System Failure
Catherine, are you at home?
Michael, you know Im always home on a Sunday morning.
Then open the door.
She watched through the spyhole for three seconds. Her brother stood in the hallway, coat unzipped, two hefty bags by his feet, wearing the defeated look of a man whod just lost an important argument. Behind him hovered two figures, one tall, one small. Catherine closed her eyes, opened them againthe figures remained.
She flicked the lock.
Good morning, said Michael, flashing the smile shed known since childhoodthe one he used when about to ask a favour.
No, she said.
I havent even said anything yet.
Youre giving me that smile. So, no.
Charlie squeezed past his dad and gazed up at her, scruffy hair sticking up and trailing a lace across the polished wooden floor. Beside him, Lucy clutched a battered teddy with one ear and looked at Catherine with the fearless curiosity only a four-year-old could muster.
Catherine eyed her floor. Pale oak, Nordic finish from Hathaways, installed three months ago by a contractor shed had to chase for six weeks. Charlies shoelace was smeared brownbut she didnt want to know with what.
Come in, she said. Shoes off, please.
Her flat on the eighth floor of Winchester Heights was the one achievement she prized above all else. Not her job as senior sales manager at Interior Concepts, not the car, not her bank accountthis flat. One hundred and four square metres, three-metre ceilings, floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city park. Shed spent two years getting it just so, searching for the right lampshades, finding the exact shade of dusky blue curtains that faded almost to grey by evening. The sofa from Hathaways cataloguegrey, broad, high-backed. The solid wood coffee table with a delicate crack the salesman called the timbers character. Shed almost returned it, but kept it and grew fond of the imperfection. No clutter, no odds and ends lining the sills. BelleVisage cosmetics, lined up by height in the bathroom. Towels all the same colour, wooden hangers in the wardrobe.
This was the life shed builtevery detail in its place. Quietproper city quiet, from the eighth floor, when only the hum of her Livingstone kettle cut the silence, and sometimes, the patter of rain on the glass.
Michael left the bags in the hallway. The children kicked off their shoes. Charlie, of course, touched the flawless white wall.
Charlie, Catherine said.
What?
Your hands.
He looked at his hand, then the wall, then back at her.
Whats wrong with my hands?
Catherine took a deep breath. Three seconds in, three seconds outthe stress-management technique shed learnt at a course.
Michael, get to the point. Quickly.
Her brother moved to the kitchen, sat at the high stool by the bar, hands flat on the worktopcapitulating.
Sarah and IWere going to a retreat. For eight days. We need to talk. Really talk, and you cant do that with the kids around.
No other options?
Mums in Bath at a spa till Fridayyou know that. Sarahs folks are stuck in the village, some sort of quarantine, kids cant go. Catherine, its just this. Eight days. Please.
Eight days? Catherine echoed.
Or, well, nine. Well be back next Sunday.
A crash sounded from the sitting roomnot loud, but unmistakable. Something fell.
Lucy, dont touch anything! Michael shouted without turning, using that worn-out tone, the one people use when they say the same thing a hundred times a day.
Michael, Catherine spoke softly; a low voice usually got better resultsa trick from her course. I work from home. On Wednesday I have an important online pitch with clients from three cities. I dont know what to do with kids. I dont know what they eat, what to say to them, how to put them to bed.
Theyll eat anything except onionswell, Charlie wont eat tomatoes. Say anything; theyre not fussy. Lucy needs teddy to sleep, Charlie likes a storyhis books in the bag.
Michael.
Catherine, he met her eyes, and she saw something inside hima weariness that called for no argument. Not pity. Something heavier. If we dont do this, I honestly dont know what happens to our familyseriously. I just dont know.
She said nothing. Beyond the glass, a cloud drifted past the parkutterly white, peaceful.
Eight days, she said, at last.
Thank you.
Dont thank me yet. Ill probably call you in three hours, begging.
Ill be near my phone. Sarah too.
Michael left quickly, too quicklya man afraid hed be stopped. He kissed the children, called her the best Auntie Catherine, left a note of instructionswritten in his chunky, sloped handwritingon the breakfast bar, and in fifteen minutes he was gone.
Catherine stood in the hallway.
Charlie and Lucy stared at her.
She stared back.
Well, she said.
Well, Charlie replied.
Are you hungry?
I want juice, said Lucy.
What kind?
Orange one.
Orange, as in, orange juice?
No, orange. The orange one.
Catherine opened the fridge. Inside: two kinds of mineral water, prepped raw veg in a tub, plain BelleVisage yoghurt, and an open bottle of white wine. No childrens juice. Catherine had simply never thought of itnever had a reason to think of it.
Well go to the shops, she said.
Hooray! Charlie shoutedhis voice echoing off the three-metre ceilings.
Catherine winced.
The shop was next door, a five-minute walk. In that time, Lucy dropped her teddy four times; Charlie pressed every button in the lift, including the emergency intercom, and delivered a detailed account of a boy in his class, Gus, who could spit through his teeth from two metres away. Catherine learned more about Gus than she ever required.
In the shop she picked up four kinds of juice, milk, bread, strawberry yoghurts, pasta, ready-made chicken goujons, apples, bananas, and a brightly packaged packet of biscuits that Charlie snuck in while she checked cheese. She didnt put the biscuits back. It seemed the kind of small surrender shed never have allowed herself a week ago.
The first day passed quietly enough. Lucy spilt juice on the coffee tableCharlie crashed into the doorframe and wailed for five minutes. Catherine, clueless about calming children, gave him a glass of water and told him it would passa line she used on adults, but it worked anyway. Charlie sipped, hiccupped, and went to watch cartoons on the tablet Michael had packed.
They refused to sleep at nine, or at ten, or even at half-ten. At half-ten, Catherine read Charlie the story about a bear and raspberries, twice. Lucy had already nodded off on the sofa, teddy gripped tight. Catherine stared at her for around twenty seconds, then lifted her and placed her on the guest bed. The girl was light and warm, small as the sun. She didnt stir.
Catherine fixed herself a herbal tea from her Livingstone flask and opened her laptop. Three days until the pitch. She had two slides to finish and a speech to rehearse.
She sat in her kitchen, tea in hand and silence around herand, for some reason, couldnt focus.
The next morning began at precisely 6:37. Catherine remembered the number, since it was the first thing she saw when, from the sitting room, came a tremendous crash.
Charlie had woken first and was building a fort out of the Hathaway sofa cushions. All four were on the floor, with the blanket. Charlie sat in the midst of his handiwork, eating biscuits found, somehow, on the second shelf of the kitchen cupboard. Crumbs everywhere.
Morning, he said brightly.
Good morning, Catherine replied.
Can you make pancakes?
You mean drop scones?
No, proper round ones with maple syrup.
I dont have maple syrup.
Shame.
She made buckwheat porridge instead. Charlie ate without complaint. Lucy surfaced at eight, wandered in with teddy and bed hair, clambered onto a stool. I want porridge, like Charlies.
Catherine thought things were, perhaps, going fine.
The flood happened on Tuesday, 2pm.
She was at her desk, editing her slides. The children were playing in the bathroom, allowed to float paper boats made from old bills Charlie found in a bedside table and converted into a naval fleet. Seemed safewater in the bath, the kids occupied, and peace.
The peace lasted twenty minutes.
She noticed the problem only when getting up for water, and saw something gleaming slinking along the corridor tiles from under the bathroom door.
Oh no, she said, the way you do when its too late.
The tap was running full. At some point, the kids drifted off, and, as Charlie later claimed, went to watch telly. The drain wasnt blocked by boats, though the flagship cruiser was wedged tight over the plughole. The bath had overflowed forjudging by the waterat least ten minutes.
She turned off the tap. Stared at the floor. Then closed her eyes.
Twenty minutes later, just as she was mopping her ruined BelleVisage slippers, the doorbell rang.
Whos there?
Downstairs neighbour. Flat 72.
She opened the door. There stood a tallish man in his early forties, slightly ruffled, home jeans, navy jumper, holding a phonethe screen showed a stark image of his soaking ceiling, a spreading patch around the light fitting.
Im Andrew. Number 72.
Catherine. Eighty-four. She sighed. I know what happened. Kids.
Got it. He pocketed his phone. Need a hand?
She stared back, bracing for the this is unacceptable speech. She could handle this kind of chatit was, technically, her job.
Did you just say help? she clarified.
Judging by the sound, youve still got a lake up there. Ive got a building dryer and a decent mop. You know, a proper bit of kit.
Over her shoulder, Charlie poked a curious face.
Youre the downstairs neighbour? Is it wet in your flat cause of us?
It is, agreed Andrew, and Catherine tensed. But no rebuke followed; just a slight tilt of his head: Did your boats float well?
They were amazing! Charlie enthused. I made an aircraft carrier!
Thats impressive.
Come in, said Catherine. Nothing else to do.
The next hour was a blur. Andrew fetched his mop and, without fuss or commentary, helped her gather the water. He let Charlie hold the mop, which Charlie took as a serious responsibility. Lucy stood at the door, clutching teddy, occasionally pointing: Its wet there, too. She was always correct.
Your ceiling okay? Catherine asked, when theyd finished.
A bit of a mark. Old paint, already dodgy. The patchll dry out.
Ill pay for decorating.
Lets see. He shruggednot a threat, just practical. Well cross that bridge. Have you had the kids long?
This is the second day.
Yours?
Nephew and nieceII dont have children.
He nodded, watched Charlie toy with the TV remote, already forgetting the flood.
Heres a tipput a proper plug cover in the bath; any DIY shopll have one. And dont leave the tap full on.
Ill bear that in mind.
Good luck. He took his mop, paused at the door. If you need anything, Im downstairs. Do just ask.
Why are you so calm? she askeda question that escaped her without permission.
He considered.
Whats the point of shouting? Doesnt dry the ceiling quicker.
He left. Catherine closed the door and leaned on it. Outside, the sun was setting. In the kitchen, Lucy argued with Charlie over the last biscuit, which she adjudicatedbiscuits split precisely. In silence.
Both children looked at her with a new, quiet respect.
Wednesday she readied for her pitch. The children watched cartoons, the tablet was charged, plates with apple slices and crackers lined the kitchen table. All under control.
The meeting started at eleven. Catherine sat at her desk, laptop open, camera on, blazer over her t-shirt. Seven people joined from three citieshead of the Liverpool office, two London partners, and a regional rep.
First fifteen minutessmooth. Catherine steered them through the new Hathaway collection, outlined pricing, fielded a couple of queries.
On minute sixteen, the door creaked open.
Auntie Cat! Lucys voice rangcertainly audible on the seventh floor. Charlie took my teddy!
Lucy, Catherine said, quietly, meaningfully, Im working.
He says teddys ugly!
It is ugly! came from Charlie, offstage.
Sorry, just a second, Catherine said to the camera with her Ive-got-this smile.
She pressed pause. Went into the living room. Charlie held the bear by one ear, Lucy by the torso. They both let go on command; Lucy scooped up the bear and clung to it.
Charlie, Catherine said, can you watch quietly?
The cartoon finished.
Start another.
Which one?
Any. The next.
Theres adverts.
A look. He relented. She found a childrens channelcartoon animals. Back to work.
Eight calm minutes. Then Charlie crept in and stood by her desksaying nothing.
Not breaking flow, Catherine glanced at him. He didnt move.
I need the loo, he announced, right into the camera.
The head of Liverpool chuckled. Everyone else joined in. Catherine felt herself blusha first in fifteen years.
Charlie, you know where the bathroom is.
I know. I just wanted to tell you.
Off you go, then.
He went. Catherine resumed her slides. The businesslike atmosphere was shot; but strangely, it fostered real conversation. The London partner said he had three kids and completely understood. The rep from Manchester said the Hathaway range sounded good; they scheduled a follow-up.
Catherine closed her laptop, sat for a while. Then realised she wasnt angrya surprise, since shed expected to be.
She made cheese sandwiches for the kids. Charlie declared them tasty. Lucy ate half, busy chatting with teddy.
At four oclock, the doorbell rang.
Brought you a bath plug, Andrew saidholding a little packet.
You went out specially?
I had to pick up bread anyway.
Come in.
She hadnt meant to say it, but he slipped off his shoes, and instantly Charlie popped up, shouting, Oh, its that man who helped us!
The very one, Andrew replied.
Is your ceiling dry yet?
Nearly. Give it a few more days.
Cool. You play Jenga? I packed it.
I do.
Lets play, then.
So Andrew sat at the Hathaway coffee table, building a wooden-block tower, flanked by Charlie and Lucy, who made teddy the team mascot. Andrew played with focus, and that, Catherine later realised, was what the kids senseda grown-up taking them seriously.
She pottered in the kitchen in a pretence of making dinner, but mostly she watched.
Careful now, Andrew told Charlie, that one at the leftthe edge oneitll shift easier.
How do you know?
Towers always have a weak spot. You just have to find it.
Is life like that? said Charlie, suddenly very six.
Andrew paused.
Pretty much, he replied.
Everyone had dinner togetherAndrew naturally stayed, helping to grill the goujons and slice the bread, because, noticing she was making a hash of it, he calmly took over. A little bossy, but he did make neater slices.
How longve you been here? Catherine asked.
Three years. Saw you move in last yearspotted the trucks.
Observant.
Just coincidenceas I was heading out.
What do you do?
Structural engineerat a firm in town. Unexciting, really.
Why unexciting?
No one cares what a structural person does, only if it stands up.
But thats the point, surely, she said.
He looked at her, almost as if he hadnt expected her to say that.
Yes. Yes, I suppose it is.
The children went to bed by nine, without too much fuss. Andrew finished his tea, thanked her for dinner, stood.
Goodnight, he said in the hallway.
Goodnight. And thanks. For everythingmainly, for not losing it over the flood.
He held her gaze a moment longer than usual.
Youre doing well, he said. For a first-timer.
How do you know its my first time?
If it wasnt, you wouldnt look like youre carrying a crystal vase and terrified of dropping it.
She laugheda real laugh, unguarded.
He left. She leaned on the door, as she had that first evening. But now, the silence was different.
Thursday and Friday went by differently. Something shifted. Catherine stopped jumping at every bang and crash. The morning porridge-and-juice routine became comforting. Lucy loved sitting next to Catherine while she worked, quietly drawing in a notebook Catherine supplied. The pictures were of rabbitswhole rabbit familiesall named and carefully labelled.
This is Mummy Rabbit, Lucy explained, and this is Daddy Rabbit. This little one is Button.
Why Button?
Hes small and round.
Logical, Catherine said.
On Friday evening Andrew came again, with a retro board game hed found in a cupboardCities of the World, in a battered box. The children didnt know the cities, but that didnt bother them.
Where did you get this? Catherine asked.
From when I was a kid. Took a few things when I movedno idea why.
Good thing you did.
They sat on the floor for lack of space. Catherine realised she couldnt recall the last time shed just sat on a floor. The Nordic parquet was cool and smooth. Lucy curled comfortably against her and, sometime during the game, fell asleep in Catherines armCatherine didnt even realise shed wrapped it around her.
Andrew noticed, but said nothing.
Saturday, Andrew proposed a walk in the park; Catherine didnt object. It was the same park she overlooked from her windows.
Charlie found a puddle and promptly went straight through, despite her mind the puddle! orders. She ended up carrying his soggy shoes in a bag, Charlie splashing along in damp socks, utterly unconcerned.
Why arent you upset? she asked.
About what?
Your wet shoes.
So what? Theyll dry.
Youre just like Andrew, she said aloud.
Andrews cool, Charlie agreed. Auntie Cat, is he your friend?
Hes my neighbour.
Is that the same thing?
No.
Why not?
She had no answer. Behind her, Andrew carried Lucy on his shoulders, explaining trees; Lucy listened rapt, as if it was a proper lecture.
On Sunday evening, Michael rang. His voice was lighterdifferent from the exhausted man whod dropped the kids off.
So, how are they?
Very much alive, Catherine said. Charlies conquered every puddle in southern England. Lucys drawn forty-seven rabbits.
Michael laughed. Youre handling it.
Not badly. Hows things there?
A pause.
Much better. Thank you.
Glad to hear it.
The second week was easier. Catherine now knew Charlie loathed tomatoes unless they were in soup, and Lucy couldnt sleep without the window open just a crack. Both grew tetchy at half-eightshed learnt not to argue, just to guide them to bed. All the little knowledge gatheredno instructions needed.
Andrew came each evening. Sometimes he brought things, sometimes not. They talkedabout work, the city, books. Andrew read a lotunexpected for a man who built buildings. Catherine read too, but hadnt found time lately.
What are you reading? he asked once.
Nothing. Just work stuff.
That doesnt count.
I know.
Shall I bring you something?
Go on, then.
The book was by a Japanese author, a story of a woman clearing her mothers things and discovering, too late, shed hardly known her. Catherine read it the first half hour after the children fell asleepthe best part of her day.
One Thursday, Charlie asked to see her workplace.
Where you work. The office.
I work herein the study.
I know. Show me.
She did. He stood in the doorway, gazing at her desk, the Hathaway catalogues, the laptop, a tiny cactus on the sill.
Are you happy? he asked.
In what sense?
About work.
Yes, I think so. I like my job.
Dad says you should work at stuff that makes you happy. Otherwise, whats the point?
Wise man, your dad.
Charlie pondered. Auntie Cat, why do you live alone?
Thats just how things worked out.
Did you not want someone living with you?
I grew used to being on my own. It was nice.
Was?
She paused.
Was, she confirmed.
The last day came too soon. Michael and Sarah arrived Sunday at one oclock. Sarah looked different nowmore at ease. She hugged the children fiercely. Lucy clung on for three straight minutes.
Catherine, Sarah said, I cant begin to thank you.
No need.
Were they good?
They were themselves, Catherine smiled. Thats what matters.
Sarah looked surprisedperhaps expecting a different answer.
Packing took an hour. Lucy cried a little when saying goodbye; Catherine hugged her and promised theyd visit again. Charlie shook her hand, solemnlyamusing and touching at once. Then, quick and tight, he dashed back for a real hug before leaving with Michael.
Silence. Catherine stared at the empty hallway.
Lucys blue coat with the bear button was gone. Her coat hung alone.
She walked into the sitting room. Sofa cushions crumpled where Charlie had sat that morning with the tablet. On the floor, by the coffee table, lay a forgotten drawingrabbits: mum, dad, tiny round Button. Beside them, a yellow-haired figure, captioned in a childs scrawl: Aunt Cat.
Catherine held the picture for a while.
Then went to the kitchen, flicked the Livingstone filter on, picked her favourite mug. Everything in ordertidy, calm, exactly as she liked.
She waited for the sense of relief that always followed raucous weekends with Michaels family, after work eventsany routine, really, that broke her habits. The bliss of getting back to herself.
But nothing came.
Just the picture in her hands and a silence that sounded differentlike the pause after music ends. When the musics gone, and you havent yet decided if its good or bad, you just stand and feel somethings changed.
She sat in her kitchen, sipping tea, watching the park and thinking.
Thinking of Charlie, whod asked if she was happy. Of Lucy, who fell asleep curled against her on a Friday evening, right there on the Nordic parquet, Catherines arm not moving away. Thinking of how her study was different, once Charlie had asked to see it.
Thinking of Andrew.
How he sliced breadperfectly neat. All that calmnot indifference but something steadier, like a beam in a building. How hed come every evening, never angling for anything, just present.
How, for the past nine days, shed never woken at night worrying about work. Which was new. Work worry had been her background noise for as long as shed remembered.
Six oclock. She washed, pulled on her favourite navy jumperthe one she thought suited herpicked up her phone, put it down, then picked it up again.
She didnt phone him. She took the lift to the seventh floor and rang flat seventy-two.
Andrew opened promptly. Looking at herno surprise, just attention.
Theyre gone, Catherine said.
I heard the door.
Its very quiet now.
Yes.
Would youlike some tea? she asked. I boiled the kettleits probably gone cold, but I can put it on again.
He paused briefly.
I would, he said.
They rode the lift up. Catherine put the kettle on again. He sat at the high breakfast bar stoolwhere Michael had, that first day. A different man, a new conversation.
You know, Catherine said, its the first time in nine days with no obligations. I dont know what to do with it.
Good or bad?
Justodd. Not unpleasant, just different.
Youll get used to new kinds of different.
What do you mean?
Well, it was strange for you to be on your own, to start with. Then you got used to it. Now its different again, but in another way.
Sounds like youve been there.
He looked up.
I was marriedfor six years. Then not. For three years, not.
Im sorry.
No need. It was inevitable. We were good people, just not right together. He paused. The hardest thing wasnt the break-up. It was the silence after. Realising silence with someone is not the same as silence alone.
Catherine stared into her mug.
I always saw silence as freedomchose to be alone.
Maybe it is a choice. Choices do change though.
Did yours?
Its changing. He smiled softly. Thanks in part to neighbours children and their floods.
She laughedfor real.
Andrew, she saidbut hesitated. This was a moment to pull back, to switch tracksshe knew how, always had. But she stayed put. I like you. I just wanted you to know that.
He watched her.
Im glad, he said warmly. Because I like you. Ive thought so for a while.
How long?
Since you asked why I was so calm. No one ever had, before.
Strange reason.
I have strange reasons.
They drank tea, talking for hours, until nearly eleven. About work, the city, children, books, parks. Andrew didnt rush; she didnt rush him either.
When he left, he took her hand a moment.
Goodnight, Catherine.
Goodnight.
Alone, she leaned against the doorjust as on the first night, but everything had changed. The quiet was different. Softer, not empty.
She padded into the sitting room, picked up Lucys rabbit family drawing, propped it against the vase on a shelf. Rabbits peered at her with pencilled eyes. Aunt Cat, yellow hair, a bit wonky but true, looked back too.
A year passed.
The flat was changednot much, but noticeably. On the lowest bookshelf, bright childrens books left over from her niece and nephews last visit. Three extra houseplants sprawled along the window, one lopsided from Lucys overenthusiastic watering. Two coats on the hall hooksher navy one, and a grey mens one.
In the sitting room, the Hathaway coffee table (with its signature crack) bore one of Andrews engineering catalogues, open to blueprints. Beside it, a mug of cold coffee and a bookmarked novel.
Catherine stood at the window, looking at the parknow autumn-orange and unruly. She loved it best in autumn.
Her bump was showing nowfive months. The sensation still strange and still wonderful; the impossible becoming the new normal, and the most important thing.
The door opened.
Theyre on the way, Andrew called, coming into the kitchen. Michael texted, theyre in the car.
Theyll be here in half an hour, then.
Charlie called you?
Three times. Wants to know if he can watch cartoons on the tablet, or if were going to the park.
Cant he do both?
Thats what I told him.
Andrew flicked the kettle on, and looked at her.
How are you?
Im welljust tired legs.
Sit down.
Im standing.
Catherine.
All right, all right.
She settled on the sofa. I was thinkingthis time last year, they left. I was on the brink, waiting for the relief of silence. It never came.
I rememberyou came down.
Were you expecting me?
He thought. Not surehoping, maybe.
The doorbellfervent, ringing as only children can.
Thatll be Charlie.
Undoubtedly.
Can you let them in? Hard to get up.
Andrew headed to the door.
Auntie Cat! Charlies voice rang through before the door fully opened. Were here! Are we going to the park? Are there leaves? Did your tummy get big?
Charlie, let them come in first, Michaels voice.
I am in.
Lucy tiptoed in, took one steady look at Catherine, walked over and hugged herfirmly, like a grown-up. Then, stepping back, looked her right in the eye.
Auntie Cat, she asked, is my teddy here?
In the guest room, on the shelf.
Good. I knew he was here.
Noise filled the flat; Michael clapped Andrews shoulder, Sarah chatted to Catherine about the journey. Charlie dashed about, somewhere dropped something, then returned with the bear-and-raspberry storybook.
Auntie Cat! You kept our book!
I did.
Will you read it to the baby?
I will.
Good. He noddedsatisfied. Andrew, the park? Are there leaves?
There are.
All right! Lets go!
Tea first, Catherine decreed. Then the park.
You always say that.
And always will.
He looked directly at her, as steady as ever. Auntie Cat, are you happy now?
In the flat: laughter, Sarahs chatter, Lucy calling for teddy in the guest room, the kettle boiling, the city beyond, autumn in the park, the gentle kicks from someone new, unfamiliar, just beginning to make themselves known.
Catherine looked at Charlie.
Yes, she said.
