Listen to yourself, said Eleanor, standing in the doorway of her daughters room, clutching a battered tote filled with jam jars for her fatherinlaw. The glass jars clinked softly as she crossed the threshold.
Harriet tore herself away from the laptop and rubbed her nose. Her eyes were raw from hours of cramming notes, and a dull ache pressed at her temples.
Mom, I cant. My assessments are tomorrow. I need at least a day just to lie down, she whispered.
Lying down, thats all you want, Eleanor snapped, irritation flashing. Your Grandfathers blood pressure is all over the place; hes alone in that little hamlet, and you want to lounge. Youre selfish, Harriet.
Heavy footsteps echoed from the hallway. George appeared behind his wife, already wrapped in his weatherbeaten travel coat.
Whats the trouble now? he surveyed the cluttered room, textbooks and printed sheets strewn everywhere.
Your daughter refuses to go to Grandfather. Shes exhausted, you see, Eleanor said, exasperated.
George frowned. He rarely entered their domestic spats, but something in his usually placid face flickered.
Harriet, this is over the line. Your Granddad isnt getting any younger. We havent seen him in a month.
Harriet slumped back into the chair, irritation simmering in her chest while she fought to keep her composure.
Dad, I get it. But Im barely standing on my own two feet. Let me come next weekend, just for a day, sit with him, have a proper chat.
Again, youre putting yourself first! Eleanors voice rose. Next weekend, next month, next year! And Grandfather will still be there, all by himself! Seventytwo years old, and his own granddaughter cant pry herself away from a computer!
Enough, Mum, Harriet muttered.
No, its not enough! Do you ever think of anyone but yourself? Your father and I work ourselves to the bone, and you cant even manage a single day with your own grandparent?
Harriet pressed her lips together. Inside her, a stubborn resistance rose, an inexplicable reluctance to travel she couldnt quite name. Fatigue, yes, but also a vague, unformed foreboding that today she needed to stay home.
Im not going, she said firmly. Sorry.
George shook his head. Fine, sit here and rest then. Dont be surprised if Granddad stops calling you his beloved granddaughter.
George, dont start, Eleanor grabbed his sleeve. Were leaving. Talking to her is pointless.
They slammed the front door shut with a thud. Harriet stayed motionless for a long moment, listening as the echo of their steps faded and the distant rumble of a car started up in the driveway. She finally exhaled, reached for the laptop, and settled into the quiet that wrapped the flat like a soft cocoon.
She flung the windows wide, letting in the warm May air that drifted in with the faroff hum of the city. She brewed a cup of tea, sank back at the desk, and finally let herself unwind.
The clock ticked toward three oclock when Harriet finally drifted off. She stretched, her spine cracking, and rose to fetch a biscuit from the kitchen when a strange scent slipped into her nose.
At first she ignored itperhaps the neighbours were barbecuing, the smell of grilled meat drifting up the street. But the odor thickened, sharpened. It wasnt meat. It wasnt cooking. Something was burning.
Harriet moved toward the balcony. With each step the smell grewbitter, acrid, tinged with a synthetic chemical edge. She flung open the balcony door and froze.
The sofa was alight, black smoke curling through the room.
No, no, no! she shrieked, lunging at the couch. An unfinished cigarette, ember glowing orange, lodged in the upholstery. Someone must have flicked it from above; the wind had carried it straight in.
She bolted for the kitchen. Her hands shook as she yanked a pot from the cupboard. The tap dribbled water agonisingly slowly. Not waiting for it to fill, she hoisted the heavy pot and sprinted back.
The first pot doused the smoldering spot, but the foam inside kept puffing smoke. She raced again for a second pot, then a third, then a fourth. Water streamed over the sofa, onto the floor, seeping down the skirting boards.
Only after the fourth pot did the smoke thin. Harriet stood amid the wreckage, breathing hard, her sleeves soaked to the elbows. The sofa had become a mush of burnt fabric and soggy foam, the flat reeked of charred synthetics.
She sank onto the wet floor, knees pulled to her chest, adrenaline ebbing into a tremor. A latecoming dread pierced her as she realised what might have happenedif shed left with her parents, if the flat had been empty, if her nose hadnt caught the smell in time.
The house would have burned downeverything, papers, memories. Harriet fumbled for her phone and dialed her mother.
Mum her voice cracked on the first word.
Harriet? Whats happened? Eleanor answered.
Mum, there was a fire. It started. I put it out, but the sofatheres no sofa now.
Silence hung. Then Eleanors voice, hoarse.
Are you alright? Harriet, are you okay?
Yes, Im fine. The cigarette came from the balcony, I didnt notice at first but managed to douse everything with water. I didnt call the fire brigade; I handled it myself.
Were on our way, Georges voice cut in from somewhere else, having snatched the phone. Stay inside, dont go anywhere. Were coming now.
The line went dead.
Harriet remained on the floor, staring at what had been their sofa an hour earliera worn, loveworn piece that Eleanor had bought when Harriet was twelve. Theyd watched movies curled under a blanket on it, shed wept over her first heartbreak there, her father had dozed after a long day.
Now it was a smoldering heap.
Moments later, keys clattered in the lock, the door burst open, and Eleanor tumbled in, hair dishevelled, eyes rimmed red.
Harriet! she gasped, rushing through the hallway, into the living room, freezing as if petrified. Her gaze fell on the charred couch, the puddles of water, the black soot streaks on the wall, then snapped back to her daughter, perched on the armrest of a chair.
Lord Eleanor whispered, stepping forward and pulling Harriet into a crushing hug, the kind that squeezes the breath out of you. She smelled of perfume, sweat, and something elseraw fear.
Forgive me, she murmured into Harriets hair. Im sorry for all the things I shouted this morning. Calling you selfish, irresponsible Im so foolish.
Harriet held her mother tightly, words stuck in some deep cavern, refusing to emerge.
George entered behind them, walking slowly around the room, gauging the damage. He touched the scorched wall, sat by the ruined couch, poked at the melted foam with a fingertip.
Good job putting it out, he said finally. Smart movelots of water right away.
I didnt think, I just acted on instinct, Harriet replied.
You did the right thing. The important thing is you didnt panic.
He placed a heavy hand on her shoulder. Well done, Harriet. Seriously. You saved our home.
Eleanor stepped back, wiping tears from the back of her hand, smearing dark streaks across her cheeks, oblivious to the mess.
Do you understand what would have happened if youd gone? she asked, voice trembling. The flat would have been empty, windows open, the fire would have devoured everything The whole block could have been at risk. The Pettys downstairs have two kidscan you imagine?
George wrapped an arm around Eleanors shoulders. Len, thats enough. It didnt happen, so stop worrying.
But Eleanor couldnt stop. Tears streamed down her face, uncontrolled.
I yelled at you this morning, called you selfish, and youyet you saved us all.
Mom, why are you Harriet brushed her arm gently. I didnt know it would end like this. I was just tired and wanted to stay.
Thats the point! Eleanor clutched Harriets shoulders, looking straight into her eyes. You didnt know, but something inside you knew. Intuition, a gut feelingcall it what you will. It kept you here and saved us.
George grunted, lacking his usual scepticism. Mums got a flair for the mystical, but shes right. You held on, and thank heavens you did.
The rest of the day passed in a strange, numb haze. George hauled the sofas wreckage to the tip, Harriet scrubbed the floor, Eleanor wiped soot from the walls. They worked in silence, punctuated by brief, clipped sentences.
By evening the flat looked almost normal again, except for a bright rectangle of bare floor where the sofa had stood.
They ate dinner at the kitchen table, pulling the stools close. Eleanor tossed a handful of spaghetti with sausages into a panquick, mindless comfort food.
Harriet, she said, stirring her tea, Ill tell you something important.
Harriet lifted her eyes from the plate.
Listen to your intuition. Always. Even if it sounds foolish, even if everyone else tells you youre wrong. If something inside nudges you, dont argue with it.
George nodded, chewing his sausage.
True enough. Ive lived my whole life by logic and calculation, but sometimes something just clicks and you know what to do.
Today that something saved our house, Eleanor added.
Harriet lowered her gaze, a shy smile tugging at her lips. She wasnt used to such words from her mother; their conversations usually crackled, strained, almost to the point of breaking. Nowsomething had shifted.
Something fragile but genuine rose between the three of them, born of shared terror and relief.
Well go to Granddad next weekend, Harriet announced. All together. Well tell him well, not everythinghis heart might not take it.
Exactly, Eleanor said with a wry grin. Well say the sofa wore out, well get a new one.
And Ill haul a bucket of water up to the balcony, George chuckled.
They laughed, nervous, letting the tension drain from the day.
Outside, night deepened. The city lit up with countless lights, a distant siren wailingperhaps an ambulance, perhaps a fire engine. Harriet listened, a shiver crawling up her spine.
Tonight shed learned something vital, not just about intuition, but about herselfhow she could act when it mattered, not freeze, not panic, but do what was needed.
And about her parentsbehind their shouts and reproaches lay fear. Fear of losing her, fear of something happening to her, expressed clumsily through criticism. A crooked, awkward love, but love nonetheless.
Eleanor gathered the dishes, washing them methodically. George disappeared into the bedroom, searching online for a new sofa. Harriet stayed at the table, warming her hands on the mug of tea.
An ordinary Sunday evening, only anything but ordinary.
Mom, she called softly.
M?
Thank you. For coming home, for not shouting, for just being here.
Eleanor turned from the sink, looking at her daughter with a long, strange gaze, then smiledtired, but warm.
Thank you, Harriet, for everything.
