Without opening her eyes to check the blinking, digital display by her bed, Steph knew exactly what time it was. Startled from a deep sleep by the sudden flood of heat radiating from somewhere in the centre of her chest, she sighed, flung the duvet from her flushed skin and opened her eyes. Yup. 3 a.m Bang on the button. This menopause lark had its ups and downs, its pros and cons, but it was also making her acutely aware of time and its passing. She reached for the fan on her bedside table. The clock blinked 3.01 at her.

 

            A tiny wail pierced the wall between the bedroom and the nursery. As if to signal there was no way he was getting up to attend to the nocturnal needs of their six month old daughter, Col surrendered a deep sigh to the darkness, followed by a rhythmic breathing that Nora thought was way too purposeful to indicate genuine sleep. She clenched and unclenched her hands several times, gripping handfuls of Egyptian cotton bedding that really should have been through the wash over a week ago but she was so, so tired that she didn't have the bloody energy to wrestle the cover off the duvet let alone put it back on.  You should be sleeping through the night by now, she thought, willing those thoughts to penetrate the wallpaper, plaster and brick that separated her from  her daughter. Why do you do this? Every night? Same time? Same wail? Same nothing wrong, nothing needed except a cuddle and a half-hearted suck on a bottle of cold formula. Nora's autopilot sat her up, manouevered  her legs over the edge of the bed and dragged her, wearily and with a tiredness fit for crying, into the nursery to placate the ball of fury that was Ruby.

 

            'You never used to do this,' said Annie. Tony wouldn't hear her. His hearing had deteriorated significantly of late. He wouldn't wake if she decided to bash a tambourine right my his head. She smiled briefly, in fond rememberance of the early days of their marriage when sleep had never evaded them, and they would wake, both, fresh and energised, share a breakfast of egg and soldiers, and march off to work as young professionals, he the teacher and she the lawyer.

            They were both retired now and the onset of sedentiary  days had been unkind to Tony's waistline. That, Annie decided, was the cause of the snoring. She bounced lightly on the mattress, causing Tony to stir and change position. For a blissful ten seconds the snoring stopped, but then resumed, twice as loud as before. Annie slipped from the bed and headed for the spare room, the distance of which didn't block the noise completely, but at least muffled it so she could get some sleep. It was 3 a.m.

 

            “It's the lack of sleep I can't cope with.”

            Steph was listening to the local radio mid-morning phone in. 'Me, too,' she said. After waking at 3 she had, as usual, spent the next hour and a quarter spinning from side to side, duvet off, duvet off, duvet on again. And somewhere around four thirty she must have fallen asleep, only to wake again at 5.30, then spent the dragging minutes staring at the curtains, willing the sky behind them to lighten so she could justify getting up and starting the day.

             And as usual she failed – her back would start aching or she'd get twinges of sciatica in her left leg and she'd find herself downstairs in the kitchen at 6.15 craving white bread toast smothered in butter and marmalade and making do instead with a bowl of yogurt, porridge oats and frozen berries topped off with a teaspoon of cinnamon because she had read somewhere it was good for stabilising blood sugar levels and for some irrational reason she thought she was going to develop diabetes any moment now.

            “....always seem to be at the same time every night,” the caller was saying.

            “That's quite common,” said the expert, someone from some sleep investigation institute from somewhere abroad, Steph wasn't quite sure where. “In fact, Chinese medicine states that hot flushes, which are caused by dropping oestrogen levels, are most likely to occur between the hours of three and four in the morning.”

            Steph's eyes widened. 'That's me!' she said. 'I wake up every morning at 3.'

            She felt oddly relieved that someone had identified the cause of something she was experiencing. 'What do the Chinese say can be done about it?' she said to the radio.

            “And what,” said the radio presenter, some young bright girly thing who no doubt had a full compliment of eggs still intact, “can ladies of a certain age do about this?”

            'It'll come to you, too,' Steph shouted at the radio. 'Just you wait.'

            “Well,” said the expert, “there are various herbal concoctions – black cohosh, dong quai and ginseng for example -”

            Steph snorted. 'Gin what?' she said. 'Gin and tonic, more like.'

            “...but I wouldn't recommend them – the research into the use of herbs is tenuous. I would say to any lady experiencing hot flushes that disturb sleep to follow these recommendations...”

            And he reeled off the usual list – light bed clothes, open windows, fans, avoiding spicy foods...

            'Yeah, yeah, heard it all before,' said Steph. That was disappointing. It seemed she was doomed to waking at 3 a.m every morning for the rest of her life. She got up form the newspaper and made another cup of tea. Another caller, another question.

            “When I wake up, is it best to stay in bed and try and get back to sleep again?” said the caller, a woman whose husband was snoring her out of the marital bed.

            'Well, dur – yes,' said Steph.

            “Oddly enough,no,” said the expert. “You might think it would be the sensible thing to do, but once you are awake then your body is telling you to get up. So I would say get up and do something that will distract your mind from worrying about the fact you can't get back to sleep.”

            'Like what?' said Steph.

            “Like what?” said Chirpy Presenter Girl.

            'Jigsaw puzzles,” said the expert. “Jigsaws are surprisingly good as an aid to sleep. They  distract your brain from fretting because your eyes are engaged in looking for small pieces of a picture and locating them in the right place in the puzzle.”

            'Jigsaw puzzles?' said Steph.

 

            'Jigsaw puzzles?' said Nora. 'Now there's a thought.'

            She'd loved doing jigsaw puzzles when she was a child but hadn't done one for years. She tried to introduce the tradition of the Christmas Jigsaw a few years back, some point of shared reference that all the family could contribute to on Christmas morning whilst dinner was cooking. But  most of her family had the attention span of a gnat and after putting together the edges and the easy colourful bit in the middle, Nora would soon find herself abandoned to tackle all the tricky bits and juggle the cooking of the festive feast by herself. And since Ruby had arrived – well, there was no way one could make a jigsaw puzzle with a small grabby handed baby perched on one's lap.

            And yet her interest had been ignited. The 3 a.m call from Ruby never lasted long. Her baby would soon drop back to sleep – leaving Nora wide awake. Why not set a jigsaw up on the dining room table, and enjoy the silence and solitude for an hour. The man on the radio said that it wouldn't be long before the body wanted to go back to sleep. And she would at least have an hour to herself doing something she enjoyed. Yes! Her mind was set. She would make an excursion specifically to purchase a jigsaw puzzle.

 

            Steph had never made a jigsaw puzzle in her life but if it would help get her back to sleep then she was willing to give it a go. And so it was, just after lunch, she found herself in town on a jigsaw puzzle hunt.

            'I hate town,' she muttered, dodging through pedestrians who showed no urgency about their perambulations, who stopped suddenly in her path with no warning, who shouted into their mobile phones, broadcasting their domestic issues to all around. Why don't people just get a move on, thought Steph. If you're coming into town for a purpose (and she couldn't think why anyone would come into town for the sheer hell of it) then get on with it. Buy your goods, pay your bills, have your coffee, whatever – just get on with it.

            In the new shopping mall ahead she could see a group of youngsters milling around in high viz tabbards, clutching clipboards and lunging at passer-bys with overly cheery grins and exortations to part with their bank details to set up direct debit donations to Save the Whale, Adopt a Blue Tit, Send a Delinquent to Disney World. No way was she going to be waylaid – she ducked smartly into a large newsagent – and straight into the path of a salesman who had set up a temporary stall just inside the shop doorway.

            'Good morning, madam!' he said. 'How's your satellite TV provider shaping up?'

            'My what?' said Steph.

            'Your satellite TV provider,' said the man. He was wearing a dark blue pin stripe suit which crackled ominously when he moved.

            'I don't have satellite TV,' said Steph. Damn, she thought. Why did you tell him that?

            The salesman looked at her, goggle-eyed in shock. 'You don't have satellite?'

            'No...'

            'Really?'

            'Really?'

            The salesman paused. Good Lord, thought Steph. He is genuinely gobsmacked. He cannot get his head around the idea I don't have satellite.

            'So....what do you do?' said the salesman. 'I mean, what do you watch?'

            'I don't really watch anything,' said Steph. Around her, she was aware of the relief she was spreading to other shoppers who were darting past the salesman, glad they weren't caught up in  his patter. She needed to get away.

            'No,' she added, airily. 'Actually, I don't have a TV.'

            This wasn't true, of course, but of a small white lie was going to get her away, then a small white lie it would be. The salesman look somewhere between amazed, dismayed and admiring. Steph sensed her advantage. 'And I also survive with the Internet, a computer and a mobile phone.'

            Unfortunately, this last snippet of would-be impressive information was negated by her mobile phone choosing exactly at that moment to sing 'Three Little Maids From School Are We' at the top of its ring-tone. The salesman looked confused.

            'Bye,' said Steph, and shot out of the door.

            It was the hospice. Granny Grace had been admitted again, for a couple of weeks palliative care so Grandpa Bob could have his life back a while and go and visit his brother on the south coast. Just letting Steph know. In case she wanted to visit.

            Steph was a good granddaughter. Granny Grace had pretty much raised her from the age of twelve, when Steph and her mother decided, by mutual consent, that they didn't really get along and Steph's mother had moved to the Midlands with her new partner. Steph had turned up on her grandparent's doorstep at three o'clock one morning, with a rucksack and her cat, Flossie. The cat had marched into the kitchen and turned Granny Grace's dog out of its basket, and Granny Grace had made up the sofa bed in the living room, which ceased to become a living room, magicking itself into Steph's bedroom for the next six years until Steph, feeling guilty that she had taken over so much of her grandparents' lives, had moved into a small studio flat with a wholly unsuitable boyfriend. Of course Steph was going to visit Granny Grace. Perhaps she'd like a jigsaw, she thought, heading for the only toy shop in town.

            'Hello, Grace!' said Annie. 'Good to see you again! How's tricks?'

            'Bloody foreigners moved in next door,' snorted Grace. 'They cook outside, you know.' She held on to Annie's arm with a warm pudgy hand which Annie thought bore a remarkable resemblance to the hand of her toddler grandson, Jake.

            'Barbecue's are very popular,' said Annie. 'Bit cold, though, for a barbecue this time of year.'

            'Not a barbecue,' said Grace. 'I know what a barbecue is. This lot cook outside. On a camping stove. Stink the place out with foreign sausage at 5 o'clock every day. Then there's the beer and cigarettes. I shouldn't have to be driven out of my garden because of foreign cooking smells.'

            'What about you friend, Mrs Gurung?' said Annie. 'You like her cooking – Nepalese, isn't it?'

            Grace snorted. 'That's different,' she said. 'Her cooking is tasteful. Delicate. Have you seen those Polish sausages? They sell 'em in the corner shop now. They look like, oh, what are they called...long, rubber things...'

            'Balloons?' said Annie, hopefully.

            'Dildos,' said Grace.

            Annie decided a change in subject was in order. 'How is your garden? Got your sweet peas planted?'

            'I can't go out in my garden with all that cigarette smoke drifting over the fence, can I?' said Grace. 'Not with my condition.' And she produced an loud cough, probably for effect rather than necessity.

            Grace had chronic obstructive pulmonary disease. Probably, her doctor said, from years of inhaling second hand smoke all those years she worked in the pub before the smoking ban came into force. Which was, of course,  long after Grace had retired. 'Bloody typical,' was Grace's response to the diagnosis. 'Always missing the legislative boat, me.'

            Annie wondered about Grace's history. She was an odd mix of characteristics, this elderly lady. Crude as a docker one minute, intelligent and insightful the next. Full of love, of that there was no doubt, yet wrapped in sadness, too.

            'Have you ever thought of writing your life history, Grace?' she said, as they entered the residents' lounge.

            'Who'd want to hear my boring story?' said Grace. She paused and surveyed the company she would be keeping for the next two weeks. 'She's still here, then,' she said, her gaze lighting on Beatrice Archer. 'Thought she'd have popped her logs ages ago.'

            'Clogs, ' Annie couldn't help correcting.

            'That's what I said,' said Grace.

 

            At the back of the toy shop, beyond the pink plastic tat and the array of scarily realistic looking toy guns that society thought were suitable toys for the educational development of a generation of children, Nora found a wall dedicated to what she called 'proper' toys. Old fashioned toys. Wooden building blocks and farm yard animals. Spinning tops and yoyos. Stacking cups. Kites. And jigsaw puzzles. With Ruby asleep in her pushchair, Nora did not have the luxury of time to make her choice. A halt in motion meant Ruby would wake quickly and start fussing to be entertained or for food, because she had slept through her usual lunchtime and Nora had been reluctant to wake her, enjoying the chance to snatch back the quiet time she was robbed of by her daughter at 3 that morning. So she made her choice quickly – a traditional scene of a little country cottage surrounded by garden in fill blossom and the obligatory block of blue sky and off-white clouds.

            It was on the top shelf. And no manner of stretching on tip-toe would allow her to grip the edges of the box sufficiently to bring it down towards her. She glanced around for some assistance but the two shop staff were deep in conversation at the till point, determined not to give her the satisfaction of eye contact. So, in a fit of pique at the lack of customer service and in desparation to get the puzzle before Ruby, who was already stirring, woke, Nora grabbed a light-sabre from a nrea-by display and knocked the puzzle from the shelf.

            It crashed to the floor with seven, eight of its neighbours. Nora let out a screech and Ruby woke immediately with a scream. The two shop staff rolled their eyes at each other and one sauntered casually to where Nora was now standing amongst not on the jigsaw puzzles, but also a shattered display of Play-dough and a crashed over rotating book stand.

            'You gonna pay for all that?' said the girl.

            'Me?' said Nora. She was trying to get Ruby from her push chair but the buckle had become stuck. 'Why?'

            The girl nodded at the mess. 'Someone's gotta clear that up,' she said.

            'I'm sorry,' Nora stammered. 'I only wanted that puzzle – there was no-one to help and...'

            'Like I said,' said the girl. 'Sonmeone's gotta clear that up.'

            'Be our guest,' said a voice from behind the display of Harry Potter merchandise.

            The girl and Nora both swivelled. Ruby ratcheted up her screaming, wriggling like fury to be released from her mother's firm grip. And Nora, tired and fed up and feeling all the stress of the situation on her weary shoulders, burst into tears.

            'Here,' said the voice. 'Give her to me a minute. And have a blow,' and she past a tissue to Nora who took it gratefully and blew her nose. She passed Ruby to the stranger who immediately tucked her under one arm, grabbing the handlebar of the pushchair with the other.

            'Let's get out of here,' said Steph, glaring at the shop girl.

            'But the puzzle,' wailed Nora.

            'Sod the puzzle,' said Steph. 'There are plenty of other, more friendly places to buy puzzles.'

And she nudged Nora into making a move towards the front of the shop.

            'Oi!' called the shop girl after them. 'You can't come in here wrecking displays and then just walk off.'

            'Oh – get over yourself!' snapped Steph.

 

            In the coffee shop on the High Street, Steph bought tea and cake for herself and Nora, and a sugar-laden cookie the size of a frisbee for Ruby.

            'There you go, chick,' she said to the baby. 'That'll keep you busy a while.'

            'I don't normally give her things like that,' sniffed a still tearful Nora.

            'I guess you also don't normally go wrecking toy shops either,' said Steph. 'Drink your tea. I'm Steph.'

            'Nora,' said Nora. 'Thanks. Sorry.'

            'What for?'

            'For all the fuss,' said Nora.

            'Nonsense,' said Steph. 'Biggest laugh I've had for weeks.'

            Nora managed a half-smile.

            'That's better,' said Nora. 'No use in crying over spilt puzzles.'

            Nora took a sip of tea. 'I'll need to go back,' she said. 'I need to get a puzzle.'

            'Oddly enough,' said Steph, 'I was puzzle -hunting, too. Some bloke on the radio this morning reckoned they were a good thing for insomniacs to do, to try and get back to sleep.'

            Nora stared at Steph with wide, albeit red and salt stained eyes. 'I heard him, too! That's exactly why I wanted a puzzle!'

            'Do you reckon he was being sponsored by a jigsaw puzzle manufacturer?' said Steph. 'Dr Drop-Off Easy Sleep Remedies, sponsored by Snooze Button Puzzles – For All Your Night Time Waking Needs.'

            'There'll be a national jigsaw shortage crisis,' said Nora.

            'Perhaps we should bulk buy now and sell them on the black market,' said Steph.

            'We could be jigsaw barons!' said Nora. She was feeling much better. Just sharing a conversation with someone who didn't punctuate their speech by blowing raspberries refreshed her spirit. 'So,' she continued, 'where are we going to get our puzzles?'

 

            Annie was napping on the sofa. She'd finished her volunteer shift at the hospice and come home to a silent house. Tony was out playing golf and whilst she knew she ought to be getting on with some housework, or preparing dinner for when he came home, she was overcome with tiredness. Her napping was interrupted, though, by a rapping on the door.

            Under the storm porch stood two police officers. Annie's heart stood still.

 

            When your living days are numbered, sleeping seems like an awful waste of time. Grace had been living with a terminal diagnosis for a while now and so she wasn't really certain how many her remaining living days did number. Doctors were very evasive when confronted with  straight forward questions like,' How long have I actually got?' They responded with platitudes like, 'It's difficult to say,' and 'Everyone is different,' and Grace had responded with, 'So, just like living a normal life, then?' And that was how she decided to approach her prognosis. Life, she thought, was a terminal disease. Besides, this diagnosis of a serious respiratory problem had filled her with an enormous rage. She had too much to do yet, to be bothered with thoughts of death. She'd only just sown those sweet peas, for heaven's sake. If she wasn't around to plant them out in six months, who would? Bob certainly wouldn't remember.

            It was one of those things that woke her at 3 every morning. To bed at 11, to rise at 3 became the pattern of her life. In fact it had been the pattern of her life for most of her life. She'd never slept well at night, but it hadn't done her much harm – she'd be 100 years old soon. One hundred years old.

            She was back at the hospice. Bob was visiting his brother in Eastbourne. She didn't fancy the journey. Eastbourne was depressing. Full of old folks, staggering around on walking frames or, worse still, being pavement hooligans in those mobility scooters. Bob had tried using one once. It broke down half way across a pedestrian crossing. He'd had to get off and push it to the pavement. No, she was happy to stay behind. Have a break. Look at different walls for a while.  And although nights at the hospice were incredibly dull, there was plenty to keep her busy during the day – various craft activities, a reading group and her latest favourite – Chumba For The Over Eighties. 'What's Chumba?' her granddaughter Steph had asked when taking Grace on a shopping trip for a leotard. 'It's zumba, but in a chair,' said Grace. 'Of course, I could cope with regular Zumba, but I had to be risk assessed and the scores weren't favourable. Bloody Health and Safety. I've lived through two wars AND tuberculosis. Try risk assessing THAT!'

            Night times at the hospice. Grace needed an occupation. If she was home she'd be giving the kitchen cupboards a good clear out, or sorting through her knicker drawer. But here – well, she had to find activities where she could. And tonight, it was sitting in the dining-room polishing the cutlery. Pity it was stainless steel and not proper silver. Proper silver would have kept her busy for hours. You could take pride polishing proper silver. Still, one made the best of what one had.   

 

            Heart attack, they said. On the twelfth hole. Annie sat at the kitchen table, holding the brown manilla envelope in which the hospital had placed his personal possessions. The police officers had been very kind, driving her to the hospital to identify the body, then returning her home and sitting with her for an hour until her son, Edward, arrived. Edward had wanted her to go home with him, to saty a few days with him and Sara and Jake.

            'It'll be better, Mum,' he said. 'You shouldn't be on your own. '

            She was touched by the tears that streaked his face. She hadn't seen him cry since he was a young teenager. Not even when Jake was born. On that day it had been nothing but enormous beaming smiles and excited chatter of plans for his son's future.

            'I'll be all right, Ed,' she said. 'Maybe I'll come and stay a while after the funeral. And I've got Carol next door and Mina just over the road if I want company. Honestly, son – I'll be fine.'

            'I'll organise the funeral,' said Ed. 'If that's okay with you?'

            Annie agreed that yes, it was. She was grateful, actually. It was something she had neither considered nor was prepared for. It was a job for someone else.

            'But no 'Abide With Me,' she said. 'Choose something more cheerful.'

            Ed nodded. 'Yes. Of course. I'll run everything by you first anyway.'

            Annie had placed her hands on his. 'I'm sure it'll be fine, whatever you choose, she said.'

            And now, here she was, less than twenty-four hours a widow. Who'd have thought a life could change so much in the space of day? The sun was shining. She was being cushioned by a sense of limbo. And for the first time in months she had slept through the night. Tony's snoring had kept the angels awake instead.

            'I lay awake all night when Sayeed died,' said Mina, who had arrived first thing and cooked breakfast of boiled eggs and toast.

            'I feel a bit disrespectful that I slept,' Annie admitted.

            'Nonsense!' said Mina, briskly. 'Sleep is good. Sleep heals. And what other time in life do we need healing more than when death is involved?'

            'Even so,' said Annie.

            'Even so nothing,' said Mina. 'There will be plenty of sleepless nights to come so make the most of the sleepful ones when you can. And have another egg. You need protein. Stress through bereavement will make your hair grow thin.'

 

            They managed to track down some jigsaw puzzles the following morning at a garden centre just outside of town. Swapping phone numbers, Steph and Nora departed the coffee shop both feeling lighter and brighter and with a promise made that Steph would collect both Nora and Ruby the following morning at 10. Nora relayed the story of her day to Col over dinner that evening.

            'She sounds a complete nut case,' said Col. 'Are you sure she's the kind of person you want to be friends with?'

            'Don't be such a snob,' said Nora. 'She was fun. And she helped me with Ruby.'

            'By feeding her a load of junk food?' said Col, raising an eyebrow. 'What happened to the idea we were going to be completely unprocessed and organic with Ruby's diet?'

            'I doubt one cookie will cause much damage,' said Nora.

            Col snorted. 'When she turns into a hyper-active, sugar fuelled brats like the ones your sister has you'll regret you said that.'

            Nora bit her lip. Yes, Enid's three boys were boisterous, and yes the eldest had thrown a papier mache dragon's head at the Mayor during the Cub Scout St George's Day Parade, but generally they were, well, just boys being boys. Enid had a lot on her plate. She coped as best she could. Nora felt defensive of her sister but knew there was no point in starting an argument with Col about it.

            'Well, anyway,' she said. 'Steph and I are going jigsaw puzzle hunting tomorrow...'

            'And what's all this about making jigsaws in the middle of the night?' Col interrupted.

            'It was recommended by a sleep expert on the radio,' said Nora. 'And you know once Ruby wakes during the night I'm awake, too.'

            'Shouldn't she be sleeping through the night by now,' Col frowned. 'Shoudn't we be taking her to the doctor or something, in case there's something wrong?'

            Nora sighed. 'Yes, she should be sleeping through, and yes, I have taken her to the doctor, and no, she is a perfectly happy and healthy baby who just happens to wake at night.'

            'Well, she'd better be sleeping better by the time you go back to work,' said Col. 'You'll be shattered otherwise.'

            Nora wanted to scream, 'I am shattered already. I am so tired some days I cry. And I don't want to go back to work either. I want to stay home, with our daughter, and see her grow, not go back into an office to sort out other people's social housing issues.'

            But she didn't scream because she was brought up to believe that screaming for attention was rudeness itself and unnecessary and should a distinct lack of self- control. She took a deep breath.

            'I've been meaning to talk to you about me going back to work...' she began.

            'It'll be a relief for the back account when you do,' Col interrupted. 'Especially with next year being so busy what with Mum and Dad's Ruby Anniversary bash – must get the hotel booked or we'll end up in some grubby B & B – and my brother's wedding in St Lucia...'

            'Can we really afford to go all the way to St Lucia?' said Nora.

            'We can once you go back to work,' said Col. 'I'm really lookin forward to it. Bit of sunshine. Elite resort. So what's did you want to talk about? Feeling abit anxious about going back? That's only to be expected.'

            'Nothing,' said Nora. 'It's nothing.'

            She relayed the conversation to Steph as they sat in the garden centre cafe eating toasted sandwiches.

            'Surely he'll understand that you want to stay home with Ruby whilst she grows up?' said Steph. 'They grow up so quickly. You don't want to miss a thing.'

            'Oh, Col won't see it like that,' said Nora, bitterly. 'He's very money orientated. Oh, don't get me wrong, he loves Ruby, dotes on her – but that love manifests itself in buying her the best clothes, the best nursery equipment. Do you know how much he spent on her cot?'

            Steph shook her head. She broke a potato wedge in two, blew on it and passed it to a delighted Ruby, placing one piece in each hand.

            'A thousand pounds,' said Nora. Steph spluttered.

            'I know,' said Nora. 'There were perfectly good ones for a quarter of the price but he insisted – you know, 'Nothing but the best for MY daughter.' And all I could think was that the money we could have saved by buying a cheaper one would let me delay going back to work for another couple of weeks.'

            'When does your maternity leave finish?' said Steph.

            'Officially, the middle of next February,' said Nora. 'But Col wants me to go back straight after the Christmas break.'

            'Difficult,' said Steph.

            A silence enfolded them. New to this friendship, neither knoew how to continue. Thank goodness for babies, then.

            'Good grief!' said Nora, suddenly breaking the atmosphere. 'Look at Ruby!'

            Steph laughed. 'Mrs Potato Head!'

            The child was covered in squished potato, a big beam on her face.

            'So,' said Nora, wet-wiping her grubby child. 'We're starting our puzzles tonight, yes?'

            'That's the plan,' said Steph. After much deliberation they had decided to buy jigsaws with identical pictures. 'Unless we do, by some bizarre twist of fate, sleep through the 3 o'clock baby flush alarm!'

            'Like that is ever going to happen,' said Nora.

            'Text me when you start,' said Steph.

            'Will do,' said Nora.