recurring · 2026.10.21
The stairwell smelled of wet plaster and the orange soap they used at the swimming baths on Kestrel Row. I was carrying a tray of small brown bottles up to the fourth landing, and the bottles chimed against each other with each step, a thin glassy sound that I tried to keep quiet. My mother's neighbour, Mrs. Aldous, held the door open on the second landing and told me to mind the third step, which had always been loose, and I said I knew, I had minded it for years.