Emma
The phone rang just after breakfast. I was wiping Zoey's face with a damp flannel while the twins argued over whose turn it was to wash up. Teddy had vanished again, and Mum hadn't come out of her room.
Dad stood in the doorway, pulling on his old work jacket, the one that always smelled faintly of oil and damp wood.
"Got a call from the big house across the lake," he said, not looking at me but rummaging in the drawer for his tools. "Burst pipe in the bathroom. I'll be back when I'm back."
The big house. My chest tightened. He didn't mean a big house. He meant the house. Tommy's.
I swallowed hard and tried to sound casual. "That won't take long, will it?"
"Depends how bad it is." Dad grunted, finally finding the spanner he wanted. His hands were rough, the knuckles scarred from years of fixing other people's problems. "Don't wait up if I'm late."
He kissed Zoey's head, nodded at me, and left. Just like that.
I busied myself with chores — laundry, sweeping, keeping the twins from killing each other — but all day my thoughts kept drifting across the lake. I could see it through the trees, the roofline sharp against the blue sky. I pictured Dad kneeling on some marble bathroom floor while Tommy's mother stood over him, criticising every move. I wondered if Tommy was there too, maybe in the next room, maybe thinking about me the way I thought about him.
Tommy
I leaned against the banister, straining to listen.
Mother's voice sliced through the hall, sharp and brittle. "Honestly, the state of these workmen. Tracking mud all over the floor. Do they not realise this is Italian tile?"
Her tone made my jaw clench. From the bathroom came the scrape of metal, a patient rhythm as the man worked beneath the sink.
"Almost finished," he said, voice low, steady. A kind of calm that didn't exist in our house.
"Well, it's about time," Mother snapped, arms folded tight, pearls gleaming at her throat. "It's completely unacceptable."
I shifted, heat prickling at the back of my neck. I wanted to speak, to defend him, but the words stuck like stones in my throat. So I kept my gaze fixed on the floor.
The thud of trainers on stairs broke the moment. Jack bounded past with a football under his arm, Alex on his heels. "We're off to the park!" they shouted, voices bouncing down the hallway. Their friends followed, laughter echoing as the door slammed.
I didn't move.
When the workman finally stepped out, wiping his hands on a rag, I risked a glance. For half a second, our eyes met. Something about his face — the sharp lines, the tired eyes — hit me like a shock. I knew that look. It reminded me of Emma.
But then the door to Father's study opened. His voice boomed, filling the hall with talk of invoices and clients, every word polished and heavy. The workman dipped his head, gathered his tools, and left without a sound.
I stood at the window long after, staring across the glitter of the lake, wondering why the stranger's face lingered. And why the woods beyond the water seemed to pull at me harder than ever.
By lunch, the house was unbearable. Jack and Alex had filled it with boys and noise, Mother fluttered with her new neighbours, Father's voice thundered from the study as he spoke on the phone. The walls pressed in, thick with the world of false pretenses I couldn't breathe through.
So I slipped out. No one noticed.
The woods welcomed me like always, cool shadows and whispering leaves replacing the chaos. Dry twigs cracked under my trainers, the air damp with pine and moss. I followed the path to the clearing by the lake, where sunlight dappled the grass.
This was her place. Emma's. Usually she'd be here, Zoey perched on her hip or chasing squirrels, her eyes steady, her words unpolished but real.
But today the clearing was empty.
I stopped, staring at the log where she always sat. The absence felt wrong, like a note missing from a song.
I lowered myself to the ground, lying back with my hands behind my head. The earth was cool and uneven, but at least it was honest. For once, the noise inside me settled.
I thought of Emma. The way she looked at me, wary but unflinching. The way she held her sister as if nothing else mattered. She was nothing like the people I'd grown up with — no rehearsed smiles, no polished performances. Just Emma.
The woods murmured with birdsong and the lap of water. I closed my eyes, listening, half-hoping for a twig to snap, a step on the path.
Maybe she'd laugh at me for waiting. Maybe she'd never come.
But still I stayed, breathing the quiet like it was mine.
Because I wasn't just waiting for Emma anymore. I was waiting for the part of myself that only existed when she was near.
Emma
My breath caught as I slowed to a stop. He had to be the cutest boy I'd ever seen, and he was here, waiting for me.
He must have heard me approach, because he lifted his head and smiled. That smile did things to me. The way his lips stretched and his eyes warmed, as if he were genuinely happy to see me, melted me from the inside out.
I smiled back — awkward, shy — and lowered myself to the ground beside him.
"It's really peaceful here, isn't it?" he asked, brushing a fallen leaf from his sleeve.
"This is my favourite place on earth," I said, hugging my knees to my chest.
We sat there for a moment, the silence stretching between us. Not an easy silence, but the kind that made me suddenly too aware of how close he was. My skin prickled with nerves.
I glanced at him from the corner of my eye. He wasn't fidgeting, but he looked almost as unsure as I felt, his hands locked together in his lap like he didn't know what else to do with them.
The awkwardness pressed in, heavy, so I blurted the first thing that came into my head.
"Hey, Tommy… What do you call a fish with no eyes?"
He blinked, startled. "Uh… what?"
"A fsh," I said, dragging the word out as dramatically as I could.
For a heartbeat, I thought I'd ruined it. Then he laughed —really laughed, the sound bursting out of him so suddenly it made me jump.
Heat rushed to my cheeks. My stomach twisted. Of course he was laughing — at me, not at the joke. How could I have been so stupid?
I hugged my knees tighter, trying to keep my face neutral, but inside I was shrinking, already wishing I could snatch the words back and bury them under the dirt.