Saturday in early April found the flat of Blythe Clarke and Arthur Bennett humming along its usual weekend rhythm. Arthur had risen early to tinker with his coffee grinder, carefully weighing the perfect dose for a fresh batch of beans. Blythe 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, if the lingering drizzle didnt turn the pavement into a slipnslide. Outside, the wet snow was melting lazily, leaving puddles dotted with greasy ice. By the front door a small island of wellworn rubber boots and cosy slippers had already formed.
Arthur glanced up from his mug.
Fancy a bite? Ive just stumbled on a recipe for cottagecheese pancakes without any semolina.
Blythe smiled. Her plan was simple: breakfast together, then each go off to their own errands. She was about to answer when a cheerful knock echoed down the hallway.
On the landing stood their neighbour, Helen Harper, from the flat opposite. She looked a touch more flustered than usual, one arm cradling an eightyearold boy shed never quite managed to introduce properly.
Sorry to barge in Ive got a bit of a crisis: I need to dash to a work meeting and my husbands stuck somewhere between the M25 and the moon. Could you mind looking after Leo for a couple of hours? Hes quiet his things are right here, she said, handing over a small backpack with a plastic dinosaur perched on its strap, Hes just had breakfast, but he does love apples.
Arthur exchanged a glance with Blythe, who shrugged. Who else would say yes on the spot? Neighbours sometimes need a hand. They gave Helen a quick nod.
Of course, let him stay! No worries.
Leo tiptoed across the threshold, eyes darting up and down the unfamiliar room. His boots added fresh, damp prints to the evergrowing hallway gallery. Helen gave a speedy briefing: parents phones always on hand; call her or her husband if anything comes up; no allergies; he loves animal cartoons. She planted a quick kiss on his forehead and vanished through the door.
The boy shed his jacket and hung it neatly next to the strangers coats on the radiator hook. He glanced around; the flat seemed a shade dimmer than his own, heavy curtains muffling the light, but the air was warm with coffee and the gentle heat of the radiators.
So, Leo fancy a cartoon or a game? Blythe asked, trying to recall every childrens pastime in one breath.
Leo shrugged. Maybe something about dinosaurs? Or we could build something
The first halfhour drifted peacefully. Arthur flicked on Dino Park for Leo and slipped off to read the news on his phone. Blythe resumed her magazine perusal, occasionally stealing a sideglance at the new guest, who had plonked himself on the carpet in front of the TV, backpack slung over one shoulder. Yet a strange sense of temporariness lingered, even after the third commercial break in a row.
Around one oclock the adult plans began to melt faster than the puddles on the sill. Helen texted: Sorry! Weve been stuck in traffic for ages hope to be back by evening. Then Leos dad called, his voice tinged with guilt.
Hey there! Thanks a million. Well be there soon. Everything OK?
Blythe reassured him. All good! No worries at all.
She hung up and turned to Arthur. Looks like well have to rejig our lunch.
Arthur spread his hands. Well, thats an adventure in collaborative cooking!
Leos innocent enthusiasm smoothed over the first awkwardness. He showed off a tiny trio of dinosaur figurines, then asked if he could help in the kitchen.
Arthur was happily roped in: he fetched eggs for an omelette, while Leo cracked shells against the bowls edge (though most shells ended up on the floor). The kitchen filled with the scent of buttered toast; the boy whisked the batter with a wooden spoon until it resembled a thick cement mix.
While the adults debated which film was suitable for an eightyearold from The Lion King to a classic British comedy Leo quietly gathered all the cushions from the lounge into a single, impressive mound beside the coffee table. Within minutes it earned the title Headquarters of the Expedition for the whole flat, open to anyone regardless of age or stature.
Outside, early evening settled in unusually early for late March; street lamps reflected off the puddles like fireflies caught in a snowdrift outside the block.
When Leos parents called again, this time both of them, it became clear they wouldnt be home that night.
Arthur broke the silence first. Seems weve got an overnight on our hands! What do you think?
Blythe looked at Leo, who beamed at his newlyfortified pillowcastle, no hint of fear, just the thrill of a budding explorer.
Then let it be declared a flatcamp! Arthur announced ceremoniously. Dinner is on us! Whos in charge of the menu?
The trio cooked together, and the kitchen turned into a surprisingly lively arena for two seasoned adults. Leo peeled a potato (one piece came out almost square), Arthur chopped vegetables for a salad, and Blythe laid out plastic plates after all, a camp needs its own ambience.
Rain drummed louder against the windowpanes as the conversation drifted to favourite childhood films (each from a different era), school mishaps (Leo recounted a math teacher and a plastic lizard), and plenty of laughter. No one felt like a stranger; worries melted into the aroma of simmering veg and the soft glow of the kitchen lamp.
In the lounge, a makeshift tent city rose a couple of bedsheets draped over the back of the sofa, pillows serving as walls and beds alike. The camps rules were simple: whisper stories, hide from the forest spirits (the role went to a plush hippo). By the time the clock slipped past the usual bedtime, no one thought to remind Leo of any nighttime schedule.
The tent held up remarkably: sheets stayed put, cushions doubled as both fortifications and sleeping mats. Leo, now in a borrowed, oversized pyjamas, settled inside the camp with the plush hippo and his dinosaurladen backpack.
Blythe brought a mug of warm milk and a plate of biscuits. Heres your expedition rations, she declared with mock solemnity.
Arthur, for no good reason, wrapped a kitchen towel around his head like a makeshift bandana. In our camp, after lights out, its whisperonly!
He winked at Leo, who gave a solemn nod and pretended to be busy excavating another tunnel of pillows.
The evening stretched longer than any adult would normally allow. They read funny bedtime stories about a clumsy bear (renaming the characters after neighbours each time), debated what theyd take on a real hike, and Arthur reminisced about his first sleepover at a friends terrified of alien wallpaper, yet dreaming for weeks of a pillowfort. Blythe recounted family trips to the lake and the time she lost a slipper in a snowdrift right outside the front door.
Leo listened intently, occasionally smiling or asking why adults loved to yammer on about the past, or why everyone had their own spooky tales. He spoke about school and mates more calmly than he would by day; no one tugged his sleeve or cut him off. At one point he confessed, I thought itd be boring but it feels like a celebration.
Blythe laughed. See? The key is good company.
Gradually the chatter softened. Outside, the street was almost black; only the occasional car threw a sliver of light through the curtains. On the kitchen table sat a halfdrunk cup of tea and a crust of toast no one rushed to clear the remnants. The flat was suffused with a pleasant weariness, as if everyone had lived a day a little longer than usual.
Blythe tucked Leo into his pillowtent, draping a soft, yellowstriped quilt over him a favourite since Arthurs own childhood. He settled in, and at his request she read one more tale, about a town where paper boats drifted across spring puddles at night. After the story they lingered in a comfortable silence.
Are you not scared without mum? Blythe asked.
No its fun. Just a bit odd, Leo replied. Tomorrow everything will be back to normal but if I want to stay again, youre always welcome.
Leos eyelids drooped and he slipped into a peaceful sleep, a tiny smile on his face. Blythe slipped into the kitchen, where Arthur was still at the table, phone in hand. A message from Helen had just arrived: We finally made it home, all good. Well be early tomorrow.
Didnt expect the evening to go like this, Blythe murmured, sliding onto the stool beside him.
Arthur chuckled. Neither did I. It turned out cozier than any family night weve had lately.
They exchanged a glance, both knowing this was a rare moment of connection not just with the neighbours lad, but with each other.
The radiator hummed, rain pattered against the windows, and Leos soft breathing drifted from the lounge. Arthur suddenly suggested, Maybe we should do these camps more often? Not just for kids
Blythe smirked. Even grownups need a break from the schedule.
They agreed to try it at least once a month, even if just for a shared dinner or a board game.
Morning arrived bright and cheerful; a shaft of sunlight cut through the heavy curtains, landing on the floor by the radiator. The hallway smelled of fresh air someone had flung the frontdoor open wide to ventilate after the nights adventure.
Leo, up a little before the adults, slipped out of his cushionfort and stared at the fridges magnet collection for a good long while before helping Blythe set the breakfast table: toast with cheese and a dollop of apple purée from a jar. He was pleased with the simple camp menu.
Soon the parents arrived. Helen looked tired but grateful; Leos dad immediately bombarded his son with questions about the nights exploits, to which Leo answered enthusiastically about the pillowcastle. Arthur recounted the whole story where they slept, what they ate, which films they watched.
As they were leaving, Leo asked, Can I come again? Not just when mums busy just because?
Blythe laughed. Of course! We now have a Saturday flatcamp.
The parents nodded, promising to bring a memoryboosting board game next time something for all generations.
When the neighbours door shut and the flat returned to its usual spaciousness, Arthur looked at Blythe. So, next time invite someone else?
She shrugged. Well see The important thing is weve got our little secret against boring weekends.
Both felt a touch younger, as if theyd performed a tiny miracle in the ordinary world.
