The Other Day

The other day we had breakfast by the fire downstairs. Charlie had yoghurt with orange juice squeezed on top. Then we hung out for a while. I watched for tired signs. I saw one: he put his head down on the floor and closed his eyes. It’s not in the books but surely, I thought shrewdly, surely falling asleep is a tired sign?

Charlie slept and I worked outside in the patch of sunlight on the lawn. I read a library book and took notes for my ghost story.

I met my parents down by the water at Thelma and Louise. We sat at the table outside in the winter sun. The café sent out coffee for Dad and hot chocolate for Mum and me. They sent a paper bag full of marshmallows, and some warm croissants. The table paint was scratched. Charlie in his pram watched us carefully. He ate his avocado sandwich but all the time his eyes moved from Mum to Dad to me. Eventually, he tilted his head to the side, and Mum did the same, and this made him grin and relax.

Then Mum and Dad took the ferry into town. At the winter sun table, I was talking to Charlie with my back to the water, and then I turned and there they were, my parents. They’d walked onto the deck of the boat to wave to me. I waved back vigorously, and at once they spun around and headed inside out of the wind.