Hugh waited until I had cleared the supper dishes before he set the savings book on the table. It was May, and the apartment windows were open to air that carried somebody else's cooking. My machine stood beside the wall with a folded towel under it to quiet the vibration. Even turned off, it seemed to occupy more of the room than either of us.
"There's enough for the better machine," he said. "Not enough to buy it twice."
I had shown him the price three evenings earlier, then put the paper away when he asked about repairs and servicing. Now I fetched it from beneath the order sheets. "It would let us do the heavy work without nursing every seam."
"I believe you. I want us to decide what comes after buying it." He opened the savings book. "You keep saying the business needs things. That's true. The household needs things too. I don't want to hear we've bought something when what you mean is you've bought it and I haven't noticed yet."
I started to tell him I had earned money of my own. He did not interrupt, which made the sentence harder to finish. Some of the savings had come from his counter wages, some from mine, and both of us had gone without things to leave it there. There was no honest column in which the money belonged entirely to me.
We drew a line down a sheet of paper. On one side went purchases already covered by agreed supply money. On the other went equipment, repairs, and anything that would require household savings. Hugh wanted us both to approve the second kind before money left the account. I asked whether I was supposed to telephone him every time a needle broke.
"No," he said. "You're supposed not to turn a machine into a needle when you tell me about it."
I laughed despite myself. Then I asked for a reserve I could use for ordinary supplies without another discussion. We settled that amount together, and I wrote it beside the categories. He turned the paper toward himself and read it all again. I had expected a contest over whether I was capable. He was insisting on a place in decisions that affected him.
The machine seller demonstrated a seam on folded scrap. I made him let me try it myself. Hugh stood beside the table and asked about replacement parts while I tested the feed. We bought it only after both of us were satisfied. Getting it home took most of the afternoon, and for once the van held something that belonged to the future instead of a backlog.
The workroom came next, a modest rented room that had enough light and an outlet where we needed one. Gordon's repeat work and the smaller repairs would cover the rent if the schedule held. I took that calculation to Hugh, then took my notice to Harrowgate. Leaving was my decision. Nobody dismissed me, and nobody promised to hold my old place.
On my last day I put the spare buttons in order and wrote down where the uncommon sizes were kept. I wanted the person after me to see a room that made sense. When I handed over the uniform-room key, I had a sudden urge to ask for another month. Instead I carried my sewing basket out to the van.
Celia met me at the workroom the next morning. I gave her a key with a plain metal tag. She turned it over in her palm before trying it in the lock. "What time can I start if you aren't here?" she asked.
"Whenever the work needs it."
We moved the tables to suit both machines. Celia asked where the accounts would go. I said I would bring the necessary figures each day; the book would stay at home where it was safe. She looked at the new key, then put it in her bag. I had opened a door for her and kept one drawer firmly shut. At the time, I called that sensible.