On a Saturday when March was already slipping into April, the flat above the fishandchip shop on Camden Road settled into its familiar weekend rhythm. James rose early, his hobby pulling him into the kitchen where a gleaming coffee grinder sat like a tiny spaceship, measuring out exact doses for a new blend of beans. Emma lounged on the sofa, thumbing through a stack of glossy magazines and ticking off a shopping list: a quick run to the Tesco after lunchif the drizzle didnt turn the streets into a mirrorlake. Outside, wet snow melted lazily, leaving puddles that caught slivers of dirty ice. At the entrance, a tiny archipelago of rubber wellies and cosy slippers waited like a fleet of ships.
James paused, cup in hand, and asked,
Fancy a bite? Ive just found a recipe for cottagecheese pancakes without semolina.
Emma smiled; her plans were simple: breakfast together, then each drift into his own world. She inhaled, about to answer, when a bright knock rang through the hallway.
On the doorstep stood their neighbour, Claire, from the flat opposite. She seemed a little more flustered than usual, cradling a boy of about eight or ninea child she didnt quite know, but not a stranger either.
Sorry to barge in Ive got a crisis: I need to dash to a work meeting, and my husband is stuck somewhere between the M25 and the moon. Could you keep an eye on Oliver for a couple of hours? Hes quiet his things are right here,
she handed over a small backpack shaped like a dinosaur,
he doesnt need feedinghes just had breakfast. He does love apples, though.
James glanced at Emma; she shrugged. Who else would say yes so quickly? Neighbours sometimes needed a hand. They gave Claire a brief nod.
Of course, let him stay! Dont worry.
Oliver stepped over the threshold, eyes darting from floor to ceiling with a mix of caution and curiosity. His boots left fresh, damp footprints that joined the growing gallery at the door. Claire quickly listed the details: the parents phones were always on hand; call her or her husband if anything came up; no allergies; he loves animal cartoons. She planted a hurried kiss on his forehead and vanished behind the door.
The boy slipped off his coat and hung it neatly on the hook by the radiators, beside the strangers belongings. He surveyed the flat, which seemed a shade darker than his own because of the heavy drapes, but it smelled pleasantfresh coffee mingling with the warm breath of the heater.
So, Oliver fancy a cartoon or a game?
Emma tried to summon every childhood game she could remember in a single breath.
Oliver shrugged.
Can we watch something about dinosaurs? Or build something
The first halfhour passed peacefully: James turned on DinoPark for Oliver, then slipped away to scroll through the news on his phone. Emma thumbed through the magazines, keeping an eye on the new guest, who settled on the carpet before the TV with his dinosaur backpack perched on his lap. Yet the sense that this was only a fleeting moment lingered beyond the third commercial break in a row.
By one oclock the adult plans were melting faster than the March snow on the radiators. Claire texted: Sorry! Weve been stuck in traffic for an hour. Well try to be back by evening. Then Olivers father called, his voice edged with guilt.
Folks! Thank you so much! Well be there sooneverything alright?
Emma reassured him.
Yes, yes! All finedont worry!
She hung up and looked at James.
Looks like well have to reshuffle lunch
He spread his hands wide.
Well, thatll be an adventure in teamwork!
Olivers childlike frankness smoothed the first awkwardness. He offered to show his tiny collection of three dinosaur figurines, then asked politely if he could help with the cooking.
James found himself drawn in with surprising ease: he fetched eggs for an omelette, and Oliver cracked the shells against the rim of a bowl (though most of the shells missed the bowl entirely). The kitchen filled with the scent of buttered toast; the boy stirred the batter with a wooden spoon until it resembled a gritty cement mix.
While the adults debated which film to put on for an eightyearoldThe Lion King versus a classic British comedyOliver quietly piled every cushion from the lounge into a towering mound beside the coffee table. Within minutes the heap declared itself the main expedition camp of the whole flat; anyone, regardless of age or height, was welcome.
Outside, early evening draped itself over the street too soon for a lateMarch day; streetlights reflected in the puddles like fireflies trapped in icy islands by the blocks entrance.
When the parents called again, this time both at once, it became clear they wouldnt be home tonight.
James was the first to break the silence after the call.
Seems well be having a sleepover! What do you think?
Emma stared thoughtfully at Oliver, who beamed at his new pillowfort, free of fear, brimming with the thrill of a explorer about to chart unknown territory inside a neighbours flat.
Then let the flatcamp be declared! proclaimed James with a flourish. Whos in charge of the menu?
The three of them cooked together, and the experience turned out oddly joyous even for seasoned adults. Oliver peeled potatoes, managing to carve one almost perfectly square; James commanded the chopping of vegetables for a salad; Emma laid out plastic platesafter all, a camp needed a special atmosphere.
Rain drummed louder against the windowpane as conversations fluttered about favourite childhood movies (each from a different era), school mishaps (Oliver recounted a tale of a maths teacher and a plastic lizard), and laughter floated easily, as if strangers had become kin, their worries dissolving into the scent of simmering veg and the soft glow of the kitchen lamp.
In the lounge, an improvised tent city rose: a few sheets draped over the backs of the sofa, establishing camp rulesstories whispered only, hiding from forest spirits (the role now claimed by a plush hippo). When the clock slipped far beyond the usual bedtime, no one thought to remind Oliver of any routine.
The tent city held remarkably well: the sheets stayed put, the cushions served as walls and beds alike. Oliver, now dressed in a borrowed, oversized pyjama that lent the night an extra layer of adventure, settled inside the camp with the plush hippo and his dinosaur backpack neatly beside him.
Emma brought a mug of warm milk and a plate of biscuits.
Heres your nightration for the expedition, she announced with mock solemnity.
James, for reasons unknown, wrapped a kitchen towel around his head like a bandanna.
Our camps charter tonight: after lights out, only whispers!
He winked at Oliver, who nodded solemnly and pretended to be busy constructing another tunnel of cushions.
The evening stretched longer than any adult would normally allow. They read silly stories to Oliver about a clumsy bear (changing the characters names to neighbours each time), debated what theyd pack for a real trek. James recalled his first overnight at a friends househow hed been terrified of strangers wallpaper at night, yet spent a week dreaming of building a fort of chairs at home. Emma spoke of family trips to the countryside and the time shed lost a slipper in a snowdrift right by the doorstep.
Oliver listened intently, occasionally smiling or asking why adults loved to talk about the past, why everyone had their own spooks. He spoke of school and classmates more calmly than he did in daylight; no one tugged his sleeve or cut him off. At one point he confessed,
I thought it would be boring but it feels like a celebration.
Emma laughed,
See! The key is good company.
Gradually the chatter faded. Outside, the street fell into neardarkness, only occasional cars slicing thin ribbons of light through the curtains. On the kitchen table still sat a halfdrunk cup of tea and a slice of bread with a crusty edgeno one rushed to clear the remnants. A pleasant, light fatigue settled over the flat, as if everyone had lived a day a little longer than usual.
Emma tucked Oliver into his cushiontent, draping a soft yellowstriped blanket over himone she recalled from Jamess childhood. He nestled in, comfortable. At his request she read another tale, this one about a city where paper boats glide across spring puddles at night. After the story they sat in a soft silence.
Arent you scared without mum?
No its fun just a touch odd.
Tomorrow morning everything will be back to normal but if you ever want to stay again, well always welcome you.
Oliver nodded sleepily, his eyes closing almost at once.
When the boy finally drifted into steady sleep, his breaths even and occasionally smiling in his dreams, Emma slipped into the kitchen where James sat at the table, phone in hand. A message from Claire had just arrived: Weve finally gotten home, all good. Well be up early tomorrow.
I never expected an evening like this
Emma lowered herself onto the stool beside him.
Neither did I but the mishap made it cozier than any of our usual family nights lately.
They exchanged a quiet look, both understanding that this rare convergencechild from next door, neighbour to each otherhad brought something new to their routine.
The radiator hummed, rain pattered against the window, and a soft breath rose from the lounge through the cracked door. James suddenly suggested,
Maybe we should do these camps more often? Not just for kids
Emma snorted,
Adults need an unscheduled day off too.
They agreed to try it at least once a month, even if just for shared meals or board games.
Morning arrived bright and unexpected; a shaft of light cut through the heavy curtains, landing on the floor beside the radiator. The hallway smelled of fresh airsomeone had flung the front window wide open, letting the nights chill out.
Oliver awoke a little earlier than the adults, slipped from his cushionfort, and stared at the magnetic fridge gallery for a long while before helping Emma set the table: toast with cheese and a jar of apple puréesimple camp fare that delighted him.
Soon the parents arrived: Claire looked weary but grateful; Olivers father immediately bombarded his son with questions, and the boy proudly recounted the cushionforts triumph. James narrated the whole nightwhere they slept, what they ate, which films they watched.
At the goodbye, Oliver asked,
Can I come again? Not just when mums busy just because?
Emma laughed,
Of course! Weve got a flatcamp every Saturday now!
The parents nodded enthusiastically, promising to bring a memoryboosting board game next time.
When the neighbours door shut and the flat returned to its ordinary spaciousness, James turned to Emma,
So, invite more people next time?
She shrugged,
Well see The important thing is we now have our little secret against dull weekends.
Both felt a little younger, as if theyd truly performed a small miracle in the fabric of reality.
