The Potter’s House

‘It’s coming back,’ the child sobbed.

Olivia found his shivering body and lifted him in her arms. ‘No, it won’t come back. You’re safe.’

Theo’s sobbing turned muffled as he clung to his father. His mattress was damp; thirteen feet above street level, the tide of water had just licked it. Xan held him, stroking his head with his free hand.

‘I want my man,’ he whimpered. ‘My red man.’

‘We need some light. Hold them both while I get the torches.’

Olivia and the boys crouched together on the raft of one of the beds. From beyond the window there was the noise of confused shouting. She hugged her children against her with their breathing interlacing in shocked gasps. They were alive and not hurt. Nothing else mattered, whatever might have happened downstairs, even if everything they owned was ruined. Gratitude hammered in her chest as she heard Xan running back to them. Torchlight sliced across the room and over their gaping faces.

‘Here. Put these around you.’

Dry blankets were bundled around the shivering children. Xan had a fistful of candles and he put these on the windowsill and struck a match. In the wavering soft light they stared at the room. Water had been driven up the stairwell and slopped through the door, then drained away in the wake of the racing wave. It had pulled the rug with it, and the toys scattered on the floor, and the baskets of clothes and shoes that stood beside the door. These were toppled and the contents lay spread along the landing and down the stairs, black with sea water and mud, and limed with grey scum.

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