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too long in case they are discovered. They arrive on this beautiful planet, learn as much as they can and then shake off their bodies to go back and report what they have seen!’
    She made it sound so real, so possible, and I was fascinated.
    We ate cheese sandwiches that had got a little hot and melty in their plastic box and then we lay flat on our tummies and stared at the murky green water, dipping sticks into the gloopy weeds and flicking water droplets at each other. Mum threw her head back and laughed and then, as if on cue, there they were: four mayflies, as if she had magicked them just for me! They hovered right in front of us, like toffee-coloured jewels above the water. Their little wings caught the light, beautifully iridescent and beating so fast just to stay in one place that it looked exhausting.
    Mum was transfixed. ‘Look they’re watching us!’ Her face lit up and she said, ‘It doesn’t matter that I’ve seen them a thousand times before; every time is like the first time. I find them so beautiful. I wish I didn’t know the fate that awaits them, but I do, and I can’t un-know it.’ If only, standing there then, I had known the fate that awaited my Mum. Maybe I could have done something to stop it.

Three
    David walked up the driveway with a confident stride, his shoulders square, one arm behind his back and a grin splitting his face. Romilly leapt up from her perch on the front step and ran to meet him. Clamping one arm around his waist, she tried to reach behind his back with the other, stretching and twisting to find his hand, which he then raised above his head, beyond her grasp. The little steel bundle glinted in the sunshine as it jangled. She jumped up with her arm extended, trying to grab his clenched fist.
    ‘Give them to me!’ she screeched, her fat plait thumping against her shoulder with each bound.
    ‘You want them?’ he teased. ‘Come and get them!’ And, keys in hand, he twirled off the driveway and onto the patch of grass in front of the house that had officially been theirs for the last hour or so.
    Romilly’s new, well-paid job and David’s promotion meant they could just about afford this beautiful, modern, mock-Tudor detached house in Stoke Bishop. One of Bristol’s grander suburbs, it was within easy reach of green space as well as the motorway. Romilly knew it must be a desirable postcode from the way everyone boasted about it, regardless of whether they lived in one of its cul-de-sacs or on a grotty rat run.
    When the details had landed on the doormat of their Redland flat, she had oohed and aahed, wondering if it really was within their price range. Realisation that it was, just, had sent her pulse racing. Their first visit, with the toddling Celeste in tow, had more than lived up to expectations. Despite the pressure of David’s grip on her forearm reminding her to keep cool, not to appear overly keen and not to get her hopes up, she had rushed from room to room, taking in the large, well-lit spaces, the abundance of storage, the neat double garage and the flourishing back garden with its patio and outdoor table and chairs nestling under a huge green umbrella. It was perfect.
    Ignoring her husband’s advice, she’d beamed at the charming Mr Brooks, telling him of her plans for the garden and that she could definitely live with the kitchen until they had more money to remodel. There and then she bought the dream as well as the bricks and mortar. She imagined hosting her family for Christmas, envisaged her dad nodding at the lavishly appointed table as her mum beamed with pride. She wanted to see Sylvia’s face as she ushered her for the first time into the twenty-six-foot kitchen where they would eat brunch and American pancakes. And as they turned to leave, she pictured Celeste descending the wide stairs, pausing on the half-landing in her wedding dress while she and David stood in the hallway below, blotting tears and gasping at her beauty.
    She chose not to