The apartment of Emily and James was steeped in the lazy rhythm of a Saturday that was already slipping from March into April. James had risen early, tinkering in the kitchen with his coffee grinder, measuring out the perfect ratio for a new blend of beans. Emily lounged on the sofa, thumbing through a stack of magazines and scribbling a shopping list: she intended to pop to the corner shop after lunch, though a soft drizzle was beginning to settle outside. Beyond the window, wet snow was melting in slow, syrupy ribbons, leaving puddles that glittered with shards of dirty ice. At the hallway entrance a tiny archipelago of rubber boots and house slippers had formed.
James paused, cup in hand.
Fancy a bite? Ive just stumbled on a recipe for cottagecheese fritters without semolina.
Emily smiled; her plans were simple: breakfast together, then each to his own chores. She exhaled, about to answer, when a bright knock echoed down the corridor.
On the landing stood their neighbour, Helen, from the flat opposite. She looked a little more flustered than usual, cradling the shoulder of a boy about eight or nineneither stranger nor close friend.
Sorry to barge in weve got an emergency: Ive got to dash to a work meeting, and my husband is stuck somewhere between the M25 and the moon. Could you look after Oliver for a couple of hours? Hes quiet his things are here,
she handed over a small knapsack with a plastic dinosaur perched on the flap,
he doesnt need much feedinghe just ate breakfast. He does love apples
James glanced at Emily; she shrugged. Who else would agree so quickly? Neighbours sometimes need a hand. They gave Helen a brief nod.
Of course, let him stay! Dont worry.
Oliver tiptoed over the threshold, eyes darting up and down the unfamiliar room with a mixture of caution and curiosity. His boots left fresh, damp prints in the doorways dust. Helen hurriedly explained the details: his parents phones are always within reach; call me or my husband if anything; no allergies; he loves cartoons about animals. She kissed his forehead and vanished through the door.
The boy shed his jacket and hung it neatly on a hook by the radiator, beside the strangers coats. He surveyed the flat: the heavy curtains made it feel a shade darker than his own home, but the air was scented with fresh coffee mingling with the warm breath of the heater.
So, Oliver? Want to watch a cartoon or play something?
Emily tried to summon every childhood game she could recall.
Oliver shrugged.
Maybe something about dinosaurs? Or we could build something
The first half hour drifted peacefully: James turned on Dino Park for Oliver, then slipped away to glance at the news on his phone. Emily kept leafing through magazines, watching the newcomer settle on the carpet before the TV, his knapsack slung over his shoulder. Yet the sense of a fleeting visit lingered, even after the third commercial break in a row.
By one oclock the adults plans began to melt faster than the March snow on the radiators. Helen sent a text: Sorry! Weve been stuck in traffic for an hour! Well try to be back by evening. Then Olivers father called, his voice tinged with guilt.
Folks! Thanks a lot! Were on our way! Is everything alright there?
Emily reassured him.
Yes, yes! All good! No worries!
She hung up and turned to James.
Looks like well have to tweak our lunch plans
He spread his hands wide.
Well, itll be an adventure in collaboration!
Olivers innocent spontaneity smoothed over the first awkwardness. He showed them his tiny collection of three dinosaur figurines, then asked if he could help with the cooking.
James slipped into the kitchen with surprising ease, pulling out eggs for an omelette. Oliver cracked shells against the rim of a bowl, though more shells than egg made it into the bowl. The kitchen filled with the scent of buttered toast; the boy stirred the batter with a wooden spoon until it thickened into something that resembled concrete.
While the grownups debated which film was appropriate for an eightyearoldThe Lion King versus an old British comedyOliver quietly gathered every cushion from the lounge into a massive pile beside the coffee table. Within minutes the mound earned the title headquarters of the expedition for the whole flat; everyone, regardless of age or height, was invited to enlist.
Outside, early evening settled far too early for the tailend of March; street lamps reflected in puddles like fireflies trapped among icy islands near the entrance hall.
When the boys parents called again, this time both of them, it became clear they would not be home that night.
James was the first to break the silence after the call.
Seems well be having a sleepover! What do you think?
Emily gazed thoughtfully at Oliver, whose grin stretched wide over his newlyfortified pillow fortress; there was no fear, only the thrill of an explorer on the brink of a grand adventure through a neighbours living room.
Then let it be declared: the flat camp is officially open! announced James with a flourish. Whos in charge of the menu?
The three of them cooked together, and the kitchen rang with unexpected laughter even for seasoned adults. Oliver peeled a potato, managing to carve one piece almost square. James orchestrated the chopping of vegetables for a salad, while Emily set the table with plastic platesafter all, a camp needs its own ambience.
Rain drummed louder against the windowsill as conversations turned to favourite childhood films (each of them from a different era), and to school anecdotes (Oliver recounted a tale about a maths teacher and a plastic lizard). The chuckles floated lightly, as if nobody were strangers any longer; worries dissolved into the aroma of roasted veg and the soft glow of the kitchen lamp.
In the lounge an improvised tent city rosebedsheets draped over the back of the sofa, creating walls and a cosy nook. The camps rules were simple: stories whispered, and hide from the forest spirits (the role fell to a plush hippo). As the clock slipped past the usual bedtime, no one thought to remind Oliver of any routine.
The makeshift camp held surprisingly well: the sheets stayed taut, the cushions served as both walls and mattresses. Oliver, now in a toolarge pair of someone elses pajamas, settled inside the camp with the plush hippo and his dinosaurladen knapsack.
Emily brought a mug of warm milk and a plate of biscuits.
Heres your nightrations for the expedition, she declared with mock seriousness.
James, for no apparent reason, wrapped a kitchen towel around his head like a bandanna.
Our camp has a special charter: after lights out, only whispers!
He winked at Oliver, who gave a conspiratorial nod and pretended to be engrossed in building another tunnel of cushions.
The evening stretched longer than any adult would normally allow. They read funny stories to Oliver about a clumsy bear (always swapping the bears name for a neighbours), debated what theyd take on a real trek. James recalled his first sleepover at a friends househow hed been terrified of strangers wallpaper in the night, yet spent a week dreaming of a fortress of chairs. Emily spoke of family trips to the country and the time she lost a slipper in a snowdrift right by the front door.
Oliver listened intently, occasionally smiling or asking why adults loved to reminisce about the past, why everyone had their own spooky tales. He spoke of school and classmates more calmly than he did by day; no one tugged at his sleeve or interrupted him. At one point he confessed:
I thought it would be boring but it feels like a celebration.
Emily laughed.
See! The key is good company.
Gradually the chatter faded. Outside, the street sank into near darkness, only the occasional car casting thin ribbons of light through the curtains. On the kitchen table a halfdrunk cup of tea and a crust of bread remained untouchedno rush to clear the remnants of dinner. A pleasant, light fatigue settled over the flat, as if everyone had lived a day a little longer than usual.
Emily tucked Oliver into his cushiontent, draping a soft yellowstriped quiltone that had been a favourite since Jamess own childhoodover him. He nestled comfortably. At his request she read one more story, about a town where paper boats drifted across spring puddles under moonlight. After the tale they lingered in quiet.
Arent you scared without Mum? she asked.
No its fun just a tad strange, she replied.
Tomorrow morning everything will be back to normal but if you ever want to stay again, well always welcome you.
Oliver blinked sleepily; his eyes closed almost at once.
When the boy finally slipped into a steady breath, Emily padded into the kitchen where James sat at the table, phone in hand. A message from Helen blinked on the screen: theyd finally made it home, all fine; theyd be back early tomorrow.
I never imagined an evening like this she murmured.
James lowered himself onto the stool beside her.
Me neither but the unexpected glitch in the schedule made it cozier than any of our usual family nights lately.
They exchanged a wordless glance, both understanding this was a rare moment of connectionnot just with the neighbours child, but with each other.
The radiator hummed warmth, the rain pattered against the glass, and a faint, steady breathing drifted from the lounge through the cracked door. James suddenly suggested:
Maybe we should do these camps more often? Not just for the kids
Emily smiled wryly:
Adults need an unscheduled day off too.
They agreed to try it at least once a month, even if just for a shared supper or a board game.
Morning arrived bright and buoyant: a shaft of sunlight pierced the heavy curtains, landing on the floor beside the heater. The hallway smelled of fresh airsomeone had flung open the front window to ventilate after the nights adventure.
Oliver awoke a little before the adults, slipping quietly out of his hideaway, and spent a long moment eyeing the magnet collection on the fridge before helping Emily set the breakfast table: toast with cheese and a jar of apple puréesimple, campstyle fare.
Soon the parents arrived: Helen looked weary but grateful; Olivers father immediately peppered his son with questions, to which the boy cheerfully reported on the cushion fortress. James recounted the whole nightwhere they slept, what they ate, which films theyd watched.
At parting, Oliver asked:
Can I come again? Not just when Mums busy just because?
Emily laughed:
Of course! Weve now got a flat camp every Saturday!
The parents embraced the idea without hesitation, even promising to bring a memoryboosting board game next timeperhaps useful for all generations.
When the neighbours door shut and the flat settled back into its spacious quiet, James looked at Emily.
So, shall we invite anyone else next time?
She shrugged.
Well see The main thing is, weve got our little secret against boring weekends!
Both felt a touch younger, as if theyd truly performed a tiny miracle on reality.
