Meet The Street

Meet the Street: Emma

Everyone had a life before.

My name’s Emma.

I build things. Or I did, before it stopped mattering what they were made of.

Mostly LEGO. Batman, usually. Gotham spread across the dining table in deliberate chaos. The kids thought it was funny that I rebuilt the same thing over and over, changing one small detail each time. Angles matter. Balance matters. You can tell a lot about whether something will hold by how it fits together at the edges.

The night everything broke started as a barbecue.

Too much food. Plastic cups. Jay was trying not to burn sausages and pretending it was intentional. The radio was on, then the TV, because the updates kept changing, and no one wanted to miss something important. They used a lot of words and didn’t say very much. Stay calm. We’re monitoring the situation. Voices tired enough to make you nervous without quite meaning to.

We were still eating when the power flickered. Not off. Just uncertain. Someone laughed. Someone checked their phone. No signal. The TV kept talking anyway, half a second out of time with itself.

Then there was a bang at the window.

Not dramatic. Not distant. Close enough to make everyone stop at once.

That’s the moment things narrowed. Kids were pulled back without anyone needing to say why. Someone swore. The radio cut out. The TV kept going, cheerful and irrelevant. Outside, Queen’s Road went quiet in a way that didn’t feel accidental.

We locked the door. Then locked it again. I remember noticing the LEGO on the table, unfinished, and thinking it was strange how quickly something normal can start to look like a relic.

After that, I stopped building for fun.

Someone needed to keep track. Not in a big, heroic way. Just practically. Who lived where? Which houses had kids? Who hadn’t come back yet? What we’d tried. What hadn’t worked. I started writing things down because if I didn’t, they slipped. Details matter. They always have.

I’m not loud. I don’t rush. I notice when patterns change. When routines stop lining up. When the street holds its breath.

Jay says that makes me dangerous. I think he means useful.

Queen’s Road was never special. That’s what people get wrong. It was just a street. Red brick. Low fences. Neighbours who nodded but didn’t always talk. Until suddenly we did. Properly. About things that mattered.

Everyone here had a life before. This was mine.

If you’re reading this, you already know how quickly a normal evening can turn into something else.

Welcome to Queen’s Road.