towards the reconstructed rail.
“Celia said my application was complicated.”
“I’ve seen that message,” Priya said. “It doesn’t tell me why.”
“It was a room and travel costs. I kept taking things out of the estimate because I thought I was asking too much.”
Her anger was quiet, directed first at herself. I recognised the familiar instinct to improve the request until nobody could refuse it.
“The review isn’t measuring whether you were grateful enough,” Priya said.
Beth gave a short nod.
Later, when she had gone, Priya asked whether I could help collect a box from Vivienne. It contained copies of general spending approvals, not applications. We carried it to her car together.
“How many rooms?” I asked.
She shook her head.
“I’m not giving you a running total of disputed nights. Some entries may overlap. I don’t want numbers travelling faster than the checking.”
“Sorry.”
“I understand wanting something definite.”
She put the box in the boot and waited before closing it.
“The supplier has put its response in writing. That’s definite. Celia has been asked to identify anything that could explain the mismatch. That’s where we are.”
She asked if I would witness the box being closed, simply so we both knew which papers she was taking. We checked the short inventory, added the number of folders and each kept a copy. There was nothing theatrical about it. She had to get home in time to collect her son, and I had potatoes in the oven. Clear records allowed us to leave without arranging another conversation about what might have been in the box.
That evening, Vivienne called. She had found herself about to ring one of the people whose name appeared on an old application, to ask if she remembered a stay.
“Then I thought about Aisha,” she said. “How she felt when we wanted information we didn’t need.”
“What did you do?”
“Asked Priya how any necessary confirmation should be handled. I didn’t ring the woman.”
It was progress of a kind nobody would photograph for a newsletter.
At supper, Tom asked whether I wanted to hear what his employer had proposed. He waited for me to answer before opening the discussion.
I said yes. There were still difficult numbers and inconvenient journeys, but this time the conditional words belonged to both of us.
Afterwards, I took the borrowed rail apart for Beth to collect. I put the bolt in a labelled envelope and taped it to the frame.
On my phone, a message from Helen waited.
Priya’s coming tomorrow to check the payment paperwork with the invoices. I’d like you there, if you can. I don’t want to be told again that flowers were delivered and I’ve forgotten them.
I wrote back that I could come after work.
Two disputed receipts were about to acquire a destination.