Iris
Tell me something you can see.
Wren
A shopping trolley.
A shoe.
A second shoe. Good for them.
Iris
A reunion.
The road rose onto a causeway. Below it, the seabed held the things people had dropped, thrown away, or tried to forget.
Wren kept looking for the shape of their old street. From this distance, every line in the salt looked possible.
Wren
Did you work at the station?
Iris
I used to fix the instruments. Most of the job was asking them nicely.
I’m inland now. The old relay still works, somehow.
Someone was putting a cup down.
Somewhere, there was a table.
Iris
What brought you back?
Wren
There was a house.
It’s a stupid answer.
Iris
It sounds like an address.
Wren rubbed the edge of the shell through their pocket. They had spent so long rehearsing what they would say at the door that they had forgotten there might not be a door.
Wren
I left in a hurry. I thought I could get a few things.
I think I wanted it to look the same.
Iris
There’s a box at the station. Things we found before the last boats left. It might be worth looking.
1.8 km
The radio hissed. Wren waited for the voice to come back. This time, it did.
Iris
You can tell me about the house, if you like.
Wren
The kitchen door never shut properly.
My mother said the house liked to listen.
Iris
Tell me about the kitchen.