System Failure
Emily, are you home?
Charlie, Im always home on Sunday mornings. You know that.
Then open the door.
She peered through the spyhole for a good three seconds. Her brother was standing in the hallway, coat wide open, two massive bags on the floor, wearing the strained expression of someone whos just lost an argument they were certain theyd win. Behind him loomed two silhouettesone tall, one small. Emily closed her eyes for a moment, then opened them again. Unfortunately, the silhouettes were still there.
She flicked the lock.
Good morning, Charlie said, smiling a smile Emily had recognised since she was in pigtailsthe look of a man about to ask for a rather large favour.
No, she said.
I havent even asked.
Youre smiling that smile. So, no.
Josh managed to squirm past his dad and inspected his aunt from ankle to eyebrow. Six years old, a shock of brown sticking-up hair, and a shoelace clearly marinated in something brown, trailing along her oak parquet floor. Next to him, little Sophie clutched a one-eared rabbit, watching Emily with that serene curiosity only four-year-olds possess, the kind that contains zero fear of strangers or potentially stern aunts.
Emily glanced down at the floorpale English oak, carefully installed three months earlier by a builder who took six weeks to show up, well worth the praise shed received. And there was Joshs offending shoelace, now accessorised by a suspicious patch of brown. She decided not to pursue it further for the sake of her sanity.
Come in, she said. But shoes off, immediately.
Her flat on the eighth floor of the brand-new North Star Residences was her real badge of achievement. Not her status as senior sales manager at Creative Interiors. Not her reliable car. Not her savings account. No, it was the flat: 104 square metres, soaring ceilings, floor-to-ceiling windows with a glorious view of a city park. Shed spent two years getting the décor just rightswapping light fixtures, matching curtain shades until shed found that elusive dusty blue that turned nearly silver in the evening. The sofaa sturdy, wide, high-backed number from Estelles home collection. The coffee tablea solid piece of wood with a slight crack across the top, which the sales clerk optimistically called the woods character. Emily initially wanted to send it back but soon considered it almost family.
Every detail had its place. No unnecessary bits. No candle clutter on the windowsills. Bellview cosmetics lined up by height in the bathroom. Matching towels. Identical wooden hangers in the wardrobe.
Shed carefully constructed a life of order. The silence was genuinethe kind you get on the upper floors, with nothing but the hum of her Livington kettle in the kitchen and the occasional shuffle of rain across the glass.
Charlie plonked the bags in the hallway. The kids removed their shoes dutifully. Josh immediately poked what could only be described as a very clean wall with a definitely not-so-clean palm.
Josh.
What?
Hands.
He stared at his palm, then the wall, then his aunt.
Whats wrong with my hands?
Emily inhaled deeply. Three seconds in, three seconds out. That breathing technique shed learnt at her office stress management seminar, finally paying for itself.
Charlie, she said, say it quickly.
He made his way to the kitchen, claiming the tallest barstool. Hands on the countera gesture of surrender if ever there was one.
Anna and I are going to a spa retreat. For eight days. We need to talk things through, he said, emphasising talk as though it was a rare Olympic event. Properly. With kids its impossible.
No other options?
Mums at a health spa until next Friday, as you know. Annas parents are in Devon and the village is crawling with some new virus, so kids arent allowed. Emily, please. Eight days. Just eight days.
Eight days, Emily echoed wearily.
Well, maybe nine. Well be back next Sunday.
A thump sounded from the living room. Not loud, but undeniably the sort of thump that makes your heart beat faster.
Sophie, dont touch anything! Charlie didnt even look roundhe had the well-rehearsed holler of a man who said this phrase at least a hundred times a day.
Charlie, Emily spoke softlythe guiding principle of another office trainingbecause the quiet voice always wins. I work from home. I have an important online presentation on Wednesday for clients from three different cities. I have absolutely zero childcare prowess. I dont know what they eat, what to say to them, how to get them asleep.
They eat anything except onions. Although, Josh wont eat tomatoes. Say anything you liketheyre not fussy. Sophie falls asleep with Bunny, Josh likes a story, theres a book in his bag.
Charlie.
He finally raised his eyes. She saw a look that crumpled her resolve somewhere deep in her chest. Not pitysomething else. The exhausted sort of asking you cannot argue with.
If we dont go now, I dont know what happens to us, he said quietly. Seriously, Em. I just dont know.
She kept silent. White clouds drifted lazily over the park outsidecalm, unmoved.
Eight days, she said at last.
Thank you.
Dont thank me too soon. I might call you in three hours.
Ill be on standby. Anna, too.
Charlie left as fast as decorum allowed. Too fast; as if half-afraid shed change her mind. He kissed the kids on the head, said some nonsense about Aunt Emily being the very best, left a scribbled page of instructions at the bar counter (written in his unmistakably lopsided hand), and vanished, the door clicking firmly behind him within fifteen minutes.
Emily stood in the hallway.
Josh and Sophie stared at her. She stared back.
Well, she said.
Well, agreed Josh.
Are you hungry?
I want juice, Sophie announced.
What kind?
Orange.
Orange as in the fruit?
No. Orange, as in the colour.
Emily opened her fridge. Two sorts of sparkling water, a box of chopped veg, a plain yoghurt, and a half-finished bottle of white wine. No juice. It had never occurred to her anyone under thirty-five might want juice in her kitchen.
Well go to the shop, she declared.
Yay! Joshs triumphant yell echoed beautifully in her now not-so-peaceful flat. Eight-foot ceilings have surprisingly good acoustics.
She winced.
The grocery shop was next doora five-minute trundle, which turned into a saga. Sophie dropped the rabbit four times; Josh poked every single button in the lift, including the emergency one, and regaled Emily with endless stories about a schoolmate called Alfie who could spit between his teeth as far as two metres. Emily now knew more about Alfie than she would ever need.
They bought four types of juice, milk, bread, strawberry yoghurts, pasta, vacuum-packed chicken burgers, apples, bananas, and some garishly packaged biscuits that Josh snuck in while Emily was contemplating a cheddar. She let them be. This, too, was a small surrenderthe sort of defeat she would never have accepted a week ago.
The first day went decently, if you overlooked Sophie spilling orange juice all over the coffee table and Josh running full pelt into the doorframe and sobbing for a solid five minutes. Emily didnt have a clue how to comfort him. She gave him a glass of water and said, Itll pass. That was her standard adult advice, and oddly, it worked. He gulped it down, heaved a last sniff, and toddled off to watch cartoons on the tablet Charlie had packed.
By nine, they refused to sleep. By ten, still no luck. By half ten, Emily resorted to reading Josh a story about a bear looking for raspberriestwice because he requested it. Sophie fell asleep on the sofa clutching her bunny. Emily watched her for a long minute, then gingerly carried her to the guest pull-out. She was light, soft, warm, and did not wake.
Emily returned to the kitchen, poured herself herbal tea from her beloved Livington mug, and opened her laptop. Three days until her presentation. Two slides left to finish, and she still needed to rehearse her intro.
She sat in the kitchen silence, drinking tea, and, annoyingly, could not focus.
The second day started at precisely 6:37a detail Emily would always remember because she checked her Livington phone exactly as the crash boomed from the living room.
Josh, ever the early bird, had decided to build a pillow fortress from the Estelle sofa. All four cushions lay on the parquet, as did the blanket, with Josh at the heart of his new dominion scoffing biscuits hed somehow found on the second shelf of the kitchen cupboard. Crushed biscuits, naturally, everywhere.
Good morning, he said, customarily cheery.
Morning, Emily replied.
Can you make pancakes?
Scotch pancakes?
Those round ones with maple syrup.
I havent got any maple syrup.
Thats a shame.
She made porridge. Josh tucked in without protest. Sophie surfaced at eight, clambered onto a stool, still holding Bunny, and said, I want porridge. Like Josh.
Maybe Im getting the hang of this, Emily thought.
The flood happened Tuesday at 2pm.
She was at her desk tweaking her presentation. The children were playing in the bathroom with paper boats, which Josh had crafted from a pile of old bills unearthed from the bedside drawer. It seemed safewater contained, kids entertained, quiet.
Twenty minutes in, the quiet ended.
The warning signs were subtle. She finished her slide, stood up for a drink, and only then noticed the gentle shimmer snaking its way across the corridor tiles from under the bathroom door.
Oh, brilliant, she exclaimed, in the universally recognised voice of someone ten minutes too late.
In the bathroom, the tap was fully open. The children, according to Josh, had gotten bored and gone to watch telly. The plughole was blocked with the flagship battleship, heroically marooned mid-mission. Water had been overflowing generously, as the lake on her floor confirmed.
Emily turned off the tap. Looked at the water. Then closed her eyes.
Twenty minutes later, as she was wringing out her last clean towel and murmuring farewells to her Bellview slippers, the doorbell rang.
Whos there?
Downstairs neighbour. Seventh floor.
She opened the door to meet a man in his early forties, slightly dishevelled, comfortable jeans, and a navy jumper. He had a calm, open face and a phone displaying a very damp ceilingcomplete with a lovely brown stain radiating out from the light.
Im Andrew. Flat seventy-two.
Emily. Eighty-four. She sighed. I know what happened. The kids. Sorry.
Got it. Phone away, hands in pockets. Need a hand?
She stared. She expected a lecture on property damage, legal threats, and emotional stories about lost family heirlooms. That was her professional territory, really.
Did you say hand?
Ive got an industrial hairdryer and a decent mop. You know, one of those with a proper wringer.
Josh popped his head around the door.
Youre the one below? Is it our fault its all wet?
It is, Andrew agreed. Emily braced herself. But he didnt sound angryjust curious. How well did the boats float?
Brilliantly! Josh declared. I built an aircraft carrier!
Serious business, then.
Come in, Emily muttered. There wasnt much point forcing him to stay outside.
The next hour became a blur. Andrew dried up half the corridor and the bathroom, quietly, without fuss. He let Josh help by waving a rag at the puddles. Sophie, ever the forewoman, surveyed the work from the doorway, occasionally noting, There, still wet, with forensic accuracy.
Did your ceiling survive? asked Emily once they’d finished.
Mostly. The plaster was due a refresh anyway. If it dries, not a problem.
I’ll pay for any repairs.
Lets see. He shrugged. Not threatening, just matter-of-fact. How long have you had the kids?
Day two.
Yours?
Niece and nephew. I No, no kids of my own.
He nodded, sizing her up, watching Josh now deeply invested in the television remote.
Right, he said. Heres a tip: install a proper drain cover. Any hardware shop carries them. And always turn the tap as low as possible.
Noted.
Good luck, he said, collecting his mop. At the door he added, If you need anything, Im just below. Dont hesitate.
How are you so collected? The question escaped before she could stop it.
Andrew considered briefly. What should I doshout? Ceiling wont dry any faster, will it?
He left. Emily closed the door and pressed her back against it. Outside, the sun was setting. In the kitchen, Sophie was yelling that Josh had to share the biscuits; Josh, naturally, disagreed.
Emily came in and split the biscuits equally. In silence.
Both children looked at her with actual respect.
Wednesday morning she geared up for her online presentation. Kids were corralled in the living room, tablet charged, plates with apple slices and crackers on the kitchen table. Everything under control.
The Teams call started at eleven. Emily sat at her desk, laptop camera rolling, headphones on, a business jacket thrown over pyjama bottoms. Attendees from London, Birmingham, and Manchester. The first fifteen minutes were smoothshe guided them through the new Estelle collection, explained the spring pricing, fielded two questions.
Minute sixteen: the door burst open.
Aunt Em! Sophies shout probably penetrated all the way to the downstairs flat. Josh took Bunny!
Sophie, Emily said in the voice of someone barely clinging to a thread, I am working.
He said Bunnys ugly.
Bunny IS ugly! Joshs voice chimed in from the living room.
Sorry, everyone, Emily said to the screen with the forced smile of someone trying, against all odds, to hold everything together, I’ll be with you in a moment.
She hit pause and stalked into the living room. There Josh was, holding one droopy rabbit ear, Sophie clutching the torso, a textile tug-of-war.
Let go of Bunny, both of you, Emily ordered.
They obeyed. Bunny fell to the floor. Sophie promptly scooped her up and resumed hugging as though nothing had happened.
Josh, can you please watch quietly?
Its over!
Play something else.
What?
Anything.
There’s adverts.
Emily stared him down, found CBeebies, shoved cartoons his way, and returned to her call.
Eight quiet minutes. Then a knockand this time Josh appeared, stood by her chair, and waited.
Without missing a beat, she watched him. He didnt budge until he announced, very clearly, into the webcam, I need the toilet.
The Birmingham office cracked first, snorting tea. Laughter ensued. Emily blushedthe first time in fifteen years.
Josh, you know where it is.
I know. Just wanted to say.
Right, off you go.
She returned to the call. The business-like mood was shot, but, oddly, the atmosphere was rescued. The London partner admitted he had three children himselfabsolutely understood. The Manchester client said the Estelle range was actually perfect. They agreed to a follow-up.
Emily closed her laptop and sat in silence. She realised, with some surprise, that she wasnt angry. Shed expected anger, but nothing.
She made cheese sandwiches for everyone. Josh said it was tasty. Sophie nibbled half and had an animated discussion with Bunny.
At four oclock, the doorbell rang.
Ive brought you that drain cover, Andrew said, brandishing a small plastic bag. For the bath.
Emily blinked. Did you do a special trip?
Needed bread anyway.
Come in.
She hadnt meant to invite him, but he was already through the door, shoes off, and Josh sprinting from the lounge to greet him, Oh, its the guy who helped us!
My claim to fame, Andrew nodded.
Is your ceiling dry yet?
Nearly.
Good, then. Dyou know Jenga? We have Jenga!
Do I ever.
He sat at the coffee table with a tower of wooden blocks, Josh and Sophie on either side, Bunny acting as mascot. Andrew played in earnest, lending the activity actual gravitywhich, Emily noticed, is exactly what children want.
Emily hovered in the kitchen under the pretence of cooking but found she was just watching.
Careful, Josh, Andrew warned. See that side bit? Try from the left.
How do you know?
All towers have a weak spot. Just have to find it.
What about life, is it like that too? Josh, with the occasional alarming profundity of six-year-olds.
Andrew paused, thoughtful. Yeah, pretty much.
They ate together. Andrew stayed as if it were the only rational thing to do. Helped with burgers, cut bread properlyafter noticing her attempt at slicing produced bread resembling Lego bricks; his slices were, annoyingly, tidier.
Been here long? Emily asked.
Three years. Saw your furniture move in. You were the one with the big blue sofa, right?
Nosy, are you?
Coincidence, promise. Was leaving for work.
Where dyou work?
Engineering firm. I do structural foundations. Unspeakably boring to most.
Why boring?
Nobody asks if its pretty. Just if it stands up.
Seems pretty important.
He looked at her, surprised. Yeah. I suppose it is.
The kids went to bed at nine. No resistance. Andrew finished his tea, said goodnight, and got up.
Thanks, Emily said in the hall, lingering. Not just for the drain. For not being cross about Tuesday.
He looked a little longer, meaning to reassure. Youre managing well, he said. For a first-timer.
Howd you know Im a novice?
Because you look like youre cradling a priceless vase and terrified youll drop it.
She laughedproperly, unselfconsciously. Surprised herself.
He left. She leaned against the door, same as the first nightbut the silence felt different. Not emptier, just changed.
Thursday and Friday blurred together. Emily stopped flinching every time there was a bang. Mornings became almost routineporridge, juice. Sophie grew fond of sitting nearby while Emily worked, sketching rabbits in a spare notepad. Every rabbit had a name.
Thats mother rabbit, Sophie explained, and thats daddy rabbit. And thats little Button.
Why Button?
Because hes small and round.
Naturally, Emily agreed.
Friday night, Andrew came by with an old board game hed dug outa battered copy of Cities of the World from a previous millennium. The children didnt know a single city, but their competitive instincts werent dented.
Whered you get it?
From childhood. Grabbed some stuff for reasons unknown when I moved.
Glad you did.
They played on the floorEmily couldnt remember when shed done that last. The oak was cool and smooth. Sophie dozed against her, halfway through a turn, and Emily didnt notice her arm went around her protectively until much later.
Andrew noticed. Said nothing.
Saturdaypark day, Andrews suggestion. Emily didnt protest. They went to the local parkher beloved view. Josh found a puddle and waded straight through, despite being told, more than once, to avoid it. She carried the soaked boots home in a bag. Josh trailed behind in sodden socks, not at all bothered.
Why arent you disappointed? she asked.
About what?
Your shoes are soaked.
So? Theyll dry.
You sound like Andrew, she said absent-mindedly.
Andrews cool, said Josh. Aunt Emily, is he your friend?
Hes my neighbour.
Is that the same?
No.
Why not?
She had no answer. Andrew, carrying Sophie on his shoulders and explaining trees, was chatting to her as if lecturing at Kew Gardens. Sophie listened with all the gravity of a botanist.
Sunday evening, Charlie rang. He sounded different. No longer burnt outinstead, lighter, warmer.
Howre they?
Alive, Emily replied. Josh walked through a puddle. Sophie drew forty-seven rabbits.
Charlie laughed. Youre managing.
Not bad. How about you?
Slight pause.
Better, he said. Much better. Thanks.
Good, Emily replied, and let the silence hang. Good youre better.
The second week was calmer. Emily now knew Josh hated tomatoes unless they were in tomato soup (which, magically, didn’t count). She knew Sophie wouldnt sleep unless the window was open just a sliver. She knew tantrums peaked around 7:30, after which resistance was futilebedtime was the gently suggested option, not a debate. Small, unremarkable new facts, but important ones.
Andrew visited every night. Sometimes with a thing, sometimes just himself. Theyd chat in the kitchen while the kids settled. About work, the city, books. He read more than expected for someone so solid. She read too, but only for work these days.
What are you reading?
Nothing lately. Just catalogues and contracts.
That doesnt count.
I know.
Want a proper book?
Go on, then.
He brought a novel by a Japanese authorabout a woman sorting her late mothers belongings, realising she never truly knew her. Emily read in snatches after the kids nodded off. Those became her favourite minutes of the day.
On Thursday of the second week, Josh appeared in her office.
Show me where you work, he said.
Here, in the study.
I know. Properly.
She did. He surveyed the laptop, Estelle catalogues, and spiky cactus on the sill.
Are you happy? he asked.
What do you mean?
About your job.
I yes. I think so. I like it.
Dad says you should work someplace youre happy. Why else?
Hes a wise bloke.
Yep. Pause. Aunt Emily, why do you live alone?
Because thats just how things are.
Didnt you want someone living with you?
Im used to being alone. I liked it.
Liked?
Pause.
Yes. Liked.
The last day snuck up. Charlie arrived Sunday at one, Anna in towshe looked rested for the first time in months. She hugged the kids tightSophie clung on as if welded. Anna found the words, Emily, I dont know how to thank you enough.
No thanks needed.
Did they behave?
They were children, Emily said, actually smiling. Thats exactly right.
Anna looked a bit baffled, as though expecting a far more official report.
Packing took an hour. Sophie teared up as she said goodbye. Emily promised theyd visit again. Josh gave her a grown-up handshakehilariously seriousthen sprinted back for a proper hug.
The door closed.
Emily stood in the hallway.
Sophies little blue coat was no longer on the peg. Only her own coat now, alone.
The flat was quiet.
She wandered to the living room. A pillow misshapen from Joshs morning viewing, and on the floor, next to the coffee table, a small forgotten drawingSophies, clearly. A rabbit family: mum, dad, and a small Button. And next to them, a yellow-haired stick figure, labelled in wobbly child handwriting: Aunt Em.
Emily held the drawing for a while.
She stepped into the kitchen, flicked on the kettle, filled it from the Livington jug. Grabbed her favourite mug. Everything, as she liked, just right, just so, perfectly serene and a little hollow. She waited for the usual reliefher post-chaos feeling after visits, work dos, anything that disrupted her beloved schedule. The comforting sense of coming back to herself.
It didnt come.
Just the drawing in her hand and a silence that sounded less like peace, more like the moment after a good song ends. Youre still deciding if you liked the quiet.
She sat in her kitchen, drank tea, and gazed at the park.
Thought of Josh, asking if she was happy. Of Sophie, falling asleep beside her on the cool oak, and how Emily hadnt bothered to move away. Thought about her study before Josh visited, and afterbecause somehow it hadnt been the same.
She thought of Andrew.
How he cut bread in perfect slices, the way his calm held everything upright. That he came by each evening without expectation of anything, not even thanksjust there, present.
For the first time in years, Emily realised she hadnt woken with work anxiety in nine days. Odd. It used to soundtrack her life.
At six, she stood up, washed her face, pulled on her best navy jumper (her personal pep-up), and picked up her phone. Put it down. Picked it up again.
Instead, she rode the lift down to the seventh floor and pressed 72s doorbell.
Andrew answered almost at once. Not surprised. Just watchful.
Theyve gone, Emily said.
I heard the door.
Its quiet now.
I can imagine.
Would you like a cup of tea? she asked. I just put the kettle on. Well, its probably cold again, but Ill reboil.
He pausedjust a strand longer than usual.
Id like that.
They took the lift up. She set the kettle going once more. He sat on the same barstool Charlie had perched on, all those messy days ago. Different man. Different conversation.
You know, she confessed, todays my first obligation-free day in nine. Ive no idea what to do with myself.
Is that good or bad?
Not sure. Just unfamiliar.
Youll get used to new unfamiliar.
Whats that supposed to mean?
Well, you got used to being on your own. Now youre used to something else. Life keeps shifting the goalposts.
You sound like someone whos been there.
He looked up.
Was married for six years. Havent been, for three. Hardest part wasnt the break-up. It was the silence, afterwards. Its very different, silence with someone and silence alone.
Emily studied her tea.
I always thought silence was freedomthat solitude was a choice.
Maybe it is. Choices can change.
You changed yours?
Still deciding. He smiled faintly. The neighbours kids keep it interesting.
She laugheda true, delighted sound.
Andrew?
Yeah.
I I like you. I think you ought to know.
He looked at her, something genuinely warm at last. Thats good. Because I like you too. Been thinking it for a while.
How long?
Since the day you asked me why I was so unflappable. Nobodys ever asked.
Thats a weird reason.
Im an odd man.
They drank tea and talked until the clock said eleven, discussing work, life at altitude on her floor versus his, children who left rabbit families behind. He didnt rush to leave; she didnt wish him on his way.
When he did go, he took her handjust for a heartbeat.
Goodnight, Emily.
Goodnight.
She closed the door and leaned on it, as that first day. But it was different: the silence was gentle now, not empty.
She went to the living room and set Sophies drawing on the shelf next to a vase. The rabbit family looked back at her with small, lopsided eyes. Aunt Em with sunny yellow hair smiled too.
Time passeda year, to be precise.
The flat changed, subtly. On the lowest shelf, bright childrens books were now mixed in with the hardbacks. The cactus on the windowsill had gained three plant friends, one very much in distress from Sophies overwatering. The hallways coat rack bore two coatsa navy one of hers, a mans in grey.
In the living room, on the signature cracked coffee table, sat one of Andrews engineering catalogues, open to a page of diagrams, next to a nearly empty mug and Emilys latest dogeared novel.
She stood by the window, watching the now-orange park tree-line and rubbing her belly, just showingfive months along. She was learning to adjust to it little by little, surprised each day by how the impossible could become self-evidently ordinary, then essential.
The front door opened.
Theyre on their way, Andrew called from the kitchen. Charlie textedtheyre in the car.
So, thirty minutes. Did Josh call?
Three times. Wants to know if he gets cartoons or a park trip.
Both, I said.
Andrew flicked on the kettle, then looked at her. How are you?
Good, she replied, except my feet maybe. But good.
Sit down.
Im standing.
Emily
Alright, you win! She moved to the sofa. You know, I was thinking: a year ago, this Sunday, they left. And I stood in the kitchen waiting for it to feel good to be alone again.
And?
It didnt.
I remember you came down.
Were you waiting?
He considered. Maybe not. But I hoped.
Someone hammered the bell with that fierce efficiency reserved for children utterly incapable of patience.
Thats Josh, Emily said.
Without a doubt.
Answersave me the trip.
Andrew went for the door.
Aunt Em! Joshs voice boomed through the flat. Were here! Shall we go to the park? Are the leaves orange yet? Is your tummy big now?
Josh, came Charlies exasperated voice, let people get in first.
I’m already in.
Sophie entered quietly as usual, scanned the room until she found Emily, marched over, and hugged her tightly, almost grown-up.
Aunt Emily, she asked, serious, wheres my bunny?
On the spare room shelf.
Good. Satisfied, Sophie nodded. I knew it would be.
General chaos reigned: Charlie clapping Andrew on the back; Anna discussing the drive with Emily; Josh charging about, located only by thumps and the sighting of a well-thumbed bear book.
You kept our book! Josh gasped.
Of course.
Will you read it to the baby?
Definitely.
Alright then. Nodding with the trademark gravity of boys his age, he grinned. Andrew, park? Leaves?
All over the ground.
Can we go?
Tea first, said Emily, then the park.
You always say that.
And I always will.
Fine, Josh agreed, direct gaze unchanging, Are you happy now, Aunt Emily?
The noise in the flat: voices, Anna laughing, Sophie chattering to Bunny in the next room, the kettle boiling, the citys hum, autumn in the parkand a baby, whose gentle kicks had begun to make themselves known.
Emily looked at Josh.
Yes, she replied.
