A strip of paint lifted from the shelter wall and uncovered half a surname. The council photograph reached Ada through a neighbor. She recognized her grandfather's name and remembered the family story: his work on the pier had been removed after a bitter argument.
She visited while the painter was covering the benches. Beneath the new lettering were other names, written in several hands. The wall had once held a roster for volunteers who opened the shelter in winter. Her grandfather's name was neither singled out nor crossed through.
An old photograph showed the roster behind a notice advertising a dance. The paint had covered the entire board when opening hours became permanent. Ada could establish what happened to the wall, but not whether the argument had happened elsewhere.
She sent her relatives the photograph with both facts kept separate. At the shelter, the painter preserved a narrow sample for the local archive before finishing the repair. Ada watched the name disappear again, this time knowing where a record of it would remain and what that record could actually explain.