Blueberry pancakes – the aroma greets me before she opens the door. A peace offer. Don’t feel like smiling, but I do.

‘Just want to pick up my stuff. Your dad in?’

‘No. I’m by myself. I made…’

‘I can’t. Gotta be places.’

My stomach roars.

‘Have one, okay?’

I love her pancakes. But it’s late. Her dad meant it when he said I’d not leave this place alive if I showed my face again.

‘Okay, one. I’ll fetch the DVDs. Be right there.’

I sneak out. On the way home, one final time, I enjoy the view from Primrose Hill.

***

I wrote this for this week’s Micro Bookends. I’ve been meaning to write something for the challenge for a few weeks. I am not going to post this one to the site, though, because I won’t have time to comment on stories this week. And now I’d better go and pack a few more boxes – I’m moving house tomorrow…