Four Chairs and a Fan

1. The mark on the wall

The bookcase left a clean rectangle and four holes. Irene studied them as though she had not decided whether they belonged to the flat or to her belongings. Sarelunia held the other end. They had not moved for five minutes because the bedroom doorway was narrower than either remembered.

“Turn it towards you,” Irene said.

“It’s already towards me.”

“Your other towards you.”

They let go together. The bookcase landed on a blanket. Somebody downstairs banged on the ceiling. Irene looked up, then replied with two knuckles against the floor. This was an old exchange, older than Sarelunia’s visits. She had never met the neighbour.

The van would arrive at nine. Irene had sold the sofa, given away the plants and labelled boxes by rooms whose contents no longer matched. “Bathroom” contained books; “Fragile” held socks. She was moving into a smaller shared flat near work. She said the journey would be shorter. She did not mention the two empty bedrooms she was leaving behind.

Sarelunia had brought dinner for four. She misjudged the stairs and reached the fourth floor clutching the hot bag to her chest. On the second landing the jumper tied round her waist came undone. She caught it with her teeth while looking for the bell. Irene opened before she rang, recognising the particular way she was cursing every step.

The kitchen contained four chairs, a folding table and a fan. The fridge was unplugged. On a dry shelf inside, Irene had placed a bowl of ice wrapped in a cloth.

“For the last supper.”

Sarelunia put the food down. She would help clear things, eat early and go home. Tomorrow was busy. She had promised herself not to stay. Irene listened with her head inside a cupboard, searching for a glass she claimed to have seen a moment earlier.

2. Late arrivals

Bruno brought packing tape but none of the tools he had offered. Celia brought the tools and bread. They knew each other through visits to this flat and had never met elsewhere. Bruno asked whether the sofa was going to somebody trustworthy. Irene said she had sold it to a woman she did not know.

“That sofa’s ours,” he replied.

Irene stopped folding the tablecloth. Sarelunia watched her run a nail along its seam. Bruno described a stain they had made one evening, the gap that swallowed coins, how strange the sofa would feel in another room.

“You should have carried it down, then,” Irene said.

The conversation ended. Celia cut bread on a box. Bruno left the tape on the sill and announced that he would work out how to remove the bookcase. He did not apologise, but this time he lifted his end without issuing instructions.

The bell rang as they began serving. Samuel had bought the washing machine and understood that he could collect it tonight. He was alone, with a hand truck too small for the job and an expression beginning to register the number of stairs. Irene showed him the machine, still connected.

“I could bring my brother-in-law tomorrow.”

“I have to hand the keys over tomorrow.”

Sarelunia fetched a fifth plate and discovered there was no chair. Samuel wanted to leave and telephone someone. Celia offered him the edge of a box. Nobody should carry a washing machine on an empty stomach, she explained, although doing it after dinner did not sound sensible either.

Their knees knocked as they ate. Samuel said the machine was for his mother. He had boasted about finding it cheaply and did not want to turn up without it. Bruno asked about the hand truck. It was borrowed and had previously carried only bags of compost. Irene gave a short laugh. The tablecloth spread open across her knees again.

3. The tune downstairs

A melody came from the flat below, stopping in exactly the same place each time. Somebody was practising an instrument or repeating a recording. Sarelunia had heard those bars all afternoon without remembering what came next. Irene said the neighbour had spent years learning half-songs.

“Perhaps he finishes them when you’re out,” Celia suggested.

Bruno found a speaker in a box marked “Sheets”. He connected it to cover the repetition. The first track was so loud that everyone reached out together. Two knocks came from below. Irene knocked back once. Bruno lowered the volume.

After dinner they tried dismantling the table. They lacked the proper spanner, and Celia’s became stuck on a bolt. Samuel freed it with a teaspoon. He had stopped checking his phone. To move the washing machine, he suggested removing the kitchen door and securing its drum with transit bolts that were nowhere to be found.

It was nearly midnight. Searching a drawer, Irene found a box of photographs. They were poor photographs: feet, ceilings, blurred faces, a close-up of a glass. Bruno recognised a night when he had left angry and asked why they had taken so many pictures after he went.

“You left your phone,” Irene said.

They examined a ceiling. Bruno’s hand appeared in a corner, so he could not have left after all. They disputed the sequence until Celia turned the box over. A coin rolled under a cupboard.

Music continued. Sarelunia was barefoot after stepping in water beside the fridge. Celia demonstrated a step she could not copy without entering too early. They tried between the table and the boxes. Samuel moved to make room and ended up keeping time with the teaspoon against his glass.

Bruno wanted to film them. Irene took his phone and put it on top of the cupboard, pointing upwards. Another ceiling recording. He opened his mouth to protest, but a part of the song he knew arrived and he forgot about the video.

Later Irene found cups nobody wanted. There were five, all different; one had a crack beside its handle. Celia set it aside to throw away. Bruno said he could use it for screws. He did not attempt to rescue every cup. He chose that one and left the others alone. Irene gave away two, kept one and carried the last into the kitchen. Sarelunia kept her glass. She had enough to carry already, with her dinner bag and wet shoes. Irene accepted the refusal. They went on packing without explaining every object.

4. The stationary washing machine

At one Samuel’s phone rang. His brother-in-law could not come. Standing in the kitchen doorway, he said several times that it was fine. After hanging up he asked for his deposit back and promised not to cause any more trouble.

Irene searched her handbag. Sarelunia watched her sorting money from receipts. She had not expected to sell the machine again or still have it in the kitchen when the van arrived. Samuel folded the hand truck’s handle with a patience that only made the silence worse.

Bruno said there was a small van at work. He could not use it overnight, but he could collect it at seven. Irene asked why he had not said so before.

“Because I didn’t want to spend tomorrow moving things.”

He added nothing. Irene looked at him and stopped searching for the money. Samuel reminded them about the bolts. Celia knew a hardware shop by the market that opened early. They wrote a list on a cardboard flap. This time a name appeared beside each task, rather than a hopeful promise that somebody would deal with it later.

When they returned to the sitting room, the speaker had switched off. Only the fan hummed, with the unfinished tune coming from below. Sarelunia hummed an invented ending. The neighbour’s music stopped. Everybody was still for a moment, as though they had knocked on the wrong door.

Then three new notes sounded. Celia raised an eyebrow. Sarelunia answered with two more and made a mistake. A laugh came from downstairs, perfectly audible through the pipes.

They did not organise a concert. Samuel fell asleep on a chair, and Irene went on packing plates. Bruno swept the fluff left behind by furniture. Sarelunia held the rubbish bag open. From time to time one of them repeated the tune’s ending and the other changed it without noticing.

At dawn they carried the first box down. A second-floor door stood half open. A man holding a cup asked whether they needed help. Irene said she had a washing machine waiting. He laughed so loudly that they had to explain the offer was being taken seriously.

Four of them brought it down slowly, resting at every landing. Samuel went ahead with his hands open, as though he could catch the machine if it slipped. In the street nobody celebrated. Their arms hurt, the van needed positioning and the bookcase was still upstairs.

Before returning, Sarelunia looked up at the fourth floor. The fan was turning behind the window. Irene had promised it to her, but she had nowhere to put it yet. She decided to ask later. Her shoes were beneath the last piece of furniture. Until she found them, she could not go very far anyway.