had reconfigured itself like a labyrinth, had made itself a stranger to her. She walked round and round and up and down, until, frustrated, she threw herself down on the top of the hill in the middle of the park. She drew her knees up and buried her face in her crossed arms.
She stayed like that for several moments, before raising her head and looking out.
The clear dawn that had been promised turned out to be twenty minutes of low morning sun before a bank of clouds swallowed the light. The city was now spread grey before her, but Delia kind of liked it that way.
She knew her mother would be up soon, and she knew she should be there to help her, but she couldn’t resist staying a while longer. She would only be ten minutes. Ten minutes couldn’t hurt.
IT WAS AS IF THE alarm clock had gone off. But it hadn’t. Robert lay, blinking, feeling the ring echo in his ears as if he’d heard it moments before. But he hadn’t.
Mara was asleep beside him, her face serious in a way it never was when she was awake. The light of the alarm clock spilled across her forehead.
5:07
Robert was at a loss. He hated being inactive and he very rarely was. There was always something to do. There was always an excess of things to do. But not at just after five in the morning.
He groaned with frustration, and then grimaced with guilt and glanced at Mara. She slept on.
Robert carefully slid out of bed. He’d go for a run. It had been months since he’d found the time, and here the time was, gifted to him out of nowhere. He hunted out his battered running shoes, the same he’d had since university, and changed into an old t-shirt and shorts.
The air was clear and easy to breathe, and Robert felt energised and enthusiastic as he jogged past the silent houses on his street.
After half a mile a frown crossed his face. This was harder than he’d thought it would be.
He jogged onward.
He reached a nearby park and slipped inside to run on the grass, feeling a moment of relief as his knees registered the absence of concrete. Then he promptly developed a stitch.
He came to a panting halt and bent over, clutching his sides. Taking a couple of breaths, he staggered on.
By the time he got back home, his face was red and streaming and he was limping. He stood outside the house for two minutes, arms akimbo, gasping for air, before he opened the door and dragged himself upstairs. As he walked into the bedroom Mara stirred and opened her eyes. She blinked at him a couple of times and burst out laughing.
Robert poked his tongue out at her and headed for the bathroom.
‘You shouldn’t laugh you know,’ he said over his shoulder. ‘This is me recognising the need to hang onto you by maintaining a slammin’ bod.’
‘Oh god, please don’t take my laughter as a sign I’m not grateful.’
‘I’ll fill your grate,’ Robert said. ‘Be quiet and let me shower, woman.’
He could hear Mara chuckling into her pillow as he closed the bedroom door on her, trying to make sure she didn’t see him wince.
BIRDS. DIDN’T FEEL LIKE TIME yet. Didn’t feel late enough for birds. But there they were, so that was that. Birds could sense time better than him, so they must be right.
He opened his eyes. Ah. There was the problem. The blinds were down. He usually slept with them open, he usually woke with the light.
Strange. That they were closed.
He sat up and slid on his glasses. He crossed to the window and opened the blinds. It was later than he’d thought. It was later than he usually woke up. It was much later.
He had a routine for the mornings. Always the same. A light breakfast of fruit. A full breakfast later, after some time in the music room. Now it wouldn’t work. Now it had gone wrong. It was already too late.
He went downstairs and stood in the kitchen. He was hungrier than usual. He opened the fridge and took out the eggs.
It wasn’t until almost eight o’clock that he made it to the music room. Much later than normal.
The music room was the nicest room in the house. It was the most important place in the house. Floor to ceiling windows along two walls. Lots of light. He liked lots of light to practise, although when he performed he always requested that the stage be kept as dim as possible. People should be listening, he said, not looking.
When he had performed. When he used to perform. It had always seemed important.
There were few decorations, nothing to distract him. The rest of the house was covered in pictures, in paintings and photos and sketches. Not here. Just one small photo of Albert propped on top of the shelf by the door.
The piano stood in the middle of the room.
He walked around it a couple of times, as he always did. He closed his eyes and threw his head back. He breathed deeply, and sat down.
He rested his hands for a moment on the cover before lifting it.
He stared. His hands, always so reliable, began to shake.
The world had ended. His life had ended.
Jake stands on the footpath facing his house. His schoolbag is heavy because of all the library books his mother has finally remembered he has to take back.
No, that wasn’t right. He hadn’t been going to school that day. If he’d been going to school he would have been there already, for hours.
Jake stands on the footpath facing his house. The street is quiet for a Saturday. Because it isn’t Saturday. It’s Tuesday. It feels like Saturday to Jake because he’s not wearing his school uniform. He’s not going to school.
Why was he not going to school? It wasn’t the holidays.
He’s not going to school because he has a doctor’s appointment about his foot and then his mum is going to take him to McDonald’s for a sundae. He wonders if she’ll let him have one with a flake.
He is sweating. He is sweating because it is very hot. The sun is big and bright above him and seems to be soaking him right through to his bones. Deeper than his bones. He wishes he was wearing jandals instead of lace-up shoes. His mum doesn’t like him to wear jandals anymore because she likes him to always wear his orthotics. Jake looks down at his feet and frowns. He hadn’t thought his feet
