‘It’s a…’ Elizabeth paused for a moment, as if casting around for a word, but the one she came out with was the same as always – the word that had been bandied around the Spheres as the catch-all label for Outs, ‘selfish decision, really, isn’t it? The state the world’s in.’ She shook her head, her voice dwindling out in disapproval, but there was something else building in her eyes, a sunk-in shame that made me wonder how many times she’d been told this herself.
‘Some people think that,’ I replied shortly.
The lift doors started to open and I squeezed through the gap sideways to escape her. I could hear her still talking behind me but I hurried away, into the safety of my flat. I leant against the door that I’d closed behind me, needing to feel the physicality of a barrier between me and the outside world.
I saw Marie and Leo from time to time in the days following that. In the lobby, the lift or close by to the building. On one of those occasions when it was just Marie pushing Tia in her pram, I thought she was crying but when I looked again, I couldn’t be sure. The next day, though, I spotted her sitting alone on a park bench in one of the little areas of green close to our building. This time, there was no mistaking the tears that carved down her face, shining her cheeks.
Maybe it was because Evie and Seb had just started induction, even though I barely knew the couple, I couldn’t let it pass me by.
I knocked on their door that evening. I heard a muttered conversation from inside and something else, a cry, not from a baby, of anguish. Or anger.
I stepped backwards a little and wondered if I had made a mistake and briefly, whether I could just walk away, when the lock turned. The door opened.
It was Leo. His dark, dishevelled hair stuck up in peaks, making him appear even taller than his beanstalk-thin frame. His face was set, grim as though he had just been given bad news seconds before, but when he saw me standing there, an awkward smile painted upon my face, his expression turned quickly to surprise and then relief.
‘Hi,’ I said. ‘I’m Kit. From downstairs. We’ve not met properly but I just wanted to say hi. Like I’ve already said. Sorry.’ I stopped myself. ‘I’m not making much sense.’
‘It’s okay,’ Leo said. I noticed him glancing down the corridor. When he saw there was no one there, he asked, ‘Would you like to come in?’
‘Oh. No. I mean… I don’t mean to intrude. It’s just that—’
‘It’s fine,’ Leo said and opened the door to me.
‘If you’re sure.’
‘Please.’
As soon as I stepped in, the smell hit me. A mixture of stale milk and the full nappy bags that were discarded in a pile by the door.
‘Sorry about the smell,’ Leo apologised as he took in my slight grimace, though I tried to hide it. He tried to open one of the windows but it jammed almost immediately and only stayed open a crack.
‘Oh, I’m sorry,’ I said, uselessly.
He shut the door, pressing against it securely and then stuffed a towel into the small crack at its bottom. I couldn’t help but watch him and as he saw me, he straightened.
‘We’ve been having some complaints. About the noise.’ He gestured towards the next room and the sound of Tia crying. ‘It won’t help much, we’re all on top of each other in this building, but it’s something. Everyone said we should move before the baby came but we were waiting for this house, the perfect place, and it fell through. We’ll move as soon as we can, though… this place is really—’ He stopped himself abruptly, remembering that I lived here too.
‘Who’s there?’ came a voice from the bedroom. Marie.
‘Hi there, it’s just me,’ I said ridiculously. ‘Kit,’ I added, feebly.
‘Oh. Hi,’ said Marie blankly, appearing at the doorway, holding Tia in her arms. She was petite, much shorter than Leo, only reaching his chest in height, and so standing next to him made her appear smaller still. She looked pale and tired, as though just carrying Tia was exhausting her. Tia was bleating and red-faced, squirming and arching her back with a strength that seemed more than her small body could possess.
‘It’s Marie, right? I’m Kit,’ I said again. I suddenly had the feeling that I was in a play and had forgotten my lines, or I had missed my cue somewhere along the way, but I couldn’t rely on anyone to prompt me.
‘Yes, we’ve met before,’ Marie said and I remembered then that we had. Properly. Not just passing in the corridor or sticking an arm out to stop the lift doors closing for one another. It was at one of those apartment building meetings where nothing gets decided on really but if you don’t happen to go then something awful, like a motion to turn the communal garden into more parking spaces, gets passed – since that had happened I have never missed one. Marie had arrived late and had to knock past the knees of everyone on our row to get to the only spare seat – which was next to me.
She had worn her hair cut short around her neck back then, graduating down longer around her cheeks. It was sleek and hung straight, like a curtain falling around the frame of a window. Her lips were glossy and she wore eyeliner in a stylish flick, upwards slanting black
