Have patience, theyre family
Helen Jennings slid her key into the lock, just as she did every evening for the past seven years, and almost at once sensed something wrong. James was in the kitchen instead of the lounge, where hed usually unwind in front of the telly after work. He sat upright on the kitchen chairunnatural for himlooking like a schoolboy about to be summoned by the headteacher.
Helen, he started, before shed even unfastened her shoes.
Wait a second, she said.
She slipped off her heels, placing them neatly on the mat, toes to the wallher way. She hung her coat carefully on the rack, unlike James who sometimes left his bundled on the hall chair. She walked into the kitchen, poured herself a glass of filtered water, and only then turned to face him.
Helen, theres something His voice trailed off. Whatever this was, it would change the evening. Maybe more.
My mum and Emily need to stay here a bit, James said, avoiding her eye. Couple of weeks, maybe. Theyve had a burst pipe.
Helen set her glass down gently. No clang.
Where are they going to stay?
Well here. He finally met her gaze. Helen, theyve nowhere else. The flats flooded, the builders have just started repairs. Mum cant cope on her own. You understand.
Where will they sleep?
Mum will use your office, Emily and little Danny will have the lounge sofa bed.
Helen looked at him. James looked back with that anxious, hopeful face of a man whod already made the decision, but desperately wanted thanks.
Are they on their way now?
Um yes. Theyre nearly here.
Helen nodded and left the kitchen.
She had spent a year and a half searching for this flat. Hundreds of listings, viewings in all weathers, number-crunching, budgeting, saving, skimping. A quiet street, ten minutes from the centre, a second-floor flat with old Georgian walls and garden views. Shed overseen the floorboard sanding herselfwell, hired professionals and hovered every day. She’d chosen every tile in the bathroom, every handle on the cupboards, agonised over curtain fabric for weeks.
Before this flat: eight years renting a room in Croydon. Before that, a student hallone loo shared by twenty-four people, waking at five just to get your turn. Before that, childhood in a two-bed with parents, grandma and little brotherall four behind a cupboard curtain.
This was the first place that was truly hers.
In the mornings, only the birds spoke. Her coffee scent filled the air, mingled with the wax she polished the floor with. Everything sat where shed left it, undisturbed overnight.
The officenow handed to her mother-in-lawwas her sanctuary. Big desk by the window, proper monitor, drawing tablet; shelving for samples, design files, swatches on a pinboard. Video calls, late-night inspirationsthe room always smelt of paper, pencil lead and a faint coffee tang from her mug coaster.
She stood in her office doorway, looking at the desk.
Then returned to the kitchen.
James, she said, voice even. Ive got a big project on. Serious client.
Helen, love, its just for a couple of weeks.
And where am I supposed to work?
The kitchen, maybe the lounge? He trailed off under her stare. Helen, theyre family. Where else could they go?
Helen looked out the window. Moonlight glowed over the courtyard beech, its leaves shivering in the dusk.
A couple of weeks? she said.
Yes. Until the repairs are done.
All right.
She went to the bathroom, stood for ages under hot water, until the cylinder ran cold.
Margaret Jennings arrived at half past nine. Helen heard the bell, voices jumbling in the hallway, Dannys piping complaints of hunger. She lay on her bed, eyes on the ceiling.
James popped his head round the door.
Helen, come say hello?
Im shattered. Had a rough meeting.
But theyll be disappointed.
She got up.
Margaret stood in the hallway in a long coat, surveying the flat like a visitor browsing antiques. Emily, Jamess sister, was peeling Danny’s coat off himfive years old, and already stamping muddy trainers all over Helen’s pale wood floors.
Shoes off please, Danny, Helen said.
He wont listen, Emily called, not looking round.
Margaret, good evening.
Helen. Her mother-in-law tightened her lips. Well, here we are. What can you docircumstances and all.
Margaret hugged James, patting his shoulderlike reclaiming lost property. Then she wandered, doors swinging open, peering into rooms, coat still buttoned up.
Ill settle in, James, dont fuss, she snapped when he tried to help. Nothing complicated. Just a two-bed, after all.
Helen watched her open the office door, flick on the light. Heard the groan of the chair.
Nice desk! Margaret called. James, fetch my things.
Meanwhile, Danny had found the kitchen, clambering onto a chair, little feet brushing dark marks into the parquet.
Im hungry! he announced.
Just a sec, Emily said, glancing at Helen. Helen, have you got anything for tea? We didnt stop on the way.
Helen opened the fridge. Tomorrows food: salad, eggs, milk, cold chicken stock. She hadnt shopped; planned to go first thing. There was porridge in the cupboardcould cook that. But it was gone eleven, and she had a major call at nine.
Will porridge do? she asked.
If theres nothing else, Emily shrugged.
Helen put the kettle on.
The next morning, she woke to the blaring TVsome wildlife documentary, theme music up loud. It was seven.
She lay still, watching sunlight creep across the ceiling. James faced the wallhe could sleep through anything, always had. Her coffee pot was in the kitchen. One bath. Office lost.
She pulled on her dressing gown and stepped into the hall.
From the lounge, children’s laughter and the presenters voice drifted through. Danny chattered away, Emily answering, sleep-thick. Helen headed into the kitchenand stopped.
Last night, as she quietly washed up after a dinner no one really commented on but all ate, Margaret had watched her put the plates back in the cupboard.
Helen, do you always put plates upside-down?
Yesless dust that way.
Margaret only sniffed. But the plates had been put right-side-up once Helen went to bed.
Now her system was up-ended again. Margarets battered frying pan, brought along, stood next to the stove. Three carrier bags of groceries cluttered the worktop exactly where Helen prepped everything.
Helen shifted the bags to the stool by the window, put her coffee pot on the hob, and stared out: yellow leaves slick on the paving, dog walkers already out, light in the block opposite.
Coffee brewed well; she managed half a cup of peace before Danny came padding in, pyjamas covered in racing cars.
Got any biscuits? he blurted.
Porridge for breakfast, Helen replied.
I dont want porridge.
Go to Mummy, then.
Mums asleep.
He perched on her window stool, right on the shopping bags, and stared outside. Helen put down her mug and left him to it.
Working at the kitchen table that first morning felt wrong. Laptop open, second mug of coffee, she tried to focus on drawings, but voices kept breaking through. Margaret pottered in just after eight, surprised to see Helen at the table.
Working here, are you?
Yes.
Hmm cant be comfortable.
Ill manage.
Margaret put the kettle on, unpacked a jar from her bags, opened the lid and sniffed. The room filled with a thick, sugary jam scent. Helen could barely stand sweets in the morning, especially when working, but said nothing.
Nine oclock, time for her call with the client. A big project: private home in the country, something bespoke, taking the terrain and sunlight into account. Her career, her reputation, her income.
She spoke in half-whispers, because behind the office door (now Margarets bedroom) there was silence. Then Danny thundered down the corridor with a plastic dumper truck. Helen rose, closed the kitchen door, pressed the phone tight to her ear.
Yes, I can work with the landscape its an interesting challenge. Yes
Afterwards, she stared at her screen. The job was good, the client serious. It could be six months of paid work. She needed focusbut all she could think about was her desk covered in someone elses bits and bobs, and her precious trivet given away to Margaret last night.
The first week drifted by in a fog. Helen tried keeping her old routineup before seven, an hours quiet graft before others stirred. Now, there was no quiet at all.
Danny, up at seven, started a running commentary on the world the moment he woke up. His voice, shrill and relentless, cut through every door. Margaret took endless time in the bathroom every morningalways just when Helen needed to get ready for a video call. Emily slouched round in giant knitted socks, leaving belongings everywherephone charger in the hall, makeup bag on the edge of the sink, magazine splayed facedown on the lounge table. Helen tucked things away, only to find them back again.
By day three, Margaret fixed lunch. This could have been a nice gesture. Helen, headphones on, struggled to focus at the kitchen table while Margaret fried meat patties, the smell thick and oily, working its way into her files.
Ive made patties. Sit, have lunch! James will want a hot meal home from work.
Thank you, Ill eat later.
Why later? Best hot!
Ive a deadline.
Margaret glanced at Helens laptop as though it was some peculiar hobby, not proper work.
Well, dont moan if it’s cold later.
Helen put on headphones.
That evening, James came home to a feast, the kitchen ringing with his mums and sisters chatter. Helen, laptop on knees in the lounge, tried to work though it was impossible.
Come eat, Helen! James called out.
Not hungry.
But Mum cooked.
I noticed.
Later, he brought her a plate.
Dont, JamesIll have something later.
Helen
James, Im working.
He left. Through the wall, Helen heard Margarets low mutter, something about clear shes not happy to have us Helen closed the laptop and sat there, the noise not really fading: Danny singing at the tablet, voices from the kitchenthe feeling that somewhere in this flat was her office, her own room with pinboard and samples, which now reeked of someone elses perfume.
On the fifth day, Margaret rearranged the mugs.
Helen kept hers on the bottom shelf, left-hand sideeasy to reach. Now they were on the high right, with Margarets grains in the old spot.
Helen moved them back. By evening, theyd been returned to the top shelf.
Margaret, Helen said over breakfast, its easier with mugs on the bottom.
But thats for grains now, dear. More logical, isnt it? Like with likefood with food, crockery with crockery. She sounded patient, explaining to a child.
Its my cupboard. Im used to my order.
Well, while we’re here, thisll be best.
Helen drank her coffee standing by the window.
That day, she found her yogurt missing from the fridgethe special Greek one, unflavoured, to eat after a workout.
Margaret, have you seen the yoghurt on the middle shelf?
Oh, I gave it to Danny. He wanted a treat, and yoghurts good for you. Just nip to the shop downstairs for more, wont you?
Helen shut the fridge, jaw tight.
Margaret, please dont use my things without asking. If Danny needs something, let me or Emily know.
Oh Helen, come now, dont be so funny. Its just us all together here.
Were not all living together. Youre guests heretemporarily.
Margaret looked at her, offended, left the kitchen.
That evening James squeezed Helens hand in bed.
Helen, dont be cross with Mum. Shes upset.
I just asked her not to take my food.
Its only a yoghurt.
Thats not the point.
Then what is?
Helen stared up, the white ceiling abovethe one shed painted herself, standing on a wobbling stepladder, swearing quietly as drips fell on the paper. Repainted twice for a good finish.
This is my fridge, in my home. I shouldnt have to explain why I want my things untouched.
Just be patient, Helen. Two weeks, thats all.
Youve said that twice now.
Theyre getting the work done.
Did you actually call the workmen?
Pause.
Mum said they fixed the pipe. Just need the rising main replaced now.
How long will that take?
Shes not sure.
So you havent called.
No answer. Helen turned to face the wall.
On the ninth day, she lost her frying pan.
Not lostjust changed. Shed guarded her ceramic frying pan for three years, washing only with a soft sponge, never using metal. You could cook anything, no butter, and nothing stuck.
Now, scratching ran in white lines across the inner surfacea wire scourer, obviously.
Helen stood, staring at the ruined pan.
Margaret bustled in. Breakfast? Let me help.
No, Im fine.
Helen, why do you always
Margaret, did you wash my pan?
Margaret glanced at the pan. I did. It was greasy! Needed a good scrub.
You used a scouring pad. Thats ceramicits ruined now.
Oh, dont be silly. Shiny, isnt it! Does the job.
Its scratched. Ceramic cant be scrubbed with metal.
Ive done it my way forever, Helen. Its just a frying pan, dont fuss.
Please dont clean my pans, then.
I was only trying to help.
I didnt ask for help.
Margaret shook her head, wounded, and left, closingfirmlythe door.
That evening, James looked sheepish.
Mums upset about the pan.
She ruined mine.
She didnt mean it. She wanted to help.
It cost fifty quid. Now its useless.
Ill buy another.
Thats not the point.
Then what is?
Helen looked at him. He was sincere as always, not understanding something so basic.
It’s the fact that in my own home, my things are ruined, and then I’m told I’m making it up.
Shes just used to her way, Helen. Not on purpose.
Im not on about motive. Im talking about respect.
Be patient, Helen.
How many times are you going to say that?
He scratched his head. Helen, theyre family.
She stood and left for the bedroom, closing the door behind her. Through the wall, she could hear James quietly talking to his mother, so calm, so reasonable, already defending her against his wife.
She called Lauren, her best mate since uni.
Its been nine days, Lauren.
I thought it was two weeks?
Theyre saying the works dragging out no one knows for how long.
Classic. My friends mother-in-law came for a month three years, Helen.
Helen sighed. Not three years.
Three. They divorced after.
Youre not helping.
Im being honest. Are you doing anything?
I ask them not to touch things. James just says, Be patient.
Right. Just dont bottle it. Tell him, Helen.
Im not silent.
She fell silent, listening to the laughter drifting through the flata real, unguarded laugh from Margaret shed never heard before.
Helen thought, James is happy, finally, at home with his mum. And for him, this flat is home. But right now, it isnt hers.
On the twelfth day, Margaret commented on dinner.
Helen roasted fishsimple lemon and herb, her usual.
Helen, do you always cook fish this way? Margaret, already sat at the table.
It varies.
James never liked fish much, you know.
He eats it fine.
Hes just polite. Hes always been a meat manloved my bangers and mash.
Fish is healthier.
Well, that’s debatable. A proper man needs meat. Fish wont fill him.
Helen flipped the fish.
Hes never complained.
He loves you, so he wont.
Have you asked him?
Helen, Im his mother. I fed him for twenty years. I know best.
Ive cooked for him seven years now.
Silence thickened in the kitchen. Margaret stood, made herself tea and left. Emily, head buried in her phone, slinked out as well.
James drifted in later, sat down, saw the fish.
Fish?
Yes, fish.
Sounds good. He ate. Mum says you were hard on her.
I said Ive been feeding you for seven years.
Helen, you dont have to fight with her.
What should I do then? Sit while she lectures me on feeding you?
She means well.
James, you always defend her. With the panit was an accident; with the yoghurtjust being kind; now this”
She didnt say you cant cook.”
“She did! She said you need proper mans food.
He chewed quietly. Tastes good.
Helen washed up and went to bed.
That night, when he came to bed, she was awake, listening as he settled with a sigh.
Helen, awake?
Yes.
Just be patient. Theyll finish repairs soon.
Did you speak to the builders?
Pause.
Mum says three more weeks.
Helen opened her eyes. Three weeks.
Theyre waiting for new pipes, apparently.
So not two weeks.
Helen, what do you want me to do? Throw them out?
No one said that. But three weeks is over a month. Im losing work here, James. I cant work on the kitchen table with Danny running about.
Helen
Ive lost my office, cant do calls, cant sleep because of the telly.
Dannys in bed by nine now.
And up at seven, making noise non-stop.
Mums early to bed.
Shes up nights for water, switches all the lights on.
How do you know?
I dont sleepI see the lights flash.
He was silent.
Ill speak to her.
Dont. Helen closed her eyes. Just three weeks.
Be patient
She didnt answer.
The project grew urgent. A country house built to follow the land, an open terrace for views, all the light in the right places. It was her kind of brief, but impossible to do with so much chaos. Thered be distractions or background chatterDanny underfoot, Margaret requesting space, Emily on the phone in the kitchenevery time.
Could you take your call somewhere else? Helen asked once.
This is the kitchenI’m making tea, Emily replied, genuinely puzzled.
Im working.
But Im keeping quiet.
She wasnt quiet. Helen put on headphones, trying to disappear.
So Helen began working at night, when all were asleeptea brewing, computer glowing through the small hours. By morning, her head ached, but at least something got done.
James noticed.
Another all-nighter?
Working.
Its not good for you.
Theres no other way.
Do it when Dannys out.
That’s hardly an hour, and only if Emily takes himshe often doesnt.
James just sighed and left for work.
Helen thought of sitting down with him for a real talk. Not tired and snappy but properly, in daylight, about how this was impossiblethat it wasnt just patience, but her job, health and home on the line.
But it was never the right timehed just walked in, or his mother was next door, or Helen herself was too exhausted to risk a row instead of a conversation.
And so it went.
On the seventeenth day, it happened.
A dull, cold morning, drizzle striping the glass. She was at the kitchen table, finalising elevationstwelve hours work in her project file, everything painstakingly built, every detail balanced.
I need tea, she muttered, and stood.
She put the kettle on, found a mug, measured tea. Three minutes, perhaps five. She watched the kettle with her back to the table.
Then she turned.
Danny was on her chair, her laptop in front of him, a tall glass of cherry juice in hand. He was jabbing keys, peering in curiosity. Then, like all little boys wanting a closer look, he leaned forwardsjuice along with him.
Helens cry was inarticulate, a burst of noisebut too late. The juice poured directly onto the keyboard, dark red streaming into every crevice. The screen flickered, once, twicethen died.
Dannys eyes widened.
I didnt mean to, he mumbled.
Helen stood rigid, staring at the sticky pool spreading over her sketches.
Emily! she called out.
Emily came in, took in the juice, the dead laptop.
Danny, what have you done? she asked, flatly.
Hes spilled juice on my laptop.
Well, he didnt mean to.
All my files are on there.
Helen, kids, you know
James entered then, pyjama bottoms still onit was Saturday.
Whats going on?
The laptop Helen managed.
He looked at the mess, picked the laptop up, watched as red dripped out.
Oh. Right.
Thats twelve hours of work. The projects on there.
I know
You know? Her voice barely above a whisper, more terrifying than if shed shouted. You know this is a six-month contract? Everything Id built up, lost?
Helen, kids dont
Im not talking about the kid! Im talking about never having a space, not one single place, where I can work undisturbed in my own home!
Margaret entered, took in the scene, shook her head.
Your fault, really, she declared.
Helen turned slowly. Sorry?
Who leaves laptops where kids can get them? Just asking for trouble.
Margaret.
Im only saying. You should put things away. Its common sense.
I was making tea for three minutes.
Well, three minutes and hes there. You should tidy up.
This is my kitchen, my table. I shouldnt have to pack up my things just to move about my own flat.
Helen, James said, dont shout at him. Hes a child. Youre supposed to be careful. Why bring the laptop in here?
Helen faced him.
He stood between her and his mother, same lost face, wanting peace, waiting for her to apologise just so everything could go back to normal.
So, its my fault? Helen said.
Im not saying
You said not to use the kitchen for workmy own kitchen!”
Helen, come on
Margarets right. Its my fault. I should have known better.
She wrapped her sticky laptop in a tea towel and walked to the bedroom, shutting the door.
She sat on the end of the bed, looking at the floor.
Voices blurred through the wallsMargaret scolding, Emily ushering Danny away, James hesitating outside the bedroom before moving on.
Helen set the broken laptop down, ran her hand over its stained cover. The red mark would only fade in time.
She closed her eyes, and something inside her stopped clenching. Not reliefjust nothing left to tense.
Well, thats it, she thought. Thats the point.
She didnt work that night. Lay in the dark, thinking, quietly, a kind of settled calm.
James lay next to her, fell asleep instantly. She thought about the flathow she found it, that first day, empty rooms with peeling paint, and still she knew it was home. Eight months of dust and paint fumes, wandering around after work choosing sockets, arguing over parquet, sleeping that first night on the bare floor, just a sleeping bag and a lamp. And how happy she was, finally, to call something her own.
She thought about the projectmaybe she could recover it, most of it, if she acted fast. Shed lost days but could rebuild if she had the chance to work.
But she didnt.
Her desk was full of someone elses things. Her kitchen, her bathroom, hallway, even her air and her mornings, every inch occupied by people who were only coming for two weekspeople whod become her burden indefinitely. And her husband saw nothing wrong, just repeated, Have patience, theyre family. Youre an adult, Helen. You shouldnt have
Helen lay there, thinking about have patience.
Shed had patience her whole life. Shared student halls where patience meant waking before everyone, rented strangers rooms where patience meant walking quietly after ten, a family flat where she did homework by a cupboard light, pretending not to hear conversations that werent hers.
Shed built the courage for this flat out of that. All those scrimped years, late nights, early mornings, saving. To make a place where patience was finally not necessary.
And now, told againbe patient.
Helen lay still, realising now there was only silencecold, straightforward, un-angry resolve.
She got up at six, while the flat still slept. Made coffee, drank alone at the window. Then she started packing.
Quick, quiet. Opened the hall cupboard, got out the big suitcase from the top shelf, walked into her office.
Margaret was sleeping. Pills, tissues and her jumper draped over Helens files. A note with a phone number pinned on the board over Helens mood sketches.
Helen ignored Margaret. Packed her samples, folders, drawing tablet into the suitcase. Peeled her references off the board. Closed the door.
Danny and Emily were asleep in the lounge. Helen walked through, not stopping.
She moved their things, methodicallyMargarets boots, Dannys coat, groceries into bags, makeup, tablet charger, all into the hallway.
She returned to the bedroom. James was curled up, head to the wall.
James.
He groaned.
James, wake up.
He rolled over, blinked at her face, realised somehow this wasnt one of those mornings to doze off again.
Helen? What?
Ive packed your mum and Emilys things. Theyre in the hall. Ive called a taxiitll be here in twenty minutes.
He sat up. What?
They’ll leave today.
Helen, have you?
James, I made a decision. I need your help.
Helen, are you mad? He spoke quietly, fear in his voice. Where will they go? The flats being fixed!
Thats not my concern. Its yoursand your familys. You all made these choices without me; now, I make one.
Helen
Go with them if you want. But theyre leaving today.
She left the room.
Emily woke first, wandered into the corridor to find her things stacked beside the wall.
Helen whats this?
Taxis due in eighteen minutes. Ive booked it to your flat.
Youre kicking us out?
Yes.
Emily stared, waiting for a punchline that didnt come.
But the flats not ready!
I dont know. Thats for you to sort out.
Ill tell Mum.
Please do.
Margaret emerged in her dressing gown, face sour with sleep, saw the bags, saw Helen.
Whats going on?
Your things, Margaret. Taxis booked.
Helen, dont you dareyou cant just throw us out. This is Jamess flat too.
This is my flat. In my name. My mortgage, my hours, my years.
Youve no right!
I do. Helen lifted her phone. If you refuse to leave, Ill call the police. Youve damaged my propertyfrying pan, laptop. Ill list it all.
Margaret gaped. You How dare you! James!
James stood in the doorway now, hastily dressed. He looked between his mother, his wife, the bags of belongings.
Helenyou cant mean this.
I can.
Not like this. Not just chucking them out.
Im not chucking them. Im asking them to leave my home.
Its the same!
Noits not. Chucking means shouting and threats. Ive booked a taxi, Im calm.
James stepped closer, voice low. Dont do this. Youre upset, not thinking straight. Lets all calm down
I am calm.
Helen
Listen to me. Ive thought it through. I want them to go.
Shes my mum.
I know. I respect that. But this is my home, and I want to feel okay in it. I havent for seventeen days.
He looked at her with the helplessness she knew so wellcaught between two impossible needs.
Helen, but theyre family.
James, listen. I didnt marry your mother or your sister. These seventeen days, not once did you stand up for me. Not once. All you ever said was, Have patience. You called me childish for wanting space. That isnt family. Thats betrayalthe quiet kind. And I cant live with that.
Silence.
Behind her, Margaret raged, but Helen didnt care. She looked only at Jameshe knew it, finally, though he didnt want to.
Helen he started.
Helens phone vibrated. The taxi would be there in three minutes.
Cars nearly here, she said. James, help with their bags.
Margaret packed silently, gathering stray bits. Emily woke Dannyhe whined, still groggy.
Are we going home? he asked Helen.
Yes, she replied, as gently as she could.
Danny nodded, nestled into Emilys shoulder.
James took out the last bag, came back, hovering in the hall.
You really want me to? He couldnt finish.
She looked at himmiddle manager, always wanting happiness for all and achieving it for none. Seven years in her flat, her coffee, her sofa, and still when push came, chose his mother.
Pack your things, James.
Helen
Pack up. Stay with them. Stay at a friends. Hotelup to you. But for now, I need you to leave.
You mean it?
Yes.
He stood there a long time.
Then he went to the bedroom, came back with a holdall.
Helen”
Yes?
I didnt think you were like this.
I didnt either, she said.
He left.
Helen stood in the hall, alone.
She listened as footsteps vanished, the front door of the building slammed, the lift whirred, then silence.
She walked to the kitchen. The stain from the juice marked one corner; Dannys plastic cup, a strange mug beside it.
She put the mug in the sink.
She toured the flat. Hallwaymuddy tracks near the skirting. The officeher desk, her shelving, her board; the perfume still lingered, but would fade. Loungesofa left unfolded, someone elses throw in a heap. Fold it, stack it, done.
Back to the kitchen.
While the kettle boiled, she dialled Lauren.
Helen? How are you? You were online at seven
Theyve gone.
A long silence.
Theyve gone?
I packed their bags, called a cab.
All of them?
All. James too.
Helen.
Not now, Lauren.
I wasnt going to lecture.
I know.
How do you feel?
Helen gazed out. The rain had stopped, puddles shined on tarmac, bits of morning sky reflected back.
I dont know. Strange. Empty.
Helen
Im not sad. Just empty. Like throwing something heavy awaythe space isnt filled yet.
Theyll come back and want a word, you realise.
I know.
Do you know what you want, Helen?
She thought about that, as the kettle simmered.
Not now. Just one thing.
Whats that?
Just Helen poured her coffee. I dont know the rest. But for now, Im going to drink my morning coffee in peace. Thats enough.
She stood by the window, steam curling above her cup.
The flat was quietnot dead quiet, but living: one person, the sound of the boiler, the world outside. Someone slammed a gate, a dog padded down the street, sparrows. A distant lorry.
Helen lifted her mughers, back on the bottom shelf where it belonged.
She stood at the window.
Below, the city woke, buses humming up the avenue, her flat still bearing marksstain on the table, shoes on the floor, perfume in her officebut now, that was her mess, her space, hers to clean or keep as she liked.
She set her single set of keys on the hall standnot two, just one.
Then stood at the window, and drank her coffee.
