It was a Saturday in early April, the kind where March is finally giving way to spring. In the flat that Irene and Simon shared, the usual lazyday rhythm had settled in. Simon had spent the morning tinkering with his coffee grinder, trying to nail the perfect grind for a new batch of beans. Irene was stretched out on the sofa, thumbing through a stack of magazines and scribbling a shopping list shed planned to pop to the supermarket after lunch, if the drizzle didnt turn into a proper downpour. Outside, the last of the wet snow was melting slowly, leaving puddles and slick patches of dirty ice on the pavement. By the front door a small island of rubber boots and house slippers had already formed.
Simon glanced up from his mug.
Want a bite? Ive just found a recipe for ricotta pancakes without any semolina.
Irene smiled. The plan was simple: have breakfast together, then each go about our own things. She was about to answer when a cheerful knock sounded from the hallway.
On the landing stood their neighbour, Susan, from the flat opposite. She looked a touch more flustered than usual, holding the shoulder of a boy about eight or nine not a stranger, but not exactly a regular playdate either.
Sorry to barge in Ive got an emergency at work and my husbands stuck somewhere between the M25 and the stars. Could you mind looking after Ethan for a couple of hours? Hes quiet his stuff is over here, she said, handing over a small backpack with a plastic dinosaur perched on it, Hes just had breakfast, so you dont need to feed him much he does love apples.
Simon met Irenes eyes; she shrugged. Who else would say yes so quickly? Neighbours sometimes need a hand. They gave Susan a brief nod.
Of course, he can stay! No worries.
Ethan slipped over the threshold, eyes darting up and down, curious and a little wary. His boots left fresh, damp prints on the floor, joining the growing gallery of footprints by the entrance. Susan quickly explained the basics: the parents phones are always on hand, call them if anything comes up, no allergies, and he loves cartoons about animals. She kissed his forehead, hurried out, and disappeared down the hall.
The boy shrugged off his jacket and hung it on a hook by the radiators, next to the strangers coats. The flat felt a shade dimmer than his own home because of the heavy curtains in the lounge, but the scent of fresh coffee mixed with warm radiator air was pleasant.
So, Ethan fancy a cartoon or a game? Irene asked, trying to recall every kidfriendly activity she could think of.
Ethan shrugged.
Can we watch something about dinosaurs? Or maybe build something?
The first half hour drifted peacefully. Simon put on a dinosaur documentary for Ethan and then slipped away to skim the news on his phone. Irene kept flipping through the magazines, eyes occasionally flicking to the new little guest, who had plonked himself on the carpet in front of the TV with his backpack dangling. Even after three backtoback adverts, the feeling that this was just a temporary babysitting stint didnt fade.
By one oclock it was clear that adult plans were melting faster than the March snow on the radiators. Susan sent a quick text: Sorry! Weve been stuck in traffic for an hour. Well try to be back by evening. Then Ethans dad called, his voice sounding guilty.
Guys! Thanks a lot! Were on our way. Is everything okay over there?
Irene laughed.
All good! No worries.
She hung up and looked at Simon.
Looks like well have to reshuffle lunch plans
He threw his hands up.
Well, itll be an adventure in teamwork!
The initial awkwardness dissolved as Ethans natural curiosity took over. He showed off his three little dinosaur figures, then asked if he could help in the kitchen.
Simon jumped in without a hitch: he fetched some eggs for an omelette, and Ethan expertly cracked them against the bowls rim (though a few shells made a brief cameo on the counter). The kitchen filled with the smell of buttered toast, and the boy stirred the batter with a wooden spoon until it looked more like concrete than batter.
While the adults debated which film to put on for an eightyearold from The Lion King to an old British comedy Ethan quietly gathered all the cushions from the lounge into a single mountain by the coffee table. Within minutes that pile became the designated expedition camp for the whole flat; anyone of any age was welcome to join.
Outside, the early evening settled in earlier than expected for late March. Streetlights reflected in the puddles, looking like fireflies caught in little islands of icy water by the front door.
When the parents called again a bit later, this time both of them, it became obvious they werent getting back home tonight.
Simon was the first to break the silence after the call.
Looks like weve got an overnight camp! What do you think?
Irene gave Ethan a thoughtful glance he was beaming at his newly built pillow fort, no sign of fear, just the excitement of a little explorer about to embark on a grand adventure in a neighbours flat.
Alright then, the apartment camp is officially open! Simon announced with a grin. Whos in charge of the menu?
The three of them threw themselves into cooking and, surprisingly, had a blast even for seasoned adults. Ethan peeled a potato (managed to make one side almost perfectly square), Simon chopped veg for a salad, and Irene set the table with plastic plates after all, a camp needs its own vibe.
Rain drummed louder on the windowsill as they chatted about favourite childhood movies (turns out each of them came from a different era), swapped school anecdotes (Ethan recounted a story about a maths teacher and a plastic lizard), and laughed easily, as if no one was a stranger any longer. The scent of roasted veg and the soft glow of the kitchen lamp made the moment feel cosy.
In the lounge an improvised tent city had sprouted a few sheets tossed over the backs of the sofa, creating a little camp with its own rules: stories spoken only in whispers, and hiding from the forest spirits (a role claimed by a plush hippo). When the clock ticked well past the usual bedtime, nobody even thought of reminding Ethan of a bedtime.
The makeshift tent held up remarkably: the sheets stayed put, the cushions doubled as walls and sleeping bags. Ethan, now dressed in a toobig nightshirt, snuggled inside the fort with the plush hippo and his dinosaur backpack neatly folded nearby.
Irene brought over a mug of warm milk and a plate of biscuits.
Heres your night rations for the expedition, she announced, deadpan.
For some odd reason Simon slung a kitchen towel over his head like a bandana.
In our camp the rule after lightsout is: only whispers! he whispered, winking at Ethan, who nodded and pretended to be busy digging a new tunnel through the cushions.
The evening stretched longer than most adults would permit. They read funny bedtime stories about a clumsy bear (changing the characters names to match the neighbours), debated what theyd take on a real hike, and Simon recalled his first sleepover at a friends house how hed been spooked by unfamiliar wallpaper, yet spent a week dreaming of building a fort of chairs at home. Irene talked about family trips to the countryside and the time she lost a slipper in a snowdrift right outside the front door.
Ethan listened intently, occasionally smiling or asking why adults love to chat about the past, why everyone has their own spooky tales. He spoke about school and classmates more calmly than he did in daylight; nobody tugged at his sleeve or cut him off. At one point he admitted,
I thought itd be boring but it feels like a party.
Irene laughed.
See? Good company is all that matters.
Gradually the chatter died down. Outside the street was almost in darkness, only the occasional car throwing a strip of light through the curtains. On the kitchen counter a halfdrunk cup of tea and a piece of crusty bread still sat nobody was in a rush to clear the leftovers. A pleasant, light fatigue settled over the flat, as if theyd all lived a day a little longer than usual.
Irene tucked Ethan into his pillow fort, draping a soft yellowstriped blanket over him a favourite of Simons since childhood. He settled in, and at his request she read one more story, about a town where paper boats drifted across spring puddles at night. After the tale they sat quietly for a moment.
Dont you miss your mum? Ethan asked.
No its fun here. A bit odd, but nice, he replied.
Tomorrow morning everything will be back to normal but if you ever want to stay again, well always have a place for you.
Ethan nodded sleepily, his eyes closing almost instantly.
When he finally dozed off, breathing steady and sometimes smiling in his sleep, Irene slipped into the kitchen where Simon was still at the table, phone in hand. A message from Susan popped up: Finally home, all good. Well be up early tomorrow.
She sighed.
Never expected an evening like that
Irene perched on the stool next to him.
Neither did I but it turned out cozier than any of our usual family nights lately.
They exchanged a quiet look, both understanding this was a rare moment of connection not just with the neighbours child, but with each other.
The heaters gentle warmth filled the kitchen, only the rain and Ethans soft breathing from the lounge breaking the silence. Simon then suggested,
Maybe we should do these little camps more often? Not just for kids
Irene smirked.
Even adults need an unplanned day off now and then.
They agreed to try it at least once a month even if it was just for a shared dinner or a board game night.
Morning arrived bright and cheerful; a shaft of sunlight pierced the heavy curtains and fell on the floor by the radiator. The hallway smelled of fresh air someone had flung the window open wide to air out the flat after the nights adventure.
Ethan woke a little before the adults, quietly slipping out of his makeshift den, and spent a while admiring the fridge magnets before helping Irene set the breakfast table: toast with cheese and a jar of apple puree. He seemed pleased with the simple camp menu.
Soon the parents arrived. Susan looked tired but grateful; Ethans dad immediately peppered his son with questions about the night Ethan proudly recounted the pillowfort siege. Simon filled them in on everything where they slept, what they ate, which films theyd watched.
Before leaving, Ethan asked,
Can I come back again? Not just when mums busy just because?
Irene laughed.
Of course! Weve got an apartment camp every Saturday now!
The parents backed the idea wholeheartedly, even promising to bring a memoryboost board game next time something for all generations.
When the neighbours door shut and the flat returned to its usual spaciousness, Simon looked at Irene.
So, next time we invite someone else?
She shrugged.
Well see The main thing is we now have our little secret against boring weekends.
Both felt a bit younger, as if theyd just performed a tiny miracle in everyday life.
