Hattie, we agreed. Granddads waiting.
Helen stood in the doorway of her daughters room, clutching a bag of treats for the old man. Jars of jam clinked softly as she crossed the threshold.
Hattie tore herself away from the laptop and rubbed her bridge of the nose. Her eyes were gritty from hours of slogging through lecture notes, and a dull ache pressed at her temples.
Mum, I cant. My assessments are tomorrow. I need at least a day just to lie down.
Lie down, has she? Helen snapped, irritated. Granddads blood pressure is all over the place, he lives alone out in the village, and you want to lounge about. What a selfish little thing you are, Hattie.
Heavy footsteps echoed down the hallway. Simon appeared behind his wife, already sporting his travel coat.
Whats the commotion now? he scanned the room, a chaos of textbooks and printed sheets.
Your daughter refuses to drive out to Granddads, thats all. Shes exhausted, thats the plain truth.
Simon frowned. He rarely meddled in Helens tiffs with Hattie, but something shifted in his usually unflappable face.
Hattie, this is over the line. Your granddad isnt getting any younger. We havent seen him for a month.
Hattie slumped back in her chair. Irritation simmered in her chest, but she fought to keep it in check.
Dad, I get it. But Im literally on my feet. Let me pop over the next weekend, just for a day. Ill sit with him, have a proper chat.
There you go again, putting yourself first! Helen raised her voice. Next weekend, next month, next year! And Granddads sitting there alone! Seventytwo years old, and his granddaughter cant pry herself away from a computer!
Mum, cut it out.
No, I wont! Do you ever think of anyone but yourself? Your dad and I work like mad, and you cant spare a single day to see your own granddad!
Hattie pursed her lips. Something stubborn resisted inside her, an unexplainable reluctance to go. Fatigue, yes, but also a vague, unshaped feeling that today she should stay put.
Im not going, she said flatly. Sorry.
Simon shook his head.
Then sit here and rest. Just dont be surprised when Granddad stops calling you his dear little granddaughter.
Simon, dont start, Helen grabbed his sleeve. Lets be off. Talking to her is pointless.
They left, slamming the front door with a clatter. Hattie remained frozen, listening as the echo of their steps faded up the stairs and a car idled in the driveway. She finally exhaled and turned back to her laptop.
Silence wrapped the flat like a soft cocoon. Hattie flung the windows wide May air, warm and fresh, drifted in with the distant hum of the town. She brewed a mug of tea, settled at her desk and, at last, relaxed.
The clock ticked past two when Hattie finally stirred. She stretched, her spine cracking, and was about to head to the kitchen for a biscuit when an odd smell slipped into her nostrils.
At first she ignored it. Perhaps the neighbours were barbecuing, the scent drifting over. But the odour grew thicker, sharper. Not a grill, not a kitchen. Something was burning.
Hattie rose and made her way toward the balcony. With each step the smell intensified bitter, acrid, tinged with a chemical sting. She threw open the balcony door and froze.
The sofa was alight, filling the room with black smoke.
No, no, no!
She lunged for the couch. A halfburnt cigarette lay on the upholstery, its orange tip smoldering. It had been flung from the balcony, blown straight into the flat.
Hattie bolted to the kitchen.
Her hands shook as she yanked a pot from the cupboard. The tap dribbled water at a glacial pace. Not waiting for it to fill, she hefted the heavy pot and raced back.
The first pot doused the smouldering spot, but the foam inside kept smoking. She darted back for a second pot, then a third, then a fourth. Water hammered the couch, soaked the floor, ran down the skirting boards.
Only after the fourth pot did the smoke begin to thin. Hattie stood amid the wreckage, breathing hard, elbows to the floor, wet to the elbows. The sofa was a mush of charred fabric and soggy foam. The flat reeked of burnt synthetics.
She sank onto the damp floor, knees drawn to her chest. The adrenaline drained, a shiver ran through her. A latecoming terror pierced her as she realised what might have happened. If shed gone with her parents. If the flat had been empty. If her own nose hadnt caught the smell in time.
The house could have gone up in flames. Their home, with all its papers, memories, belongings.
Hattie grabbed her phone and dialled her mum.
Mum? her voice cracked on the first word.
Hattie? Whats wrong?
Mum, there was a fire well, it started. I put it out, but the sofa is gone.
Silence hung on the line. Then Helen spoke.
Are you okay? Hattie, are you alright?
Yeah, Im fine. The cigarette came from the balcony, I didnt spot it straight away but I managed to douse everything with water. I didnt call the fire brigade; I handled it myself.
Were on our way, Simons voice cut in from somewhere offcamera, having snatched the handset from his wife. Stay put, dont go anywhere. Were heading over now.
The call dropped.
Hattie stayed seated on the floor, staring at what a moment ago had been their wellworn sofa the one Helen had bought when Hattie was twelve, the one theyd watched films under a shared blanket, the one Hattie had cried into after her first heartbreak, the one her dad used to nap on after work. Now it was nothing but a smoking heap.
An hour later the front door burst open. Helen stormed in, hair a mess, eyes red.
Hattie!
She rushed down the hallway, into the sitting room, and froze like a statue. Her gaze fell on the charred remains, the puddles of water, the black soot streaks on the wall. Then she spun toward her daughter, who was perched on the arm of a chair.
Oh, Lord
Helen stepped forward and wrapped Hattie in a fierce hug, squeezing until both of them might have cracked a rib. She smelled of perfume, sweat, and something else fear.
Im sorry, love, she whispered into Hatties hair. Im sorry for everything I shouted at you this morning. Selfish, irresponsible God, how foolish I was.
Hattie returned the embrace in silence. Words lodged themselves somewhere deep, unwilling to surface.
Simon entered behind them, paced slowly around the room, assessing the damage. He ran his fingers over the scorched wall, sat on the ruined couch, poked at the melted foam.
Good job putting it out, he finally said. Efficient. Lots of water, right away.
I didnt think, I just reacted, Hattie replied.
You did the right thing. The important thing is you didnt panic.
He stood, placed a heavy hand on her shoulder.
Well done, Hattie. Seriously. You saved our house.
Helen pulled back, wiping her cheeks with the back of her hand. The mascara smeared, but she didnt notice.
Do you realise what would have happened if youd gone? she asked, voice trembling. The flat would have been empty, windows open. The fire would have taken everything
Mum, I get it.
No, listen. Wed have come back to a pile of ash. The whole block could have been at risk. The Petts down the stairs have kids, you can imagine?
Simon squeezed Helens shoulders.
Len, enough. It didnt happen, so stop worrying.
Helen couldnt stop. Tears streamed down her face, she didnt bother to hold them back.
I yelled at you this morning. Called you selfish. And you you saved us all.
Mum, what are you on about? Hattie gently patted her arm. I didnt know it would turn out like this. I was just exhausted and wanted to stay in.
Thats the point! Helen grabbed Hatties shoulders, looked straight into her eyes. You didnt know, but something inside you did. Call it intuition, a gut feeling, whatever. It kept you here, and it saved us.
Simon snorted, though without his usual scepticism.
Mum gets a bit mystical sometimes, but shes right. You stood your ground, and thank heavens you did.
The rest of the day passed in a strange, dazed quiet. Simon hauled the sofa remains to the skip, Hattie scrubbed the floor, Helen wiped the soot from the walls. They worked in silence, tossing occasional short remarks.
By evening the flat looked almost normal again, except for a blank rectangle on the floor where the sofa once stood.
They ate dinner at the kitchen table, pulling the mismatched chairs close. Helen whipped up a quick pot of spaghetti with sausages.
You know, Hattie, she said, stirring her tea, Ive got one piece of advice for you. Important.
Hattie lifted her eyes from the plate.
Trust your gut. Always. Even if it sounds daft, even if everyone else tells you youre wrong. If something inside you nags, dont argue with it.
Simon nodded, chewing on a sausage.
Thats true. Ive spent my life on logic, calculations. But sometimes something just clicks, and you know the right thing to do.
Today that something saved the house, Helen added.
Hattie stared down at her plate, a shy smile tugging at her lips. She wasnt used to hearing that from her mother. Usually there was sparring, sniping, tension that crackled like static. Now something had shifted. Maybe it was the lingering fear, maybe the realisation of how close theyd come to disaster. But a new, fragile thing had blossomed between the three of them.
Next weekend well all go to Granddads, Hattie said. Together. Well tell him well, not everything. His heart cant take too much excitement.
Right, Helen said with a halfgrimace. Well say the sofa wore out. Need a new one.
Ill take a bucket of water up to the balcony, Simon added.
They laughed, a nervous chuckle, letting the tension of the day melt away.
Outside, dusk settled over the town, lights flickering on, a distant siren wailing perhaps an ambulance, perhaps a fire engine. Hattie listened, a shiver running down her spine.
Today shed learned something vital. Not just about intuition and premonitions, but about herself about being able to act when it counts, not to wilt, not to panic, but to do what needs doing.
And about her parents. Behind their shouts and reproaches hid a raw fear. Fear of losing her, fear of something happening to her, expressed clumsily through nagging and notes. A love that was messy, crooked, but unmistakably theirs.
Helen cleared the dishes, then washed the spoons. Simon disappeared into the next room, hunting online for a new sofa. Hattie stayed at the table, warming her hands over the tea mug.
Just another Sunday evening. Except it wasnt.
Mum? she called.
H?
Thanks. For you know, not shouting. For this.
Helen turned from the sink, gave Hattie a long, odd look, then smiled tired but warm.
Thank you, Hattie. For everything.
