The morning light was thin and pale when Nimue woke. The sun was still low behind the slate rooftops, and she lay still for a moment, listening to the muffled sounds of London waking up.
Cinder was already awake, his ears swiveling toward the door every few seconds. The house felt quiet in a different way today. It wasn't the deep silence of early morning, when everyone was still asleep. It was the quiet of a place that knew something was coming to an end.
Nimue slipped out of bed, her feet pattering softly against the cold floorboards. She quickly dressed in her blue denim shorts and white shirt with the fox on it. Then she tied her shoelaces twice, making sure both knots were tight and even, before heading downstairs.
Saoirse was already in the kitchen, pulling a handwritten list from her pocket. Jack stood by the window with his back to the room, looking out at the small garden, where the shadows were still long. Jane sat at the table with a steaming cup of tea, her red hair loose and her face still soft with sleep.
"Market," Saoirse announced as soon as Nimue appeared in the doorway. "The last one."
Nimue climbed onto a chair, her knees bumping against the wooden seat. "The last one?"
"We leave tomorrow." Saoirse folded the list and tucked it back into her pocket. "So today, we buy things to give away. And we say thank you to the people here."
"Thank you to who?"
"The neighbors. The ones who accepted our pudding and said hello whenever we passed them on the pavement. The ones who didn't mind Cinder digging in their flowerbeds."
Cinder's ears flattened at the mention of his name. He had been very careful around the flowerbeds. Mostly.
Jack turned away from the window. "We should go before the market gets crowded. Eat something first, Nimue."
Nimue ate a slice of toast, watching the butter melt into the warm, porous bread. She washed it down with a small glass of cool milk.
Saoirse was already at the door, pulling on her heavy coat. Her hair was still slightly damp from her morning shower.
"Ready?" she asked.
Nimue slid off the chair. Cinder pressed his shoulder against her legs, his nose pointed toward the front door.
"He stays here," Jane said gently but firmly. "We won't be long."
Cinder's ears flattened even further. He sat down on the rug, but his amber eyes followed them all the way to the threshold.
. . .
The market was quieter than usual. The stalls were open, and the vendors called out their prices, but the crowds were thinner than they had been on the weekends.
Nimue walked between Jack and Saoirse, her hand tucked into her father's palm. The air smelled of wet pavement, crushed herbs, and fresh bread.
Saoirse led them to the vegetable stall first. The gray-haired woman was stacking cabbages into a neat, pale green pyramid. When she looked up and saw them approaching, her face creased into a genuine smile.
"The last time?" she asked.
"Tomorrow," Jane replied. "We wanted to get a few things before we go."
The woman nodded slowly. Then she reached beneath the stall and pulled out a small paper bag.
"For the little one. These are some of the early apples. They are sweet."
Nimue accepted the bag. The fruit felt cool through the thin paper. "Thank you."
"You come back next year. We will have more for you."
They bought plenty of vegetables, including carrots, onions, and potatoes, far more than they needed for a single meal. Saoirse added leeks and a bunch of crisp celery. Jack carried the heavy basket, the weight already pulling at his arm.
Next, they stopped at the bread stall. The man was wrapping a loaf when they approached, his hands moving with quick, practiced motions.
"I heard you were leaving. I thought you might want something for the road."
He pushed the wrapped loaf across the counter.
"This is on the house."
Jack tried to pay, but the man waved him away with a calloused hand.
"You brought us pudding. You brought us bread. You said hello. That's enough."
Nimue held the loaf against her chest. Its warmth seeped through the brown paper.
They bought sharp cheese from the woman at the corner stall, fresh eggs from the red-faced man, and a small jar of amber honey from the beekeeper's table. By the time they reached the fishmonger's stall, their basket was full to the brim.
The fishmonger looked at the pile of vegetables, bread, and cheese.
"Are you feeding an army?"
"We are saying goodbye," Saoirse replied. "We brought everyone something when we arrived. We will bring something when we leave."
The man nodded slowly. He reached into the bed of ice and pulled out a small wrapped package.
"Prawns. For the little one. She liked them last time."
Nimue accepted it. The paper felt cold and damp against her fingers.
By the time they left the market, the sun had climbed higher, casting sharper light against the brick buildings. Saoirse carried the basket now, her arm looped through its wicker handle.
Jack had the heavy bag of vegetables, while Nimue walked between them with the warm loaf of bread pressed against her chest and the cold package of prawns in her hand.
. . .
The kitchen quickly filled with activity when they returned.
Jane unpacked the vegetables onto the counter. Saoirse put the prawns in the refrigerator before pulling out the heavy pots. Jack found the large cutting board and placed it beside the sink.
"It's the same as before," Saoirse said. "We cook, and then we share."
Nimue stood in the doorway, watching them move around the kitchen. It was the same room, with the same golden light coming through the window and the familiar sounds of running water and knives scraping against wood.
But today, something felt different. Their movements were slower, and their pauses lasted longer. Jack handed Jane a knife without being asked. Saoirse reached for the salt before Jane could even tell her where it was.
"Nimue," Jane said, pointing to a bowl of carrots. "Wash these. Just like last time."
Nimue dragged the stool over to the sink and turned on the cold water. The carrots were stiff and cold beneath her fingers. Dark dirt washed away in brown streaks under the running water. She cleaned each one carefully, rubbing her thumb over the skin until it was free of dirt, then lined them up on the counter.
"Potatoes next," Jane instructed.
She washed those too. The potatoes were round and heavy, their rough skins scraping against her palms.
Saoirse took them and began cutting them into thick, even slices. Her knife moved quickly, but her fingers stayed safely curled away from the blade.
"Do you want to try?" her aunt asked.
Nimue looked at the sharp knife, then at her own small, pale hand.
"Not this time. Watch and learn. You can try another day."
Saoirse handed her a potato anyway.
"Here. Hold it for a moment. Feel how heavy it is."
Nimue held the potato. It was cold and firm in her hands. After a moment, she put it back on the counter.
Jack was cutting onions, his eyes watering from the fumes. Saoirse melted yellow butter in a pan, filling the kitchen with its rich smell. Jane had the fish in another pan, its silver skin already beginning to crisp and sizzle.
They worked together in much the same rhythm as they had a month ago. But today, there was much less conversation. Saoirse didn't tell stories about distant mountains. Jack didn't complain about the onions stinging his eyes. Jane didn't laugh when Nimue asked why the prawns looked different from the picture in her book.
They continued until everything was ready. Then they divided the food into bowls and wrapped the containers in wax paper, tying each one with a length of string.
There were eleven bowls in total, one for each of the eleven houses.
"We will start at number one and work our way down the street," Jane said. "We give them the food, say thank you, and say goodbye."
The first house had a bright red door and a brass lion knocker. An elderly woman opened it slowly, one hand resting against the wooden frame for support. She looked at the bowl in Jane's hands, then at Nimue standing beside her mother.
"Are you leaving already?"
"Tomorrow. We wanted to thank you for being so kind to us."
The woman accepted the bowl. Her hands were pale and thin, her skin as delicate as parchment.
"Will you be back?"
"Not this year. Perhaps next year."
The woman looked at Nimue. Her eyes were the same pale blue as the sky over the valley at Thornwell.
"You have grown so much in just a month."
Nimue looked down at her hands. They seemed exactly the same as before.
"I'm four."
The woman smiled. "Yes, you are."
They moved on to the next house, then the one after that. They visited Mrs. Mark, who had the ginger cat, and Mr. Ainsworth, who had his glasses and blackboard. They also stopped at the home of the woman with the baby who always smelled of talcum powder.
Every door opened. Every hand reached out to accept the food. Every family offered some version of goodbye.
At the ninth house, the woman with the pram was standing by her garden gate. She accepted the bowl from Jane and looked down at Nimue.
"You will miss the garden."
Nimue thought about the small patch of green grass, the tree with its low, inviting branches, and the patch of dirt where she and Hermione had built their castles.
"Yes."
The woman smiled. "It will still be here when you come back."
At the tenth house, they stopped in front of a blue door. The flowers in the pots beside it had withered and died.
Jane knocked, and the man with the glasses opened the door. He looked thinner than he had a month ago, and his cardigan hung loosely around his frame.
"We are leaving tomorrow," Jane said. "We wanted to thank you for being such good neighbors."
She held out the bowl, and the man accepted it with steady hands.
"You brought pudding when you first arrived. My wife used to make something just like that."
He looked down at the bowl, then at Nimue.
"Will you be back?"
"Next year. Maybe."
He nodded slowly.
"The house is quiet when you aren't here. The little one next door told me you played together in the garden."
"We built castles."
"Castles." He smiled, and for a moment, he looked less tired. "My daughter used to build castles in the sandpit when she was small. She lives in Manchester now. She sends me letters."
After saying goodbye, he closed the door. Jane rested a hand on Nimue's shoulder for a moment before turning away.
"Let's go home."
. . .
Lunch consisted of fresh bread, sharp cheese, and the last of the red tomatoes. They ate at the small kitchen table with the windows open, letting the sounds of the street drift inside on the breeze.
Saoirse told them a story about a man in Morocco who had tried to sell her a carpet that didn't actually exist. Jack laughed at the tale, while Jane offered a small smile.
Nimue ate slowly, her eyelids growing heavy. The morning had been long, with all the walking, carrying, and saying goodbye. Her fork moved more and more slowly across her plate.
Jane glanced at her.
"It's time for a nap."
Nimue shook her head. "Later."
"Now," Jane insisted.
Nimue didn't argue. She slid off her chair and climbed the stairs, her feet feeling heavy against the wooden steps. Cinder followed, his claws clicking behind her.
She lay down on the bed. The sheets felt cool against her skin, and the light coming through the window was a soft gold.
She closed her eyes.
When she woke, the sunlight had shifted across the room. The shadows were longer, and the room had grown dimmer. Cinder was no longer beside her.
Nimue lay still for a moment, listening to the voices downstairs. She heard Jane, Jack, and Saoirse. Then another voice joined them, higher and faster than the others.
It was Hermione.
Nimue slipped out of bed, her bare feet finding the floor. She went downstairs, one hand guiding her along the banister.
The sitting room was full of people. Jane stood by the window, talking to Jean. Jack was shaking Dan's hand. Saoirse was already outside, setting something up in the street.
Hermione stood in the middle of the room. Her hair was divided into two neat plaits again, and she wore a dress the same blue as the morning sky.
"You are leaving tomorrow," she said.
Nimue stopped at the bottom of the stairs.
"Yes."
Hermione clasped her hands tightly behind her back. Her expression was very serious.
"Mum says we should take a picture. So you can remember us."
Nimue looked toward the front door. Saoirse was outside with a camera hanging from her neck. Jack was already there, positioning himself near the front step.
"Come on."
The sunlight was soft, the low sun turning the street gold. Saoirse had set the camera on a metal tripod and was adjusting its dials and settings. She looked up when the girls came outside.
"First, the Keiths."
Jane smoothed her red hair. Jack placed a hand on Nimue's shoulder. Saoirse pressed the button on the camera, then hurried into the frame and crouched beside Nimue, wrapping an arm around her.
The camera clicked.
"Second, everyone."
The Grangers stepped into the frame. Jean stood beside Jane, and Dan stood beside Jack. Hermione took her place next to Nimue, pressing her shoulder firmly against her friend's arm.
Saoirse pressed the button again.
The camera clicked.
"Third, just the girls."
Jane moved away from the group, and Jack stepped back toward the door. The Grangers did the same, leaving Nimue and Hermione standing together on the front step.
Hermione reached for Nimue's hand. Her fingers were small and warm.
"Look at the camera. Now, smile."
Nimue looked into the lens. She felt Hermione's fingers tighten around hers, so she smiled.
The camera clicked.
After they finished taking pictures, they went into the garden. The sunlight was golden, and long shadows stretched across the grass.
Hermione sat beneath the tree, her back against its rough trunk. Nimue settled beside her, stretching out her legs and resting her hands in the cool grass.
Hermione pulled out a blade of grass and began twisting it between her fingers.
"Mum says we might move to a bigger house. But not yet. Maybe in a few years."
"Where to?"
"Somewhere with a garden. A bigger one than this. Big enough for a dog."
She glanced at Cinder, who was lying on the stone bench with his ears pointed forward.
"You will have a dog," Nimue said.
"Maybe. I want to be a vet. Or a scientist. Or perhaps both."
Nimue looked at her friend.
"You will be both."
Hermione's face turned deep pink.
"You can't know that for sure."
"Yes, I can." Nimue picked up a blade of grass of her own. "You are good at learning. You will be good at everything."
Hermione fell silent. For a long moment, she simply sat there, her fingers slowly twisting the grass. Eventually, they stopped.
"You are leaving tomorrow."
"Yes."
"I will miss you."
Nimue looked around the small garden. She looked at the tree, the brick wall, and the patch of dirt where they had built their castles together. She thought about the past month, the mornings at the market, the afternoons in the park, and the evenings spent in the kitchen.
She thought about Hermione's voice, always so quick and eager, and the way her friend's face turned red whenever she realized she had been talking too much.
"I will miss you too."
They stayed beneath the tree until the light had faded and the streetlights flickered on.
Jean called from the back door. Hermione stood and brushed the grass from her floral dress.
"Tomorrow, before you leave, I will come and say goodbye."
"Okay."
Hermione walked toward the gate, then stopped and looked back. Half her face was in shadow, while the other half was lit by the warm light spilling from the house.
"Bye, Nimue."
"Bye, Mione."
Hermione passed through the gate and walked down the street. Nimue watched until her friend disappeared through the front door of the house with the blue door.
. . .
That night, Jane sat at the small wooden desk. The baby-blue journal lay open in front of her, its pages stark and blank. She picked up her pen.
July 31st.
Tomorrow we leave. The neighbors all said goodbye to us. The woman with the apples gave Nimue a bag of fruit for the road. The man with the glasses smiled when she told him she had built castles.
Hermione came over for pictures. The girls stood together on the front step. Nimue smiled.
She is tired. She is ready.
Tomorrow, we go to the farm.
Jane closed the journal and went to bed.
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