15:37
Noah looks out at the rain. It’s hard, steady. The lightning has ended and the thunder has gone. It’s still windy, though. There’s still an edge to the air.
It’s raining, it’s pouring, the old man is snoring. Only, there’s no old man here. Just an old lady, looking mighty confused.
Noah’s fingers tap on the windowsill. They tap, tap, tap-tap-tap, keeping him company. The rain beats down and the wind swirls through the trees and his fingers tap tap, tap-tap-tap, left hand. Tap tap, tap-tap-tap, right hand.
If he angles his hand slightly his nails catch and click on the wooden windowsill and the sound becomes more of a tip-tip-tap. More click than clack. Tapping, tipping, clicking.
An old man shuffles past the open door, nodding as he goes. ‘Good afternoon, Mrs Felix. I’m afraid rain has stopped play. Indefinitely.’
There’s the slow whine of the wheels of a tea trolley.
The wheels on the bus go round and round. And round and around and around.
Noah’s thoughts circle, his eyes flick around the room. From his father to his sister, to Juliet. She smiles at him and mouths a word. He can’t figure out what she’s saying and then he sees her breathing in deeply. And out. And in and out. He does the same. There’s so much to take in, so much to work out.
He breathes in and out. His thoughts slow and he’s able to look around the room. Now there’s a woman in the doorway. She looks almost as nervous as he feels.
‘Harry?’ the old woman squeals in excitement. ‘Harry, you came!’
‘Yes, Mum,’ the woman with green eyes says gently. ‘I always do.’
She’s going to take up a whole page in Noah’s notebook, maybe even more. And then she’s going to find her place on his family tree, just below her mother. Mrs Martha Felix née Groom; Mrs Harriet Davenport.