When I came home on Mum’s birthday the water was coming through the doorway. The doorway had turned into a fountain but it was alarming because it was meant to be a doorway. The water really pelted down, thick drops congealing and letting go quickly. It was gushing. “Mummy,” Fearne said. “Get out! Outside,” I sent her to sit on the doorstep as I rushed around the house my stomach flipping, my mind rushing, rushing like the water. Water is very fluid. So much more fluid than thought. “It’s in my doorway too,” Fearne said or something similar. And she was right. The water was also dripping less …