is a death trap,’ Isobel cried, her arms gripping the thick beam overhead as she cautiously placed one foot in front of the other like
a tightrope walker and made her way over the joist to where Allegra was sitting on the small, square patch of plywood. Plumes of marshmallow-pink roof insulation billowed at her ankles, obscuring
the joist from view, and she let out a whimper of worry. ‘I’m going to go through the ceiling, I know I am.’
‘No, you won’t. You’re nearly there,’ Allegra said reassuringly, as Isobel advanced in baby steps, her head bent awkwardly to the side of the beam as her lofty height
worked against her for once.
Isobel’s foot touched down on the relative safety of the ply and her hands fell from the beam and folded over her clattering heart instead. ‘Phew. Scary stuff.’
‘White knuckle.’ Allegra sat patiently as Isobel folded herself down into a cross-legged position like an origami model, her long, lean limbs jutting out at loose angles as she made
herself comfortable on their little island in the sea of pink fluff.
Isobel rubbed her nose with her forefinger. ‘Gah. This stuff always makes me sneeze and itch. Doesn’t it you?’
‘Not really.’
‘I bet it’s ’cos of my hay fever.’
‘Maybe. Just try not to touch it.’
‘Yeah, but it’s just like . . . in the atmosphere up here, isn’t it?’ Isobel said, rubbing her nose harder.
Allegra scanned the loft distractedly. A single hot light bulb on the beam above where they sat drenched them in harsh light, but its strength couldn’t spread to the far corners of the
space and she strained to make out silhouettes in the shadows.
‘So, this is the end of it,’ Isobel said, eyeing the small, neat pile of taped boxes and a 1980s hard suitcase that was bulging at the sides, a frill of lace peeking through.
‘Just this lot to sort through and then we’re done.’
Allegra nodded with relief. She reckoned they’d be out of here in ninety minutes, tops, and she could get back to the office. ‘This is it.’
Isobel grabbed her hand suddenly. ‘I’m so glad we’re doing this together, Legs. It’s the end of an era, isn’t it?’
Allegra looked down at their blanched hands, feeling a knot of emotion rush at her like a tide and closing her throat. She nodded wordlessly. It wasn’t just
an
ending. It was
the
end – of their family, their childhoods, their lives where they had belonged only to each other.
Even just being up here signalled a new dawn. As children, they’d never been allowed into the loft, their mother worrying unduly about them falling through the pink fluff and the
plasterboard beneath it, into the bedroom below. But they weren’t children any more. Everything had changed, swapped round, and they were the adults now.
With a quick sniff, Allegra pulled her hands away and climbed up onto her knees, pulling a tall box closer to her and slicing the yellow, crackling sellotape with her thumbnail. ‘Oh, now
that’s what I call a good start,’ Allegra said with a relieved smile. ‘We can throw out the lot of these. They’re just old school books.’
‘No way!’ Isobel said excitedly, her hoarding instincts rushing to the fore as she plunged in her arm. She pulled out a clutch of school workbooks and reports, passing over those
with Allegra’s handwriting and keeping her own.
Allegra saw that they had her old name on – Allegra Johnson – and she felt her chest tighten. It was so unfamiliar now. She wondered whether it would feel as foreign if she said it
out loud, but she didn’t dare make a sound. They were already in dangerous territory as it was, plunging through the past like this. They were here because they were losing their mother; the
last thing she needed to do was remind Isobel about when they’d had a father. She began flicking through it briskly. It was her ‘morning’ book from year one – her second
ever year of school – smiling, bemused, at the miles of
a tightrope walker and made her way over the joist to where Allegra was sitting on the small, square patch of plywood. Plumes of marshmallow-pink roof insulation billowed at her ankles, obscuring
the joist from view, and she let out a whimper of worry. ‘I’m going to go through the ceiling, I know I am.’
‘No, you won’t. You’re nearly there,’ Allegra said reassuringly, as Isobel advanced in baby steps, her head bent awkwardly to the side of the beam as her lofty height
worked against her for once.
Isobel’s foot touched down on the relative safety of the ply and her hands fell from the beam and folded over her clattering heart instead. ‘Phew. Scary stuff.’
‘White knuckle.’ Allegra sat patiently as Isobel folded herself down into a cross-legged position like an origami model, her long, lean limbs jutting out at loose angles as she made
herself comfortable on their little island in the sea of pink fluff.
Isobel rubbed her nose with her forefinger. ‘Gah. This stuff always makes me sneeze and itch. Doesn’t it you?’
‘Not really.’
‘I bet it’s ’cos of my hay fever.’
‘Maybe. Just try not to touch it.’
‘Yeah, but it’s just like . . . in the atmosphere up here, isn’t it?’ Isobel said, rubbing her nose harder.
Allegra scanned the loft distractedly. A single hot light bulb on the beam above where they sat drenched them in harsh light, but its strength couldn’t spread to the far corners of the
space and she strained to make out silhouettes in the shadows.
‘So, this is the end of it,’ Isobel said, eyeing the small, neat pile of taped boxes and a 1980s hard suitcase that was bulging at the sides, a frill of lace peeking through.
‘Just this lot to sort through and then we’re done.’
Allegra nodded with relief. She reckoned they’d be out of here in ninety minutes, tops, and she could get back to the office. ‘This is it.’
Isobel grabbed her hand suddenly. ‘I’m so glad we’re doing this together, Legs. It’s the end of an era, isn’t it?’
Allegra looked down at their blanched hands, feeling a knot of emotion rush at her like a tide and closing her throat. She nodded wordlessly. It wasn’t just
an
ending. It was
the
end – of their family, their childhoods, their lives where they had belonged only to each other.
Even just being up here signalled a new dawn. As children, they’d never been allowed into the loft, their mother worrying unduly about them falling through the pink fluff and the
plasterboard beneath it, into the bedroom below. But they weren’t children any more. Everything had changed, swapped round, and they were the adults now.
With a quick sniff, Allegra pulled her hands away and climbed up onto her knees, pulling a tall box closer to her and slicing the yellow, crackling sellotape with her thumbnail. ‘Oh, now
that’s what I call a good start,’ Allegra said with a relieved smile. ‘We can throw out the lot of these. They’re just old school books.’
‘No way!’ Isobel said excitedly, her hoarding instincts rushing to the fore as she plunged in her arm. She pulled out a clutch of school workbooks and reports, passing over those
with Allegra’s handwriting and keeping her own.
Allegra saw that they had her old name on – Allegra Johnson – and she felt her chest tighten. It was so unfamiliar now. She wondered whether it would feel as foreign if she said it
out loud, but she didn’t dare make a sound. They were already in dangerous territory as it was, plunging through the past like this. They were here because they were losing their mother; the
last thing she needed to do was remind Isobel about when they’d had a father. She began flicking through it briskly. It was her ‘morning’ book from year one – her second
ever year of school – smiling, bemused, at the miles of
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