Rudd’s mind clenches in the corner of his skull. When he answers, his voice is barely a whisper.

“Jim opened the window. Jim, the house boxer. Stephen was in bits.”

“Why did you do it?”

Rudd looks straight at the priest. “Because I was a coward. Dad did that kind of thing to me. To toughen me up, he said. So I passed it on.” He tips his head back, eyes fixed on the emptiness above him, trying to escape. But Father Norman drags him back.

“Listen to me Rudd,” he says slowly. “Must have been terrible for you, and for Stephen, but this storm is nothing to do with either of you, or your father. This is not your fault.”

“I should have told them not to come. It was my call. Dad’s right. I’m weak.”

“You’re not weak Rudd. You’re human, and you’re exhausted. If you start beating yourself up now, chances are you will fail. But you haven’t failed yet. Nobody’s saying that. Nobody’s died, and you’ve fed them twice. People like you.”

“Stephen’s died. At Christmas. I never got to apologise.”

Rudd closes his eyes, the weariness in him now so deep that all he can see is down. He is descending, descending, when the kitchen door thuds open. Its crack snaps him upright, and spins Father Norman on his chair. They see Aneke, in a bright pink rain jacket, with Ruan behind her. She is waving something in one hand, body language distraught.

She shouts out to them, each word fired like a bullet. “Man, I’ve been looking for you everywhere. See our passports? They’ve been ruined.” She comes closer, passports waving. So close now that water drips over Father Norman’s head.

 “Excuse me, but those are wet,” says the priest, patting water off his shoulders.

“I know,” retorts Aneke. “That’s my point. They’re ruined.”

“Write offs,” says Ruan, shirt buttons panting. “They were in her bag on the floor and they’ve got soaked. Our room is like a lake.”

“Total disaster.” Aneke’s voice rises an octave. “You’ve got to call the embassy now Rudd, and get this sorted.”

Rudd stands up. “I can’t. They’re no comms.”

 “Surely your mobile works?” says Ruan.

Rudd shrugs. “Battery’s dead. Same as everyone’s. No power. Plus, you’re never going to get much reception here, especially in this weather.”

Aneke storms at him. “Typical. Nothing works. So glad we don’t live here any more.” Hair frizzing around her red face she turns to her husband. “See I told you. We could be stranded here for another month. Or more!” Her voice catches on a high squeak, and suddenly, urgently, Rudd wants to laugh. He fights to steady himself, yanking hard on the broken edges of his own sanity.

Opposite him Father Norman gets to his feet, and tries to calm things down. “I’m sure when the weather clears, someone will be able to …”

“You’re not even from here,” Aneke spins towards him. “As if you’d … as if you’d … ” She huffs, then stutters, then stops, her face inches from the priest’s. Breathing hard, she sits down heavily on his chair, and drops the passports with a wet slap on to the table.

Copyright Georgie Knaggs & The Phraser 2023