Saturday, early April, and the flat on Camden Road was humming with the usual lazyday rhythm. Id been thumbing through a stack of magazines on the sofa, jotting down a shopping list for the afternoon market, while James was already at the kitchen bench, fiddling with his coffee grinder, trying to perfect the ratio for a new blend of beans. Outside, a drizzle that had started as slush was melting into small puddles with patches of dirty ice on the pavement. By the entrance a tiny archipelago of wellworn rubber boots and slippersoft house shoes had already formed.
James glanced up from his mug.
Fancy a bite? Ive just found a recipe for cottagecheese fritters without semolina, he said.
I smiled; my plans were simple: breakfast together, then each of us to our own errands. I was about to answer when a cheerful knock echoed down the hallway.
At the door stood our neighbour Lucy from the flat opposite, looking a little more flustered than usual. She cradled a boy of about eight or nine on one arm not quite a stranger, but not a regular face either.
Sorry to barge in weve got a bit of a crisis. I have to dash to a work meeting and my husband is stuck somewhere between the M25 and the heavens. Could you mind looking after Oliver for a couple of hours? Hes a quiet one his things are right here, she said, handing me a small backpack with a plastic dinosaur tucked inside, He doesnt need feeding he just had breakfast. He does love apples, though.
James gave me a quick look; I simply shrugged. Who else would say yes so swiftly? Neighbours sometimes need a hand. We both nodded at Lucy.
Of course, let him stay! No worries, we replied.
Oliver stepped over the threshold, eyes darting up and down the room, cautious yet curious. His boots left fresh, damp prints beside the ones already there. Lucy explained the basics in a rush: parents phones always at hand, call us if anything, no allergies, he loves cartoons about animals. Then she planted a quick kiss on his forehead and was gone.
Oliver shed his jacket and hung it on a hook by the radiator, next to our coats. The flat felt a shade dimmer than his own home because of the heavy curtains, but the scent of fresh coffee mingling with warm radiator air was comforting.
So, Oliver fancy a cartoon or a game? I asked, trying to remember every childhood pastime in one breath.
He shrugged.
Maybe something with dinosaurs? Or something to build?
The first halfhour passed peacefully. James turned on Dino Park for Oliver and slipped off to read the news on his phone. I flipped through the magazines, stealing glances at our little guest, who had claimed a spot on the carpet in front of the TV, his backpack slung over his shoulder. Yet the sense that this was only temporary 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 slush under the radiators. Lucy texted: Sorry! Weve been stuck in traffic for an hour. Well try to be back by evening. Shortly after, Olivers father called, his voice tinged with guilt.
Guys! Thanks a million! Well be there soon. Everything alright over there?
I reassured him.
All good! No worries!
I hung up and turned to James.
Looks like well have to change lunch plans
He spread his hands.
Well, itll be an adventure in collaborative cooking, then!
Olivers initial shyness dissolved as he offered to show his collection of three dinosaur figurines, then asked if he could help in the kitchen.
James dove in with surprising ease, pulling eggs for an omelette from the fridge, while Oliver cracked shells against the bowls rimthough 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 resembled a thick concrete mix.
While we debated which film was appropriate for an eightyearold from The Lion King to classic British comediesOliver quietly gathered all the cushions from the living room into one massive mound by the coffee table. Within minutes it became the headquarters of an expedition camp for the whole flat, open to anyone regardless of age or height.
Outside, early evening settled sooner than expected for late March; streetlamps reflected in the puddles like fireflies over a blanket of snow near the entrance.
When the parents called again, this time both of them, it was obvious they wouldnt make it home tonight.
James was the first to break the silence after the call.
Seems well be having a sleepover! What do you think?
I looked at Oliver, who was beaming at his newlyfortified pillow fort, his face free of fear, only the thrill of a little explorer about to embark on a grand venture through a neighbours flat.
Then let it be declared: flat camp! James announced with a grin. Well cook dinner together! Whos in charge of the menu?
The three of us prepared the meal, and it turned out to be surprisingly fun for even the most seasoned of us. Oliver peeled a potato, managing to carve one almost square; James orchestrated the chopping of vegetables for a salad; I set the table with disposable plastic platesafter all, a camp needs its own atmosphere.
Rain pattered louder against the windowsill as we chatted about favourite childhood films (each of us from a different era), the odd school mishap (Oliver recounted a story about a maths teacher and a plastic lizard). Laughter rang easy, as if none of us were strangers any longer; worries melted away amidst the aroma of stewed veg and the soft glow of the kitchen lamp.
In the living room, an improvised tent city emergedsheets draped over the backs of the sofa, creating a little realm with its own rules: tell stories only in whispers and hide from the forest spirits (the role fell to a plush hippo). By the time the clock had long passed its usual bedtime, no one even considered reminding Oliver of any routine.
The tent held up remarkably well; the sheets didnt slip, the cushions served as both walls and beds. Oliver, now in a toolarge pajama set that only added to the sense of adventure, settled inside the camp with the plush hippo and his dinosaur backpack neatly folded beside him.
I brought over a mug of warm milk and a plate of biscuits.
Heres your night rations for the expedition, I announced with a mockserious tone.
James, for some reason, wrapped a kitchen towel around his head like a makeshift bandana.
In our camp today theres a special charter: after lights out, only whispers are allowed! he winked at Oliver, who gave an approving nod and pretended to be deeply occupied building another tunnel of cushions.
The evening stretched longer than any adult would usually allow. We read funny stories about a clumsy bear (each time swapping the names for local neighbours), discussed what wed pack for a real hike, and James recalled his first sleepover at a friends househow hed been terrified of foreign wallpaper at night, yet spent the following week dreaming of building his own fort of chairs. I talked about family trips to the country cottage and the time I lost a slipper in a snowdrift right outside the front door.
Oliver listened attentively, occasionally smiling or asking why adults love to reminisce about the past, why everyone has their own scary tales. He spoke about school and classmates more calmly than he does by day; nobody tugged his sleeve or interrupted him. At one point he confessed,
I thought it would be boring but it feels like a celebration.
I laughed.
Thats it! Good company is all you need.
Gradually the conversation faded. Outside, the street was swallowed by darkness, only occasional cars slicing through the night with thin ribbons of light. On the kitchen table a halfdrunk cup of tea and a slice of toast remained untouchedno rush to clear the remnants. A pleasant, light fatigue settled over the flat, as if wed all lived a day a little longer than usual.
I tucked Oliver into his pillow fort, pulling a soft, yellowstriped blanketone Serge had loved since his own childhoodover him. He settled comfortably. At his request I read one more story, about a town where paper boats drifted across spring puddles at night. After the tale we sat in a quiet hush.
Are you scared without your mum? I asked gently.
No Its fun just a bit odd, he replied. Tomorrow everything will be back to normal but if I want to stay again, youll welcome me?
He nodded sleepily; his eyes closed almost at once.
When he finally drifted off, breathing evenly, I slipped into the kitchen to find James. A message from Lucy glowed on his phone: Weve finally got home, all good. Well be up early tomorrow. He sighed.
I never expected an evening like this, he murmured.
I lowered myself onto the stool beside him.
Neither did I but it turned out cozier than any of our usual family nights lately.
We exchanged a quiet look, both understanding that this was a rare moment of connectionnot just with a neighbours child, but with each other.
The radiators heat filled the kitchen; the only sounds were the rain against the window and Olivers soft breathing from the living room. James suddenly suggested,
Maybe we should do these little camps more often? Not just for kids
I chuckled.
Even adults need an unscheduled day off now and then.
We agreed to try it at least once a monthperhaps just for shared meals or board games.
Morning arrived bright and unexpected; a shaft of sunlight pierced the heavy curtains, landing on the floor by the radiator. The hallway smelled of fresh airsomeone had flung open the flats window first thing to ventilate after the night.
Oliver woke a little earlier than us, slipping quietly out of his fort, and spent a long moment admiring the magnet collection on the fridge before helping me set the breakfast table: toast with cheese and a jar of apple puree. He seemed happy with the simple camp menu.
Soon the parents arrived. Lucy looked tired but grateful; Olivers father immediately bombarded his son with questions, to which Oliver answered enthusiastically about the cushion fort. James gave a thorough rundown of the nights eventswhere we slept, what we ate, which films we watched.
Before leaving, Oliver asked, Can I come again? Not just when mums busy just because?
I laughed.
Of course! We now have a flat camp on Saturdays.
The parents endorsed the idea without hesitation, even promising to bring a memoryboosting board game next timesomething that could be useful for all generations.
When the neighbours door shut and the flat returned to its usual spaciousness, James looked at me.
So, invite someone else next time?
I shrugged.
Well see The main thing is weve got our little secret against dull weekends.
Both of us felt a little younger, as if wed truly performed a small miracle in everyday life.
