Margen
The girl brought the drawing home from school, proud of it, and stuck it on the fridge with a strawberry-shaped magnet.
"That's us in the garden," she announced.
Her mother praised it absently while she stirred the dinner. Dad in his striped shirt. Mum with yellow hair. Grandma in her chair. And the girl, in the middle, with her arms open.
Then her mother counted the figures, without quite knowing why.
One, two, three, four... five.
There was a fifth outline, tall and thin, standing right behind the girl. It had no features, only a long curved line for a mouth, like a smile that was far too wide.
"Sweetheart," she said, keeping her voice carefully calm, "and who is this?"
The girl looked up, surprised that her mother did not know.
"That's the one who is always behind me in photos. The one who watches us while we sleep." She went back to her drawing. "He says that soon we will be six."
The mother looked at the dark window onto the garden. Her own reflection looked back at her. And behind it, very tall, something was beginning to smile.