We went out to look at a fence.

Bea stopped to look at a blue fence. I took three more steps before noticing that my walking companion had ceased to be a walking companion. "Look at that colour," she said. I looked. It was blue. I wondered whether there was a second part to the activity.

We had gone out because we had both spent the morning indoors. I had offered three routes, each with a different approximate duration. Bea had said we could just go round the neighbourhood. I agreed, then quietly selected one of the routes in my head.

She was unaware that she was already behind schedule. The fence was not helping.

I admitted there was a destination.

At the next corner I said we should turn left. She asked why. I said it was the way to the park. She asked whether we had decided to go to the park. We had not. I had promoted it from possibility to shared objective without consulting the other shareholder.

"I only wanted to get outside with you," she said. "We can go to the park if you want. I just did not know there was an assignment."

I put the phone away. We agreed on the one thing that mattered: she needed to be home by five. We were on streets we both knew, with several short ways back. If either of us wanted to stop, we would stop. This was the entire route briefing.

We turned right because the pavement on that side was in the sun. At the bakery window, Bea pointed out a cake shaped like a handbag. I said I would be worried about confusing it with my actual bag. She said she would be more worried about the price of a cake with hardware.

We spent a while not walking.

There was a bench outside a small square, and we sat down. I had no particular reason to be tired. I also had no particular reason to stand while talking about her new upstairs neighbour, who appeared to own a very enthusiastic vacuum cleaner.

A woman passed with a dog carrying a stick wider than the path. We moved our feet to let the arrangement through. Bea said the dog had the same approach to packing as her brother. I asked whether her brother also needed help turning corners.

I remembered something I had meant to tell her days ago. It was not important enough to send as a separate message, but it had been sitting in my head waiting for exactly this amount of time. We talked until the patch of sun moved off the bench.

The shorter way was still a walk.

When we stood up, I automatically suggested a loop that would make the outing feel complete. Bea asked what would happen if we went back along the same street. "Nothing," I said. It was a persuasive argument.

We checked the time and took the short way. She bought bread. I bought the sort of bread I buy when somebody else has reminded me that bread exists. We were home well before five.

Later, I could not have told you the distance. I could tell you which house had the blue fence, what was happening with the upstairs neighbour and why neither of us wanted a handbag cake. The walk had given us something to talk about and time to talk about it.

Bea sent me the photograph of the fence that evening. "For your records," she wrote. I had to admit it was a very good blue.