I still recall that Saturday, when March was finally yielding to April, the flat of Irene Clarke and Simon Harper fell into its familiar weekend rhythm. Simon, an avid tinkerer, had spent the morning at the kitchen bench, fiddling with his coffee grinder and measuring the perfect ratios for a new blend of beans. Irene lounged on the sofa, thumbing through a stack of magazines and jotting down a shopping list; she intended to pop to the corner shop after lunch, if the drizzle didnt turn the streets into a mess. Outside, the wet snow was melting slowly, leaving puddles and patches of dirty ice on the pavement. By the entrance hall a small archipelago of rubber wellies and house slippers was already taking shape.
Simon glanced up from his mug.
Fancy a bite? he asked. Ive just found a recipe for cottagecheese fritters without semolina.
Irene smiled. Her plans were simple: share breakfast, then each go about our own tasks. She inhaled, about to answer, when a bright knock sounded at the front door.
On the landing stood their neighbour, Susan Whitfield, from the flat opposite. She looked a little more flustered than usual, cradling a boy of about eightnine on one arma child she didnt know well, but not a stranger either.
Sorry to intrude, she began, but Ive got a bit of a crisis. I have to dash off to a work meeting and my husband is stuck somewhere between the M25 and the heavens. Could you look after Eddie for a couple of hours? Hes a quiet lad His things are right here, she said, handing over a small backpack with a plastic dinosaur perched on its strap, He doesnt need feeding muchhe just had breakfast. He does love apples, though.
Simon looked at Irene, who simply shrugged; who else would agree so quickly? Neighbours sometimes needed a hand. They gave Susan a brief nod.
Of course, let him stay! No worries.
Eddie stepped cautiously over the threshold, eyeing the room from floor to ceiling with a mix of suspicion and curiosity. His boots left fresh wet prints beside the existing trail at the door. Susan quickly ran through the essentials: the parents phones were always within reach; if anything came up, call her or her husband; no allergies; he likes cartoons about animals. She planted a hurried kiss on his forehead and vanished through the door.
The boy shed his jacket and hung it neatly beside the strangers coats on the radiator hook. He glanced around; the flat seemed a shade darker than his own home because of the heavy drapes in the sittingroom, yet it smelled pleasantfresh coffee mingling with the warm air from the radiator.
So, Eddie, Irene prompted, do you want to watch a cartoon or play something?
The boy shrugged. Maybe something about dinosaurs? Or we could build something
The first halfhour passed tranquilly. Simon turned on Dino Park for Eddie, then slipped away to read the news on his phone. Irene thumbed through her magazines, keeping an eye on the new guest, who had settled on the carpet before the TV with his backpack slung over his shoulder. Yet a sense of impermanence 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 under the radiators. Susan texted: Sorry! Weve been stuck in traffic for an hour. Well try to be back by evening. Then Eddies father called, his voice tinged with guilt.
Folks, thanks a lot! Well be there sooneverything okay there?
Irene reassured him. All good, dont worry!
She hung up and turned to Simon. Looks like well have to change our lunch plans
He spread his hands. Well, thats an experience in joint creativity!
The initial awkwardness dissolved thanks to Eddies childlike openness. He offered to show his dinosaur figurine collectionthree pieces in allthen asked if he could help with the cooking.
Simon got involved with surprising ease: he fetched eggs from the fridge for an omelette, and Eddie cracked the shells against the edge of a bowl, though a few eggs missed the bowl entirely. The kitchen filled with the scent of buttered toast; the boy stirred the batter with a wooden spoon until it turned the colour of wet cement.
While the adults debated which film to put on for an eightyearoldranging from The Lion King to classic British comediesEddie quietly piled all the cushions from the sittingroom into a towering mound by the coffee table. Within minutes the structure earned the title headquarters of the expedition for the whole flat; anyone, regardless of age or height, was welcome.
Outside, early evening fell sooner than expected for lateMarch. Street lamps reflected in the puddles, looking like fireflies among the icy patches near the entrance.
When the boys parents called again later that nightboth at onceit was obvious they wouldnt be home that evening.
Simon was the first to break the silence after the call.
Seems well be having a sleepover, he said. What do you think?
Irene gazed at Eddie, who was grinning at his newlybuilt fort, his eyes bright with the thrill of an explorer on the cusp of a grand adventure.
Then let it be declared a flat camp! Simon announced with a flourish. Well all have dinner together. Whos in charge of the menu?
The three of them cooked, and it turned out to be unexpectedly fun, even for seasoned adults. Eddie peeled a potato, somehow shaping one piece almost into a perfect square; Simon directed the chopping of vegetables for a salad; Irene laid out plastic platesafter all, a camp needs a special atmosphere.
Rain drummed louder against the windowpane as conversations drifted toward favourite childhood films (each of them from different eras), and humorous school anecdotes (Eddie recounted a tale about his maths teacher and a plastic lizard). Laughter rang easy, as if strangers had become companions; worries melted away amid the scent of stewed veg and the soft glow of the kitchen lamp.
In the sittingroom an improvised tent city rosesheets draped over the backs of the sofa, creating a makeshift canopy. Their own camp rules took hold: stories spoken only in whispers, and hiding from forest spirits (the role fell to a plush hippopotamus). When the clock struck well past the usual bedtime, no one thought to remind Eddie of any nightly schedule.
The tent city held surprisingly well: the sheets stayed put, the cushions served as both walls and beds. Eddie, now dressed in someone elses toolarge pyjamas, settled inside the camp with the plush hippo and his dinosaur backpack neatly folded nearby.
Irene carried in a mug of warm milk and a plate of biscuits.
Heres your nighttime rations for the expedition, she declared solemnly.
Simon, for no apparent reason, wrapped a kitchen towel around his head like a makeshift headband.
In our camp theres a special rule: after lights out, only whispers are allowed! he whispered, winking at Eddie, who nodded and pretended to be busy constructing another tunnel of cushions.
The evening stretched longer than most adults would dare. They read Eddie funny tales about a clumsy bear (always swapping the characters names for neighbours), discussed what they would take on a real hike, and Simon recalled his first sleepover at a friends househow hed been terrified of the foreign wallpaper at night, yet spent the next week dreaming of building a fort of chairs at home. Irene talked of family trips to the countryside and the time she misplaced a slipper in a snowdrift right outside the front door.
Eddie listened attentively, occasionally smiling or asking why adults loved to talk about the past so much, why everyone had their own spooky stories. He spoke of school and classmates more calmly than he did in daylight; no one tugged at his sleeve or cut him off. At one point he confessed, I thought it would be boring but it feels like a celebration.
Irene laughed. See! The most important thing is good company.
Gradually the chatter faded. Outside the street sank into neardarkness, only the occasional car casting a thin ribbon of light through the curtains. On the kitchen table a halfdrunk cup of tea and a slice of stale bread remained untouched; no one rushed 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.
Irene tucked Eddie into his cushiontent, slipping a soft, yellowstriped blanket over hima favourite of Simons since childhood. The boy settled comfortably. At his request she read him one more story, about a town where paper boats drifted across spring puddles at night. After the tale they sat in quiet.
Are you scared without your mum? she asked.
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.
Eddie nodded sleepily, his eyes closing almost at once.
When the boy finally fell asleep, breathing evenly and occasionally smiling in his dreams, Irene slipped into the kitchen where Simon was seated at the table, phone in hand. A message from Susan had just arrived: Weve finally made it home, all good. Well be up early tomorrow.
I never expected an evening like this, she said, lowering herself onto the stool beside him.
He replied, Neither did I It turned out cozier than any family night weve had lately.
They exchanged a wordless glance, both understanding that this had been a rare moment of closenessnot just with a neighbours child, but with each other.
The kitchens heat from the radiator mingled with the steady patter of rain outside and the soft breathing of the sleeping boy from the livingroom doorway. Simon suddenly suggested, Maybe we should have these camps more often? Not just for kids
Irene smirked, Adults need an unscheduled day off, too.
They agreed to try it at least once a month, even if just for a shared dinner or a board game.
Morning came bright and unexpected: a shaft of sunlight pierced the heavy curtains, landing on the floor by the radiator. The hallway smelled of fresh air; someone had thrown open the front window wide to air out the flat after the nights adventure.
Eddie awoke a little before the adults, slipping quietly from his makeshift shelter to stare at the collection of magnets on the fridge before helping Irene set the breakfast table: toasted bread with cheese and a jar of apple purée. He seemed pleased with the simple camp menu.
Soon the parents arrived. Susan looked weary but grateful; Eddies father immediately asked his son how the night had gone, and the boy proudly reported on the cushion fort. Simon recounted the whole affairwhere they slept, what they ate, which films they watched.
Before leaving, Eddie asked, Can I come again? Not just when Mums busy Just because?
Irene laughed, Of course! Weve got a flat camp every Saturday now.
The parents embraced the idea without hesitation, promising to bring a memoryboosting board game next timesomething that might benefit all generations.
When the neighbours door shut and the flat returned to its usual spaciousness, Simon looked at Irene.
So, shall we invite anyone else next time?
She shrugged, Well see The point is we now have a little secret against dull weekends.
Both felt a little younger, as if theyd truly performed a small miracle of ordinary life.
