On a Saturday, when March was finally giving way to April, the flat of Irene Clarke and Stephen Clarke settled into its usual lazy weekend rhythm. Stephen spent the morning tinkering with his coffee grinder, trying to nail the perfect grind for a new batch of beans. Irene lounged on the sofa, thumbing through a stack of magazines and jotting down a grocery list: shed pop to the shop after lunchif the spring drizzle didnt get the better of her. Outside, wet snow was melting in slow drips, leaving puddles dotted with slick patches of ice. By the front door a tiny archipelago of rubber boots and house slippers had already formed.
Stephen glanced up from his cup.
Fancy a bite? Ive just found a recipe for cottagecheese pancakes without semolina.
Irene smiled. Her plan was simple: breakfast together, then each go off to our own chores. She was about to answer when a cheerful knock rang from the hallway.
On the landing stood their neighbour, Susan Whitaker, from the flat opposite. She looked a touch more frazzled than usual, one hand steadying a boy of about eight or ninesomeone she knew, but not intimately.
Sorry to barge in Ive got a work emergency and my husband is stuck somewhere between the M25 and the stratosphere. Could you look after Archie for a couple of hours? Hes quiet heres his stuff, she said, thrusting a small backpack with a plastic dinosaur into their hands, Hes just had breakfast, no need to feed him, but he does love apples.
Stephen gave Irene a look; she shrugged. Who else would say yes so quickly? Neighbours sometimes need a hand. They nodded at Susan.
Of course, let him stay! Dont worry.
Archie slipped over the threshold, eyeing the room up and down with a mix of caution and curiosity. His boots left fresh, damp prints on the entry mat. Susan hurried through the details: parents phones always on hand, call her or her husband if anything, no allergies, loves cartoons about animals. She planted a quick kiss on his forehead and vanished through the door.
The boy shrugged off his jacket and hung it neatly on a hook by the radiator, next to the strangers coats. The flat seemed a shade dimmer than his own because of the heavy curtains, but it smelled pleasantfresh coffee mingling with warm radiator air.
So, Archie want to watch a cartoon or play something? Irene asked, trying to recall every childhood game in one go.
Archie shrugged.
Can we watch something about dinosaurs? Or build something?
The first halfhour passed quietly: Stephen put on Dino Park for Archie and then retreated to read the news on his phone. Irene kept flipping through magazines, eyes skimming the new guest who had claimed a spot on the carpet in front of the TV, backpack slung over his shoulder. Yet the feeling of temporary caretaking lingered even after the third commercial break in a row.
By one oclock it became clear that adult plans were melting faster than the March snow on the radiator. Susan texted: Sorry! Weve been stuck in traffic for an hour! Well try to be back this evening. Then Archie’s dad called, his voice sheepish.
Hey there! Thanks a lot! Well be there sooneverything okay?
Irene reassured him.
All good! No worries!
She hung up and looked at Stephen.
Looks like well have to reshuffle lunch plans
He spread his arms.
Well, itll be an adventure in collaborative cooking!
The initial awkwardness dissolved thanks to Archies childlike honesty. He offered to show his collection of three dinosaur figures and asked if he could help in the kitchen.
Stephen dove in with surprising ease: he fetched eggs for an omelette, and Archie cracked shells against the bowls rimthough a few eggs went astray. The kitchen filled with the scent of butter and toasted bread; the boy stirred the batter with a wooden spoon until it thickened like concrete.
While the adults debated which film to let an eightyearold watchfrom The Lion King to classic British comediesArchie quietly piled all the sofa cushions into one massive mound next to the coffee table. Within minutes the heap earned the title headquarters of the expedition for the whole flat, open to anyone regardless of age or height.
Outside, early evening settled early for lateMarch, street lamps reflecting in puddles like fireflies trapped in frozen pools by the entrance.
When the parents called again, this time both at once, it became obvious they wouldnt be home tonight.
Stephen was the first to break the silence after the call.
Looks like were having a sleepover! What do you think?
Irene eyed Archie, who was grinning at his newlyfortified pillow fort, no hint of fearjust the excitement of a little explorer on a grand quest.
Then lets declare an apartment camp! Stephen announced solemnly. Whos in charge of the menu?
The trio set to cooking, and it turned out surprisingly fun even for two seasoned adults. Archie peeled a potato, managing to make one piece almost square; Stephen handled the vegetable chopping for a salad; Irene laid out plastic platesafter all, a camp needs its own ambience.
Rain drummed louder on the windowsill as the kitchen filled with chatter about favourite childhood films (each from a different era), and school anecdotesArchie recounted a maths teacher whod lost a plastic lizard in the classroom. Laughter flowed easily, as if no one was a stranger any more; worries dissolved into the aroma of stewed veg and the soft glow of the kitchen lamp.
In the living room an impromptu tent city sprang up: a few sheets draped over the backs of the sofa, creating rules for the campstories whispered, hiding from forest spirits (the role fell to a plush hippopotamus). When the clock crept past any respectable bedtime, nobody thought to remind Archie of a bedtime schedule.
The makeshift camp held up surprisingly well: sheets stayed put, cushions served as both walls and sleeping mats. Archie, now in a borrowed, oversized pyjamas that only added to the adventure, snuggled inside the camp with the plush hippo and his dinosaurladen backpack neatly folded nearby.
Irene brought a mug of warm milk and a plate of biscuits.
Heres your nightration for the expedition, she declared with mock seriousness.
Stephen, for no apparent reason, tied a kitchen towel around his head like a bandana.
In our camp today we have a special rule: after lights out, only whispers allowed! he winked at Archie, who nodded solemnly and pretended to be busy building another cushion tunnel.
The evening stretched longer than most adults would permit. They read funny bedtime stories about a clumsy bear (always swapping the bears name for a neighbours), debated what theyd pack for a real hike, and Stephen recalled his first nightaway at a friends househow hed been scared of the unfamiliar wallpaper but then spent a week dreaming of building a fort of chairs at home. Irene shared tales of family trips to the countryside and the time she lost a slipper in a snowbank right by the front door.
Archie listened intently, occasionally smiling or asking why adults loved to reminisce about the past, why everyone had their own spooky tales. He spoke about school and classmates more calmly than he did in daylight; no one tugged at his sleeve or interrupted. At one point he confessed,
I thought it would be boring but it feels like a party.
Irene laughed.
See? All you need is good company.
Gradually the conversation faded. Outside, the street slipped into neardarkness, only a few cars cutting ribbons of light through the curtains gaps. In the kitchen a halffinished cup of tea and a slice of toast lingered untouchedno rush to clean up. A pleasant, light fatigue settled over the flat, as if everyone had lived a day a little longer than usual.
Irene tucked Archie into his pillow fort, draping a soft, yellowstriped blanket over hima favourite since Stephens own childhood. The boy settled in 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 sat in silence.
Are you not scared without Mum? she asked gently.
No its fun just a bit odd, he replied.
Tomorrow morning everything will be back to normal but if you ever want to stay again, well always welcome you.
Archie nodded sleepily; his eyes closed almost instantly.
When the boy was sound asleep, breathing evenly and even smiling in his dream, Irene slipped into the kitchen to find Stephen. A message from Susan pinged on his phone: finally home, all good; well be up early tomorrow.
Didnt expect the night to turn out like this, Stephen said.
Irene lowered herself onto a stool beside him.
Neither did I but it turned out cozier than any of our usual family evenings lately.
They exchanged a quiet look, both realizing this had been a rare moment of connectionboth with the neighbours child and with each other.
The radiators warmth filled the kitchen, the rains patter the only other sound, and a soft boys breathing drifted from the living room. Stephen suddenly suggested,
Maybe we should schedule these camps more often? Not just for kids
Irene smirked.
Adults need unscripted weekends too.
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 unexpected: sun pierced the heavy curtains in a thin ribbon of light that landed on the floor by the heater. The hallway smelled of fresh airsomeone had thrown the window open wide to ventilate after the nights festivities.
Archie awoke a little before the adults, silently slipping out of his cushion fort, and spent a good while admiring the magnet collection on the fridge before helping Irene set the breakfast table: toast with cheese and a jar of apple purée. He was pleased with the simple camp menu.
Soon the parents arrived. Susan looked tired but grateful; Archies dad immediately peppered his son with questions about the nights adventuresArchie cheerfully reported on the pillowfort siege. Stephen recounted the whole storywhere they slept, what they ate, which films they watched.
Before leaving, Archie asked,
Can I come again? Not just when Mums busy just because?
Irene laughed.
Of course! Weve officially got a Saturday apartment camp now!
The parents endorsed the idea without hesitation, even promising to bring a memoryboosting board game next timesomething for all generations.
When the neighbours door shut and the flat regained its usual spaciousness, Stephen turned to Irene.
What do you thinkinvite someone else next time?
She shrugged.
Well see the main thing is we now have a little secret weapon against boring weekends.
Both felt a touch younger, as if theyd performed a small miracle in the ordinary world.
