Night music

Screeeeech, squeaaeal! Hemi woke blearily, her bones creaking more than she expected as she reached for her glasses on the bedside table. Her mind was still half asleep but her eyes darted around, taking in the navy hue of her bedroom. Her alarm clock was illuminated by the street light’s glow through a slight gap in the curtain: it was 3am. Her hazy brain attempted to make sense of the alien, haunting squawks. Maybe it was her son Jay’s music, ever unsettling, blasting from souped-up speakers. She’d told him so many times not to play his music too late into the night, because busybody Mrs Cattleborough relished complaining.

Squaaaaaawk!

But now Hemi remembered. Jay wasn’t here. Two months ago, he’d followed in his sister Neema’s footsteps and moved to London, sharing a flat with a few friends. Hemi was alone now, as Mrs Cattleborough kept reminding