Chapter 6 — The Chair By The Window

They kept coming to the first Sunday. That was the part nobody outside the family ever believed.

Margaret did not apologise, not in words. In November she moved the seating so that Sarah was at the corner by the window, which was the second-best chair in the room and had been Robert's mother's, and she did it without saying anything about it, and Sarah did not mention it either.

RobertYou're not going to sell it.

DavidNo.

RobertYou could.

DavidI know.

RobertThen why hold it.

DavidBecause if I sell it, you find out what I'd do with it, and then this is a different conversation for the rest of your life.

RobertAnd if you keep it?

DavidThen it just sits there and we have dinner.

RobertThat's a strange way to run a family.

DavidIt's how you ran one for thirty-one years, Dad. I just wrote it down.

Preston paid back the margin call in March and did not get his twelve percent returned, and asked for it twice, and was told no both times in the same even voice.

In February Sarah's father came to dinner for the first time. He wore his good jacket and he was nervous in the hall and Margaret met him at the door.

MargaretMr Keane. Thirty-one years on the same route, I'm told.

FrankThirty-one, ma'am. Bread, mostly.

MargaretSit here, by me.

FrankI don't want to take anyone's seat.

MargaretYou're not taking anyone's seat.

She said it without any particular warmth, the way she said everything, and she pulled the chair out herself.

Later, in the car, Frank asked his daughter what the folder against David's chair leg was, because it had been there all evening.

SarahIt's paperwork, Dad.

FrankAt dinner?

SarahHe brings it every time now.

FrankDoes he ever open it?

SarahHe hasn't had to.