28April Saturday
The March chill was finally giving way to an April that smelled of rain and fresh cut grass. In our flat on Camden Road the usual Saturday rhythm took over. Id been thumbing through a stack of magazines on the sofa, scribbling a shopping list for the grocery run Id planned after lunch, when the drizzle outside thickened into a fine, slushy mist. Outside, the last of the wet snow was melting, leaving small pools of dirty ice on the pavement. By the hallway door a tiny island of wellworn Wellington boots and soft house slippers had already formed.
Simon, halfasleep at the kitchen table, was fiddling with his new coffee grinder, measuring out the perfect dose for a fresh batch of beans. He looked up from his mug.
Fancy a bite? he asked. Ive just found a recipe for cheese scones without any semolina.
I smiled. My plans were simple: breakfast together, then each of us off to our own errands. I was about to answer when a sharp knock echoed down the corridor.
Our neighbour, Susan, stood in the doorway. She seemed a little more flustered than usual, cradling a lanky boy of about eight on one armsomeone wed seen in the lift but didnt really know.
Sorry to barge in, she said, breathless. Ive got an emergency at work and my husbands stuck somewhere between the M25 and the moon. Could you watch Archie for a couple of hours? Hes a quiet little chap heres his bag.
She handed over a small rucksack with a plastic dinosaur perched on top.
Dont worry about feeding himhes just had breakfast. He does love apples, though.
Simon glanced at me; I shrugged. Who else would say yes so quickly? Its nice to lend a hand to neighbours now and then. We nodded at Susan.
Of course, let him stay. No worries.
Archie slipped cautiously over the threshold, eyeing everything from the floor up with a mixture of suspicion and curiosity. His boots left fresh, damp prints on the mat, adding to the growing gallery of footprints. Susan quickly ran through the details: parents phones always on hand, call either of them if needed, no allergies, loves cartoon animals. She planted a quick kiss on his forehead and vanished down the hall.
The boy shrugged off his jacket and hung it on the coat rack by the radiator, next to our own coats. The flat seemed a shade darker than his own home because of the heavy drapes in the living room, but the scent of freshly brewed coffee mingling with warm radiator air was comforting.
Alright, Archie, I said, trying to think of something to keep him occupied. Want to watch a cartoon or play a game?
He shrugged.
Can we watch something about dinosaurs? Or maybe build something?
The first halfhour passed quietly. Simon put on Dino Park for Archie and then went off to read the news on his phone. I leafed through a fashion catalogue, stealing glances at our unexpected guest, who had settled on the carpet in front of the TV with his backpack hanging over his shoulder. Yet, despite the third commercial break in a row, the feeling that this was just a temporary arrangement didnt quite fade.
By oneoclock the adults plans began to melt faster than the lingering snow on the radiators. Susan texted: Sorry! Weve been in traffic for ages. Well try to be back this evening. A call from Archies dad followed, his voice sounding guilty.
Thanks a lot, love. Well be there soon. Everything alright?
I reassured him.
Everythings fine, dont worry.
I hung up, looked at Simon, and said, Looks like well have to change lunch plans.
He spread his hands.
Well, thats an adventure in collaborative cooking!
Archies initial shyness faded as his childlike candour took over. He showed us his trio of dinosaur figurines and asked if he could help in the kitchen.
Simon dove in with surprising ease, pulling eggs from the fridge for an omelette while Archie cracked shells against the bowls edgethough a few eggs missed the bowl entirely. The kitchen filled with the smell of buttered toast; the boy stirred the batter with a wooden spoon until it thickened like a concrete mix.
While we debated which film was appropriate for an eightyearoldranging from The Lion King to classic British comediesArchie quietly gathered all the cushions from the sofa into a single heap near the coffee table. Within minutes that pile became the main base camp of the whole flat, open to anyone regardless of age or height.
Outside, early twilight settled early for late March; streetlamps reflected in the puddles like fireflies trapped in ice.
Later, when both parents called again, it became clear they wouldnt be home for dinner.
Simon was the first to break the silence.
It seems well be having a sleepover tonight! What do you think?
I watched Archies wide grin at his new pillow fort; there was no fear, only the excitement of an explorer on the brink of a grand expedition through a neighbours flat.
So, the flat camp is officially declared! Simon announced proudly. Wholl take charge of the menu?
We cooked together, laughing louder than we had in ages. Archie peeled a potato, managing to make one piece almost square. Simon chopped vegetables for a salad, and I set the table with plastic platesafter all, a camp needs a proper atmosphere.
Rain drummed louder on the windowsill as we talked about favourite childhood films (each of us from a different era), school mishaps (Archie recounted a story about a maths teacher and a plastic lizard), and the conversation flowed easily, as if we were no longer strangers. The scent of stewed veg and the soft glow of the kitchen lamp made the room feel cosy.
In the living room we erected an improvised tent city: sheets draped over the back of the sofa, pillows forming walls and a sleeping area. We agreed that only whispers were allowed and that we must hide from the forest spiritsthe role now belonging to a plush hippopotamus. By the time the clock struck far past bedtime, no one thought to remind Archie of any sort of lightsout rule.
The tent held up surprisingly well; the sheets didnt slip, and the pillows served as both barricades and bedding. Archie, now in a toolarge pair of my nightgown, settled inside with the hippo and his dinosaurtopped backpack.
I brought a mug of warm milk and a plate of biscuits.
Heres your nightrations for the expedition, I announced, trying to sound official.
Simon, for no apparent reason, placed a kitchen towel over his head like a makeshift bandana.
In our camp, after lightsout, we speak only in whispers! he whispered, winking at Archie, who nodded and pretended to be busy building another tunnel of cushions.
The evening stretched longer than any adult would normally allow. We read funny bedtime stories about a clumsy bear (always swapping the bears name for a neighbours), debated what wed pack for a real trek, and I recalled my first weekend stayover at a friendshow Id been scared of the strange wallpaper, yet spent the next week dreaming of building forts from chairs. I also spoke of family trips to the countryside and the time I lost a slipper in a snowdrift right outside the front gate.
Archie listened intently, occasionally smiling or asking why adults love talking about the past so much, or why everyone has a spooky story. He spoke of school and classmates more calmly than he does in daylight; no one tugged at his sleeve, no one interrupted. At one point he confessed,
I thought itd be boring but it feels like a celebration.
I laughed.
See? Good company is all you need.
Gradually the chatter faded. Outside the street was almost black, only occasional cars casting thin ribbons of light through the curtains. On the kitchen table a halfdrunk cup of tea and a slice of toast with a crust remained untouched. A pleasant, light fatigue settled over the flat, as if wed all lived a day a little longer than usual.
I tucked Archie into his cushion tent, draped a soft yellowstriped blanketone my brother had given me as a childover him. He snuggled in, eyes fluttering. At his request I read one more story, about a town where paper boats glide across spring puddles under the moon. After the tale we sat in a comfortable silence.
Are you scared without your mum? I asked gently.
No its fun, just a bit strange, he replied. Tomorrow everything will go back to normal but if I want to stay again, youll welcome me?
He nodded sleepily; his eyes closed almost at once.
When he finally drifted off, breathing evenly and smiling in his sleep, I slipped into the kitchen where Simon was scrolling through his phone. A message from Susan had just arrived: Weve finally made it home, all good. Well be up early tomorrow.
I whispered, I didnt expect the evening to turn out like this
Simon lowered his chair onto the stool beside me.
Me neither. It feels cozier than any family night weve had lately.
We exchanged a quiet look, both understanding that this was a rare moment of connectionnot just with a neighbours child but with each other.
The radiators heat wrapped the kitchen, the rain pattered against the window, and Archies soft breaths drifted from the living room. Simon suddenly suggested,
Maybe we should organise these camps now and then? Not just for kids
I chuckled,
Adults need an unscheduled weekend too.
We agreed to try it at least once a month, even if its just for a shared dinner or a board game.
Morning arrived brighter than expected; a sliver of sunshine pierced the heavy curtains onto the floor by the radiator. The hallway smelled of fresh airthe first person had flung open the windows to let the nights dampness out.
Archie woke a little before us, slipped quietly from his pillow fort, and spent a long moment admiring the fridge magnets. He then helped me set the breakfast table: toast with cheese and a spoonful of apple purée from a jarsimple camp fare he seemed delighted with.
Soon the parents arrived. Susan looked tired but grateful; Archies father immediately peppered his son with questions about the nights adventure, to which the boy enthusiastically recounted the cushion fort. Simon gave a thorough rundown of the eveningwhere we slept, what we ate, which films we watched.
Before they left, Archie asked, Can I come again? Not just when mums busy just because?
I laughed,
Of course! We now have a flat camp every Saturday.
The parents welcomed the idea without hesitation, even promising to bring a memoryboosting board game next time.
When the door slammed shut behind them, the flat returned to its usual spaciousness. Simon turned to me,
Think we should invite anyone else next time?
I shrugged,
Well see The important thing is we now have a little secret against dull weekends.
Both of us felt a bit younger, as if wed conjured a tiny miracle in the middle of an ordinary city flat.
