The Cushion Fort and the Kettle

"Don't come in," said Ned. "You broke it."

Ned was Isla's little brother, and he was sitting in the middle of the living room with his arms around a cushion. All round him lay the ruins of the fort. Isla had run past too fast, and the whole thing had gone flumph.

Isla wanted to be inside that fort more than anything. Dad had said biscuits in the fort, but only until the kettle boiled. After that, the fort had to be tidied away.

In the kitchen, the kettle began to hum.

"It was an accident," said Isla.

Ned turned his back.

That was not the right thing to say. Isla tried something else. She picked up a cushion and stacked it on another one, very quietly, and then another. Ned watched from the corner of his eye. But when she looked at him, he stared at the floor.

Outside, the little raincloud that lived over their roof drifted past the window. It only ever rained on their house, and nobody thought that was strange. It just liked the chimney's warm smell. Today it dripped, plip, plip, on the glass.

The kettle hummed louder.

Isla looked at the fort again. The roof was a blanket with one corner hanging down, and a cushion was missing. It was the stripy one. Ned's favourite.

It was under her own foot. She had been standing on it all this time.

Isla picked it up and held it out with both hands. Her tummy felt wobbly.

"I'm sorry I knocked your fort down," she said. "I'm sorry I stood on your stripy cushion, too."

Ned looked at her. Then he looked at the cushion. He took it and squashed it onto the very top of the pile.

"Now it's a roof," he said.

They built the fort back up together. Just as the last blanket went on, the kettle clicked off. The cloud outside went plip, plip, plip.

Isla crawled in after Ned. The biscuit tin rattled between them, and the first crunch was very loud.