Brick can be beautiful. But Rai never realised it until she arrived at Bitham Mill Courtyard.

It was Sunday and a clear, cold morning in June. Rai was out, sweeping the courtyard for some time. Her feet were starting to sting a little through her open slippers. It was the cold. She shrugged her shoulders, rubbed her bare arms and looked up. It had rained all night and then in short bursts through the morning.

Bitham Mill rose in front of her – her brick house – scarlet and majestic in its symmetry. It was not a single house, but a long crawling line of eight brick cottages that ran the entire length of the sprawling courtyard. The courtyard was also brick, ash brick. Three springs ago, Georgie from No 3 had taken his first crawl in the courtyard. That same spring, his sister rode her first bike without the paddles. Georgie would crawl up to No 5 and watch Rai at her pots, planting African marigolds. They were the only people out in the courtyard in those early spring mornings – Georgie, his sister Maya, Rai and her African marigolds. The four formed a routine. Georgie crawled, Maya biked, Rai watered her pots and the marigolds blossomed. Sometimes Georgie would crawl up to Rai’s pots and sit there, gazing. But the minute their eyes met, he would break into a shy giggle, turn his gaze and crawl away, dragging his right knee along the dew-smothered courtyard. He often grazed his knees. But it didn’t seem to bother him. It was the most peaceful time of day.

Georgie doesn’t live at No 3 anymore. Last summer, Georgie started nursery and his parents bought a big house in the next town. Last summer, the marigolds died too and were replaced with tall thin bamboos.

Wiltshire, June 2017