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only one that stood out from the rest。 i sat on the edge of my bed； looking at the image； remembering the moment well。 the thinning of the mist and the warming of the sun had bined at just the right time to allow a ray of light to fall onto a boy who posed stiffly for the camera； chin up； back straight； eyes betraying the anxious knowledge that at any minute his hard yellow hat was going to slip sideways on his head。
why had she been so taken by that photograph？ i scanned the background； but the house； half demolished already； was only a dismal smear of gray over the child’s right shoulder。 closer to him； all that was visible was the grille of the safety barrier and the corner of the keep out sign。
was it the boy himself who interested her？
i puzzled over the picture for half an hour； but by the time i came to put it away； i was no nearer an explanation。 because it perplexed me； i slipped it inside the cover of my book along with the picture of an absence in a mirror frame。
apart from the photograph of the boy and the game of jane eyre and the furnace； not much else pierced the cloak the story had cast over me。
the cat； i remember。 he took note of my unusual hours； came scratching at my door for a bit of fuss at random hours of the day and night。 finished up bits of egg or fish from my plate。 he liked to sit on my piles of paper； watching me write。 for hours i could sit scratching at my pages； wandering in the dark labyrinth of miss winter’s story； but no matter how far i forgot myself； i never quite lost my sense of being watched over； and when i got particularly lost； it was the gaze of the cat that seemed to reach into my muddle and light my way back to my room； my notes； my pencils and my pencil sharpener。 he even slept with me on my bed some nights； and i took to leaving my curtains open so that if he woke he could sit on my windowsill seeing things move in the dark that were invisible to the human eye。
and that is all。 apart from these things there was nothing else。 only the eternal twilight and the story。
COLLAPSE
。
isabelle had gone。 hester had gone。 charlie had gone。 now miss winter told me of further losses。
up in the attic i leaned with my back against the creaking wall。 i pressed back to make it give； then released it。 over and over。 i was tempting fate。 what would happen； i wondered； if the wall came down？ would the roof cave in？ would the weight of it falling cause the floorboards to collapse？ would roof tiles and beams and stone e crashing through ceilings onto the beds and boxes as if there were an earthquake？ and then what？ would it stop there？ how far would it go？ i rocked and rocked； taunting the wall； daring it to fall； but it didn’t。 even under duress； it is astonishing just how long a dead wall will stay standing。
then； in the middle of the night； i woke up； ears ajangle。 the noise of it was finished already； but i could still feel it resounding in my eardrums and in my chest。 i leaped out of bed and ran to the stairs； emmeline at my heels。
we arrived on the galleried landing at the same time that john； who slept in the kitchen； arrived at the foot of the stairs； and we all stared。 in the middle of the hallway the missus was standing in her nightdress； staring upward。 at her feet was a huge block of stone； and above her head； a jagged hole in the ceiling。 the air was thick with gray dust。 it rose and fell in the air； undecided where to settle。 fragments of plaster； mortar； wood were still falling from the floor above； with a sound like mice scattering； and from time to time i felt emmeline jump as planks and bricks fell in the floors above。
the stone steps were cold； then splinters of wood and shards of plaster and mortar dug into my feet。 in the center of all the detritus of our broken house； with the swirls of dust slowly settling around her； the missus stood like a ghost。 dust…gray hair； dust…gray face and hands； dust…gray the folds of her long nightdress。 she stood perfectly still and looked up。 i came close to her and joined my stare to hers。 we gazed through the hole in the ceiling； and beyond that another hole in another ceiling and then yet another hole in another ceiling。 we saw the peony wallpaper in the bedroom above； the ivy trellis pattern in the room above that； and the pale gray walls of the little attic room。 above all of that； high above our heads； we saw the hole in the roof itself and the sky。 there were no stars。
i took her hand。 “e on；” i said。 “it’s no use looking up there。”
i led her away； and she followed me like a little child。 “i’ll put her to bed；” i told john。
ghost…white； he nodded。 “yes；” he said； in a voice thick with dust。 he could hardly bear to look at her。 he made a slow gesture toward the destroyed ceiling。 it was the slow motion of a drowning man dragged under by the current。 “and i’ll sort this out。”
but an hour later； when the missus was clean； and in a fresh nightdress； tucked up in bed and asleep； he was still there。 exactly as i had left him。 staring at the spot where she had been。
the next morning； when the missus did not appear in the kitchen； it was i who went to wake her。 she could not be woken。 her soul had departed through the hole in the roof； and she was gone。
‘we’ve lost her；“ i told john in the kitchen。 ”she’s dead。“
his face didn’t change。 he continued to stare across the kitchen table as though he hadn’t heard me。 “yes；” he said eventually； in a voice that did not expect to be heard。 “yes。”
it felt as if everything had e to an end。 i had only one wish： to sit like john； immobile； staring into space and doing nothing。 yet time did not stop。 i could still feel my heartbeat measuring out the seconds。 i could feel hunger growing in my stomach and thirst in my throat。 i was so sad i thought i would die； yet instead i was scandalously and absurdly alive—
so alive i swear i could feel my hair and my fingernails growing。
for all the unbearable weight on my heart i could not； like john； give myself up to the misery。 hester was gone； charlie was gone； the missus was gone； john； in his own way； was gone； though i hoped he would find his way back。 in the mea