Heatstroke

Languid. The word that formed in Rachel’s mind was languid. The figure on the lawn was languid. Its limbs were loose, its joints fluid. Its hands and feet seemed too heavy for the bones that held them. It was draped over the sun lounger, dripping from its edges. Not a single muscle seemed tensed. Rachel knew she was staring.

The sun was so high that everything in the garden was bleached. The grass was brittle and the patio slabs blinding white. Rachel’s feet were cool against the kitchen tiles and it felt indulgent. It had been too hot for days but was only mid-June; there were still five weeks until the school holidays began. The temperature had crept into the high 20s every afternoon, and Rachel had woken tangled in the sheets every morning.

She stood at the sink, squeaking a dishcloth into mugs. One by one, she rubbed the stains from their nooks