‘Good morning,’ his dad said while Jake was spreading peanut butter on his toast. Jake wondered if it had taken him that long to notice him, or just that long to remember to say hello.
‘Hi,’ Jake replied.
‘Your teacher says you’re doing well at school. I called her last night to ask how things were going, how you were settling in.’
Jake had trouble remembering what it had been like talking to his dad before, but he was pretty sure they’d never had conversations like this. Had they talked about TV? Did they tell each other jokes?
‘I guess so,’ he said. ‘I have a spelling test today.’
‘Good,’ said his dad. ‘That’s good.’
Jake tried to think of something sensible to say. ‘How’s your work?’ he settled on with a tiny grimace.
‘Oh, fine. It’s fine. I should get started for the day, actually.’
Jake watched his dad walk out of the kitchen and head slowly to his office. He wondered if he should have had some kind of funny story from school. He couldn’t remember if anything funny had happened there recently.
He sat at the table and finished his toast. His dad had forgotten what day it was. He’d forgotten there was something to celebrate. Jake decided not to mind. He decided to try his hardest not to mind. He washed his dishes and went to his room to get his school bag.
CASSIE DIDN’T NOTICE AT FIRST when her phone started to ring. She didn’t hear it. At least, she heard it but it felt remote, even though it was in her pocket and vibrating as well as ringing; it wasn’t connected to her. It wasn’t until she saw someone staring at her that she realised she was supposed to do something about it. That it was hers.
She pulled out the phone, suddenly thinking that maybe it was Floss, that soon they would be laughing over whatever mix up it was that had meant they weren’t yet together.
The photo on the display wasn’t Floss.
Cassie stood still and gazed at the phone as it went silent and the picture that stared at her from the screen, her mother, disappeared. Disappointment started at the nape of her neck and trickled slowly down her spine, seeping into her through her skin. She breathed deeply for a moment, blinking hard, and called her mother back.
‘Well, well?’ her mother asked on answering. ‘Did she arrive OK? Are you bringing her here? I thought you were bringing her here. I thought you’d be here a couple of hours ago.’
‘Um, she’s not here yet,’ said Cassie, chewing her lip.
‘What? Why not?’
‘I don’t know. I guess something went wrong. She was delayed, maybe.’
‘The flight was delayed?’
‘No, the flight arrived. She wasn’t on it.’
‘Where are you?’
‘At the airport still. I’m waiting.’
‘For what? Planes from Argentina don’t arrive every five minutes, Cass. You’d best come home and find out what’s happened.’
‘Brazil.’
‘What? Yes. What? Come home, love, I’ve a roast in the oven.’
‘I’m going to wait a while, Mum. See if I can find out anything here.’
Cassie’s mum was still talking, but a large German tour group was walking past, their voices raised in excitement, and Cassie couldn’t hear her anymore. She hung up and slipped her phone back into her pocket.
The crowd surged around her, pushing at her, catching her hair in the zips of their bags, but she did not move.
She didn’t realise it, but she had not moved in five hours.
DELIA’S SHOULDER WAS ACHING FROM carrying her bag. Why had she even brought it? It felt like she’d packed for a weekend away, instead of a light stroll and a read. She’d been walking for over an hour and she had no idea where she was. She couldn’t figure out how she could have got lost. She never did pay much attention to where she was going, but then she’d never really needed to. She always found her way.
She pulled out her phone, feeling stupid for needing it, and brought up her little blue dot. There she was, standing on a street. She could see the street she wanted; it was much further away than she’d realised. She’d bypassed her neighbourhood completely and veered off wildly to the north. She checked which direction she needed to walk in and set off purposefully down the road.
It was five minutes before she realised she’d gone in the wrong direction. She checked the map, and tried again.
She could see clearly where she needed to go, but every time she looked up and started moving, she lost sight of it. She tried holding her phone in front of her face, but even then it didn’t seem to relate. No matter what she tried she ended up walking further away.
Delia decided to find the nearest bus stop and get home from there. After giving up on her phone, she walked, even more purposefully, for another ten minutes. The street she was on was tiny and winding. She stopped for a moment, wondering if it was best to go back the way she’d come or continue on in the same direction. She couldn’t remember seeing a bus stop recently so there had to be one coming up.
She kept walking. The area was small and residential and void of transport links. Each winding road, flanked by brick houses, led to another, more winding road, flanked by more brick houses.
The sun had returned in full force and Delia’s back was itchy with sweat.
After a further twenty-five minutes, Delia heard what she was certain was a lorry. It didn’t sound far away; it was somewhere ahead of her. She picked up the pace, her eyes set forwards, weary and desperate, and the street soon broke out into a small row of shops with, oh joy, a bus stop.
After a few minutes, a bus pulled up and a weary Delia hopped onto it. A whimper rose up within her, but she remembered she was in public for long enough to quell it. She flung herself into a seat and closed her eyes. She had no idea how she’d managed to go so far astray. She leant forward with her head in her hands as the bus trundled her towards home.
ROBERT FOUGHT HIS WAY THROUGH the crowd of commuters to exit the tube station. He climbed the escalators with more of a wince than usual, regretting the morning’s ill-advised run. He should do that more often, he thought. Or never again. As always, he got out a stop early to get a bit of air before being confined at his desk all day. As he walked, his mind was still at home with Mara and Bonny. He knew the day would be long, he knew he’d be tired and moody by the end of it, he wished he could have just called in sick. He hadn’t faked a sick day since he was fifteen though; he’d almost forgotten how to do it. He sighed as he turned onto his street, thinking about what he and Mara could be doing if he didn’t have a responsible job.
He’d gone two blocks too far before he noticed he’d passed his building. He turned back, still smirking, and walked three blocks too far in the other direction. He stopped and