Chapter 13: The Family

3 November 2025

The alarm clock on Bob Edwards’ side of the bed didn’t beep. It hummed a low, progressive frequency designed to wake the sleeper without triggering an adrenaline burst. Bob sat up, his feet finding the plush carpet with practised precision. He was a man of routine, a man for whom the world was a series of ledgers that needed to be balanced.

At forty-two, Bob was young for a senior director at a growing high street bank in the City, but he carried himself with the gravity of a man twenty years his senior. He had a solid build, kept trim by regular walks, calisthenics, and an occasional squash match at his club. His hair, just beginning to show grey at the temples, had a distinguished look he knew played well in the boardroom.

To Bob, banking wasn’t just about money; it was about the structure of society. He enjoyed being the man who approved the loans for the expansion of hospitals or the funding of infrastructure. He liked the weight of responsibility, though lately, that weight had begun to feel less like a badge of honour and more like a tether.

Down the corridor, the sounds of life were already beginning. His wife Mary had been awake since 05:00. While Bob was the anchor of the family, Mary was the engine. At thirty-nine, she possessed a youthful, restless intensity that often left others breathless. Her morning began not with tea, but with a gruelling forty-five-minute training session in their home gym. To Mary, the body was a temple that required constant maintenance and aggressive discipline. She looked a decade younger than her age, a result of sheer willpower and a strict adherence to her wellness regime.

By 06:30, the two of them met in the kitchen — a bespoke masterpiece of natural stone and brushed steel.

"Did you get the confirmation for the charity ball?" Mary asked, her face flushed from her workout, her shoulder-length ponytail tight and efficient. She was already mentally transitioning from 'athlete' to 'philanthropist.'

"It’s in the diary, Mary. Table four, right by the podium," Bob replied, sipping his black coffee. "I’ve got the donor list sorted. We’re in good company."

"Good. It’s important we show a unified front for the foundation this year," she said, her eyes scanning her digital diary. “Not to mention the fact that if we want to move up to Mayfair someday, you could use some of those contacts at the centre tables.”

Mayfair. That was Mary’s dream. Or perhaps ambition was a better word. She was always striving to be accepted in the social circles higher than her distinctly middle-class upbringing. Bob suspected that Mary felt dissatisfied with their Fulham townhouse. Yes, it was a nice enough neighbourhood, with good schools and well-kept parks. But Bob saw the way her face scrunched when she saw those types of people moving in nearby.

They were a formidable pair – the banker and the volunteer. To the outside world, the Edwards family was the shining example of City success. They had married young, Bob a rising star in finance and Mary a vibrant woman who transitioned from a brief career in marketing to the role of managing their home and community work. Each of them had risen from their middle-class families, benefiting from good educations, hard work, and exceptional effort. Over the years, they had moved from the outskirts of London, with their hour-long commutes, closer to the centre.

The higher they rose economically, the more satisfied Bob felt, and the more Mary seemed to want more. Not more financially though. She yearned for acceptance. She wanted to be invited to join the right social circles. To get invited to the right parties.

As they aged, Bob and Mary grew apart emotionally. Their conversations, while efficient, lacked intimacy. They spoke about schedules and objectives. Bob watched her move and felt his own quiet, nagging dissatisfaction. He loved Mary, but she was so focused on her projects and her aspirations and her fitness. He felt like just another item on her checklist.

In the quiet moments on his commute, he sometimes found himself daydreaming of a different kind of life – one where the house wasn't a series of scheduled interactions, but a place of absolute, fawning devotion. He imagined a world where his word wasn't just respected in a boardroom, but was the only law that mattered at home.

The third member of the household was the counterweight between them.

Olivia – Livy to her father and just about everyone else but her mum – was eighteen and had been home for the beginning of Reading Week during her first term at University College London. Although the campus was not far from her parents’ townhouse, the transition of moving out had felt for her like going to another country.

While her parents were figures of high-definition clarity in her eyes, Olivia felt like a smudged charcoal sketch. She was soft-featured, with large, observant eyes that tended to dart away when they met someone else’s gaze.

Bob noticed Livy standing at the entrance to the kitchen, wearing an oversized hoodie that seemed to swallow her slight frame. He also spotted the blue and green streaks in her hair, colours which hadn’t been in her mousy brown hair before she matriculated.

"Morning, Livy," Bob said, his voice soft. He loved his daughter with a fierce, bewildered devotion. She was his only child. Bob had definitely wanted a family, and he thought Mary had wanted kids too. But after Olivia was born, Mary seemed to lose interest in having more. She was never a bad parent – quite the opposite. She sought to give the best of everything for Olivia, and her hopes and dreams for their daughter had always been high. Something changed for Mary, though. And she found her passion for returning to the world as Mary, rather than as Olivia’s mum, magnified after Olivia started going to school.

Because he had no other outlets for his paternal affection, Olivia was his absolute pride and joy. She certainly had been a daddy’s girl when she was younger. He fondly remembered the big smiles when he got home from late nights at work, and her dashing to hug and squeeze him, even when he was so exhausted that he just wanted to check on the football scores and have a drink.

Things changed again when Olivia reached her teens. As she grew up, she became a lanky and attractive young woman. But she also turned inward, and became less expressive. There were fewer big smiles, and certainly fewer crushing hugs. As a result, he found himself more excited by the slightest sign of connection with Olivia, even as they became less frequent and less intense.

Bob had never been the best at expressing his own feelings either. Not with Mary or with Livy. So a sad distance grew. He understood interest rates, but he didn't understand the more quiet girl who preferred books and quiet walks.

"Hey, Dad. Mum," Olivia whispered, moving towards the toaster with small, careful movements. To Bob, this seemed to be an obvious difference in enthusiasm between her greetings.

"You're up late," Mary noted, though not unkindly. "I thought we were going to do that 06:00 yoga class together. It would have been good for you to get out of the house."

Olivia felt a familiar knot of anxiety. "Oh, I... I had a lot of reading for my Sociology assignment. I was up late for that last night."

Mary sighed, a tiny sound of disappointment. "Olivia, love, you’re at university now. You’re so bright, but people won't know that if you’re always hiding. You have your father's brains, but you need slightly more of my... outgoingness."

Olivia nodded, staring at the floor. "I know, Mum. I'm trying."

“You know what I say, Livy. The result is all that matters.”

Olivia knew that her father intended that to be supportive, but all she could hear from him in his famous saying was disappointment. For Olivia, trying was already an exhausting labour. She earned top marks, but in the lecture theatre, she was the girl praying she wouldn't be called on. She felt like she was constantly translating the world with a faulty dictionary. She wanted to be the daughter they desire, but she felt like she was always just fading into the margins.

After finishing his coffee, Bob left for the City. His day figured to be a whirlwind of high-stakes meetings. He was in his element there — the logic of the market was a comfort. Meanwhile, Mary spent her afternoon at the local community centre, chairing a literacy drive. The activity kept her occupied, but she felt the familiar need for constant motion to ward off the quietness. The silence of the house back in Fulham felt like a weight she couldn't lift.

After the sun set, the family reconstituted. Dinner was a quiet affair of cutlery against china. Bob kept most of his thoughts to himself, listening as the women in his life attempted to converse.

"I found a really interesting primary source for my essay," Olivia offered. "A diary from a woman during the Industrial Revolution. The way she describes the loss of communal space is..."

She trailed off as she saw her mother’s polite, slightly glazed expression. "That sounds very academic, sweetie," Mary said. "But did you talk to that girl from your halls? It’s important to have friends in your same circle."

"She was busy," Olivia lied.

And that was that for the Edwards family.

After dinner, Bob went to his study. He looked at a framed photo of the three of them from a holiday two years ago. He remembered feeling a sense of rightness then. But looking at it now, he realised he knew exactly what Mary thought about on her treadmill, and it wasn’t him. Meanwhile, he had no idea what Olivia was looking for when her brown eyes stared out the window, but it again wasn’t him.

In her room, Mary looked at her reflection. She saw a woman who was fit, successful, and respected. She had built a seemingly perfect life. So why did she feel like she was constantly running a race she couldn't win? Why did she always feel unsatisfied and hopelessly striving?

Olivia lay in bed, the dark room feeling like a sanctuary. She wondered if she would ever grow into the "Olivia" her parents wanted -- a polished, confident woman. Or would she always be Livy, watching the world from the shadows, waiting for something to finally make the noises in her head go quiet?

The Edwards family, three distinct orbits around a centre they couldn't quite define, drifted towards sleep. Outside, the Fulham district stilled, the fog rolling off the Thames to cloak the tree-lined park near their home. They were safe, they were prosperous, and they were utterly unaware that the foundation of their lives was about to be shattered.