She had quietly looked at the burning building. Had thought. There are so many social housing blocks in London. And waited for her mother. But. When the following day no message came from her mother,

When the next day no information was available from any hospital.

When the next day it didn’t rain but there was no sun, Karen realized that she no longer had any family. “You have us.” Said Hannah when they held their daily meeting on the roof.

“We have each other,” said Don to herself.

“Let’s just take off.” She said out loud. Nobody answered her. They all sat there lost in the thoughts this suggestion provoked. Taking off was something to think about at night. Something tinged with glamour. It was a completely different story to break away from the everyday, pack a bag, and run off with other children to an unfamiliar place.

“Let’s double-check the list first,” said Hannah. It was a delay tactic that put an end to the moment of daydreaming. “The list of people who tormented us or hurt us or whatever.”

The others looked a bit vacant. They’d long since forgotten about the whole thing in this era when news was already old after an hour. Hannah pulled a little notebook from a jacket pocket.

“Right, so far we have the following people to punish:

Walter, Don’s mother’s ex-boyfriend.

Dr. Brown, the doctor who caused my mother’s death.

Thome, the programmer who drove my father to suicide.

Patuk, Karen’s—um…”

Brief pause. They’d never talked about what exactly had happened to Karen. It didn’t feel appropriate just now, either, or perhaps it never would. And yet everyone knew that this Patuk rightfully belonged on the list, that there was no doubt about it, that there was good reason for it.

“Karen’s ex-boyfriend,” said Hannah, continuing on quickly.

“Peter’s mother, the Russian,

Sergej, the man who, um …

hurt Peter.”

A strange shyness took hold when it came to all subjects related to the body. It was an area that made all of them insecure at the moment, a strange and dangerous and perhaps forbidden place. They were still children. Their bodies in an in-between state, their feelings not yet grown-up. They were children sitting on the roof of an ugly building, looking out at the familiar, endlessly boring city, scared about leaving. Leaving everything here. Which wasn’t nice but was familiar. It was the same fear you feel right before you jump off a precipice attached to a bungee cord. The brain panics at the last second, trying to come up with a way out.

There wasn’t one.

BEFORE THE INTERMISSION