The Family. Louise Jensen

we had at home.

      ‘Farmers often put weak lambs in the top oven if their mothers have died,’ Saffron told me as I stirred the pot. I must have looked horrified as she quickly added, ‘To keep them warm and give them a chance of survival’. She squirted washing-up liquid into running water. Hazel clanked a lid on the soup. I sat at the table listening to the gentle sloshing of water, the rain pattering against the window. The warm, safe feeling weighted my eyelids until they began to droop, only opening properly when Saffron spoke again.

      ‘Here’s Alex,’ she said, pulling her hands out of the bowl, suds floating to the floor as she dried her hands. Her face brightened, ‘Typically he’s just in time for lunch.’

      Daisy smoothed her hair.

      I turned towards the door as it opened. The room disappeared around me. I barely threw a cursory glance over Mum, her hair dripping wet. I didn’t register anything but Alex. He was beautiful in a way I never knew boys could be. Once, in biology, we had learned about processing. It takes on average fifty milliseconds for the retina to send visual information to the brain, but those fifty milliseconds were all I needed. The instant I saw Alex, I knew.

      I wanted to be in his orbit.

Chapter Thirteen

      ALEX

      Alex had known as soon as he laid eyes on her that she was the one, the one who would save him. Save them all. As he kicked off his muddy boots he breathed in the soup and he knew home was more than a building. It was a smell, a feeling. The people you surrounded yourself with.

       Her.

      The bread timer dinged. He crossed to the sink to wash his hands so he could cut the loaf while it was still warm.

      As he scrubbed his fingernails, outside the window a crow swooped – the crow swooped – ink-stained wings stretched like a malevolent angel. It perched on the tree stump, claws spiking the rotting wood, head tilted as it appraised him.

      Alex tried to look away, but the beady eyes of the bird bored into his. It cawed, the sound sudden and sharp, its head tilted in judgement.

      I know. It seemed to say. I know what you did.

      It was the same crow, Alex knew, that had watched him that day, but this wasn’t the same situation. He turned away, facing her instead, and although he could no longer see the bird he could feel it screeching in his head, scratching and pecking behind his eyes, clambering to be free.

      She looked at him, already adoring, and the gentleness in her eyes made him want to weep.

      He smiled at her but it was forced and tight while, inside, a longing unfurled. More than anything he wanted to drop to his knees, bury his face in her lap and allow her to soothe him. Cool fingers raking his hair, her voice as soft as down. But he had to keep it together.

      He couldn’t lose control.

      Not again.