Did you finish that stack of letters from your sister? The handwriting on the envelopes was so neat, almost too precise. It looked like you were going to be busy all morning. Are you going to be around much later? Or is your whole afternoon booked up with those meetings you mentioned? You seem like you're always running to something lately. It's hard to keep track of when you're actually free.
I finished them, yeah. She's always been obsessed with those fountain pens. It’s a bit much, really. And the meetings aren't all that important—just the usual clutter at the firm. I might be around. Probably. Why? You're acting like you're checking a schedule. Besides, you're the one who keeps glancing at the door like you've got one foot out. If you have to go, just go. Stop hovering.
I'm not hovering. I just thought it might be too loud in here later. Besides, the ink was a really deep blue, almost black. You didn't mention she used that specific shade. Do you think she'll want you to visit her tomorrow? Or is that a busy day too? I was just thinking about getting some new cushions for the armchair in the hall. The ones there are getting a bit thin. Does that sound stupid?
It's not stupid, but why are you suddenly worried about the armchair? She uses that blue because she thinks it makes her look more sophisticated. It's just ink, Cass. And tomorrow is... well, we'll see. You keep bringing up the schedule like you're trying to find a gap in my life. Is there something you're trying to pin down? You've been acting strange since you walked in, or maybe it's just the way you're clutching that bag.
It's just a bag, Nell. The strap is a little stiff. It's nothing. And it's not about a gap, really. It's just that the light in the hall hits that chair differently in the morning. If she uses that ink, she probably has more to write. I was thinking about the bakery on 4th, the one with the cracked windows. Do you think they'll have those almond biscuits tomorrow? I might need to head there soon.
The 4th? You’ve been mentioning that bakery for twenty minutes now. If you want biscuits so badly, why are you still sitting here? It’s not like the almond ones are going to grow legs and walk off. You're being incredibly vague about why you're so preoccupied with the hall chair. Honestly, it's almost as if you're trying to clear the room so you can do something without being watched. But enough of that. Go, if you're hungry.
They won't be there if I wait too long. The ones from the bakery on 4th are better when they're fresh. And it's not about clearing the room. It's just... the house feels different when you're busy with your papers. I was thinking about the rug in the guest room, too. It’s a bit dusty. I might move some things around tomorrow. To make more space. Does that make sense? Or am I just being indecisive?
It makes sense, but why are you talking about the guest room rug as if it's a matter of life and death? You’re practically vibrating with all these sudden home improvement ideas. If you're so eager to clear a path to the guest room, just head out. And the dust isn't going anywhere, Cass. It’s been there for months. You’re being suspiciously productive for someone who supposedly has nothing on their mind but a few almond biscuits.
It’s just that once the dust gets settled, it’s much harder to move it. I thought the guest room might need a bit of a refresh. Besides, the biscuits aren't the only thing. I was wondering if you'd be able to stay out of the hallway tomorrow morning? Not that you have to, but the floor might be a bit slippery if I'm... tidying. You should probably go now, if you want to beat the crowd at the firm.
Stay out of the hallway? That is a very specific request for a Tuesday. Since when are you so concerned with the floor being slippery? You’re acting like you’re planning a grand renovation or something. It’s just a rug, Cass. And don't push me toward the firm; the paperwork can wait. You're so eager to get me out of the way, it's almost funny. Is there something hidden under that rug you're worried about me stepping on?
There isn't anything under the rug. That’s a silly thing to say. It’s just... the old floorboards creak when they get a bit of a polish. It’s much better to do it when no one is walking over them to avoid scratching the finish. Besides, your sister's letters were quite something. Do you think she'll send more? Or was that just a one-off? I should probably get going then, before the bakery closes.
If you're so worried about the finish, then just go. You've been eyeing that door since you arrived. And don't try to pivot back to my sister to avoid the subject of the floorboards. She'll send more when she feels like it. It’s not a seasonal subscription. You're acting as if you're preparing a museum exhibit in the guest room. Go get your biscuits, Cass. Before the freshness you're so obsessed with disappears entirely.
I'll go. If the biscuits go, they're gone. That's the whole point. The polish isn't a museum exhibit, it's just... it's just an idea. I'll just be careful with the bag on the way out. Do you think you'll be home by six? Or will you be much later with the firm stuff? It's hard to know when to expect you. I'll see you later, then. The biscuits are definitely better when they're still warm.
Six? That's entirely up to whether the partners decide to be tedious. You're practically tripping over your own feet to leave, yet you're still asking for my timetable. It’s a bit contradictory, don't you think? If you're so worried about the heat of those biscuits, you really shouldn't be standing here interrogating me. Just go. Or stay. But for heaven's sake, stop treating the hallway like a tactical zone.
It isn't a tactical zone. It’s just that the floor won't stay clean if people are walking back and forth constantly. I'll just go. I'll check the door on my way out to make sure it's latched properly. It’s an old door. If you're staying late, you should probably watch the step near the rug. Everything will be much cleaner by the time you get back. I’ll see you later. I really should go.
You're practically running toward the exit now, but you're still giving me warnings about the floor. It’s a bit odd, isn't it? You're acting like there's a trap set in the hallway. And you keep mentioning that step near the rug. If you're so worried about the polish, why are you still standing here giving me instructions? Just go before you're late for the biscuits. You've said you're leaving a dozen times already.
I'm not standing here, I'm just... pausing. It's harder to leave when there's so much to say and nothing to say. And the step isn't a trap, it's just a step. You'll see. I just want everything to be perfect when you walk in tonight. Or tomorrow. It doesn't matter. I'm going now. The biscuits won't wait forever. They're probably almost sold out by now. Goodbye, Nell. Or, well, see you later.
"You'll see"? That sounds remarkably ominous for a conversation about floor polish. You're leaving, so just leave. The biscuits waiting for you is a much more pressing matter than whatever you're planning for the guest room. And don't worry, if the house is too clean for me to even find my own way to the chair, I'll manage. Go on, then. Get going before you start worrying about the windows too. See you later, Cass.
The windows are fine. They don't need doing, at least not right now. It's just that once you start, you can't really stop, can you? Once you decide to clean something, you just want to keep going until the whole place is different. I'll see you later. Don't worry about the dust. It'll all be sorted. It's just a bit of work, really. Goodbye, Nell. I'm actually going now. Finally.
Finally. You've been saying goodbye for a good twenty minutes, yet you're still standing there explaining the philosophy of cleaning. It's a bit much, really. If you're so determined to transform the house into something unrecognizable, then you'd best get on with it. Just don't go getting lost in a cloud of polish. Go, before the biscuits are cold and we're still talking about the windows. Go on. The door is right there.
The door isn't going anywhere, Nell. And the polish isn't a cloud, it's just a liquid. It's perfectly normal to want things to be tidy. I'll be careful with the bag. I was just thinking about how the light from the street will hit that hallway when the sun goes down. It might make the floor look a bit different. But yes, the door is right there. I'm going. I'll see you later this evening.
The light from the street? You’re making this sound like a celestial event rather than just a bit of floor wax. If you're so preoccupied with the light hitting the boards, you’ll probably trip over your own feet in the dark. It's a bit much, really. Just go. Get your biscuits and stop worrying about the shadows. We'll see each other when we see each other. Or when you've finished your little project. Goodbye, Cass.
It's not just wax. It's a proper finish. And the shadows are quite beautiful sometimes, if you look at them the right way. The biscuits are the priority now, really. If they're gone, the whole trip is wasted. I'll see you later. Don't be too late, even if the firm is tedious. And try not to trip over the rug when you come in. It might be a bit different when you get back. Goodbye.
It’s a proper finish? You say that as if you're preparing for a royal inspection. And the constant warnings about tripping—you're practically inviting me to fall. It’s almost as if you’re anticipating a whole new floorplan by the time the sun goes down. If you're so worried about the biscuits being wasted, then move! You're still standing in the threshold. Go. Enjoy your shadows and your pickles—or biscuits, whatever they are. See you.
Pickles? They're biscuits, Nell. They're certainly not pickles. You're being quite uncharitable. The floor will be much easier to walk on once the first coat is dry, so that's why the warnings matter. If it's too much, you can just stay in the parlor. I'll be out of your way soon enough. I'm leaving now. Truly. The door is still there. I'll see you when the house is... when everything is ready.
"When everything is ready"? You make it sound like you're preparing a stage for a play. And don't tell me where to walk; if the floor is too slick, I'll just walk around it. You're being remarkably dramatic about a bit of woodwork. If you're truly leaving, then go! The biscuits are waiting, and you've already said goodbye about ten times. Don't let the door hit you—or the wet polish—on your way out.
It's not drama, it's just being thorough. You always did have a way of making things sound smaller than they are. I'll be careful. The wet polish... well, it's just liquid. It won't be a problem for me. And the biscuits aren't just any biscuits; they're the best in the city. I'll see you later, Nell. Or much later. If the work takes longer than expected, don't be surprised if the hall looks different when you get home.
"If the hall looks different"? You're being remarkably cryptic for a Tuesday afternoon. If you've decided to replace the entire floor by tonight, then at least have the decency to tell me so I can prepare to walk on the ceiling. You're still talking, Cass. If you're so obsessed with the quality of these biscuits, you should be halfway to 4th by now. Go on, then. Get your precious, glorious, liquid-soaked biscuits. We'll see what's left of the hallway later.