Hemingway had washed quickly and just pulled on trousers and a vest as he tidied up and cleared out. The study could pass as normal now, although it was changed. The space where the typewriter had once sat was the most obvious change, of course. The one that Charlie would ask about eventually.
He'd looked through the scrunched and torn bits of writing, but eventually decided to just bin it and start again. He felt like a bit of an idiot for that part, there had been nothing in the writing that she was likely to have any kind of problem with, but it had seemed necessary at the time. And maybe it would be a good thing, maybe it would be better second time round. It was personal progress, to not place his entire identity in what he was capable of producing as fiction.
Notes and photos and Martha's books were trashed. The family photos turned back up and he found himself looking at them a little more closely than usual. The matched body language with his almost-twin, at the centre of the family, looking every bit like they were the parents. Once they were all fixed again, he realised it was a little odd that his family here was missing from the line up. He would ask Abi how to do it, get her to print something to fix the problem.
And before long, there they were. Hemingway grinned at her, and looked to Charlie. "Someone had fun, huh?" he said softly.