Sitting in the kitchen with the door closed, only the hum of the refrigerator for company. A cup of tea at her side, too hot to drink yet, as a few careful sips had proven, the tip of her tongue not burnt, but the heat had left its mark. Perched on the slightly too high stool, almost on tiptoe, legs tense, knee bouncing gently as she taps away on the laptop resting on the slightly too high table. The sound of the Skype call she had come in here to escape still faintly audible from upstairs, even through the closed door. Phone lying silent. She had not long since made a rare call, to her brother, unsurprised to have been met with the answerphone. At some point he’ll notice the message, but she’s not holding her breath. The sun emerges from the grey clouds and the sudden heat on her back surprises her, breaks her chain of thought, and her hands fall from the keyboard. The refrigerator stutters into silence. The Skype call has ended without her noticing. All is quiet.