Holes in the Wall

by Rebecca Klassen

Harry comes home after work.

"Right where I left you both," he says. Shivering and tired, I swear at him while Lily's head jiggles at my breast.  

The streak of light is sudden like a gunshot from the wall. From its root, the tiny porthole above the mantlepiece, I see the diminishing day, swallowed up by baby.

When Harry peers through the hole, it casts a bright monocle around his eye. I press Lily to him, then retreat upstairs for shallow sleep until Lily needs me again.

   ~*~

Harry arrives home and asks about dinner, and I babble about initiative, swearing again. He calls me a prickly cow. More holes appear in the lounge walls, and Lily screams when Harry slams the door.

   ~*~

Lily teethes, and Harry and I jostle for position of most impressive martyr. The walls become more pocked, the holes weeping brickwork. What do I know about plastering? It’s probably impossible when you’re holding a baby.
​
   ~*~
​
Harry comes home and looks at the walls, the light freckled across his dark suit. Tears plop from my jaw onto Lily’s cottony body.

"Everything’s going to collapse," I say.

Harry sits next to me and strokes Lily’s head.

"She’s beautiful, like her mama."

I shake my head. "Now way; she looks like you."

He slips his arm around my shoulders as the light in the room fades. I hear the rattle of stones and catch the scent of disturbed dust.

"She looks so content," he says. "You’re doing an amazing job with her."

I rest my head on his chest, sleepy in the rapidly dimming light. "It can’t be easy, being away from her all day."

As Harry kisses my cheek, the room darkens, but I can still see his face as he rests his forehead against mine, Lily nestled between us.

* * *

Rebecca Klassen is co-editor of The Phare and a Best of the Net 2025 nominee. She won the London Independent Story Prize and was shortlisted for this year’s Alpine Fellowship. Her work has been performed on BBC radio.

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