Free Lessons in Laughing Out Loud by Rowan Coleman

tired people swarmed by, each huddled in a private cocoon, but there didn’t seem to be anyone waiting to come in.
The knock at the door spun her round. Whoever had beenringing the bell had gotten into the building somehow. Maybe it was India, trying to hide from her adoring public. Or it could just have been Mrs. Kuresh from downstairs, thinking she’d forgotten her key again and then finding it in her hand. Telling herself that the curious tingle that crept up her spine was more the product of an overactive imagination than anything else, Willow went to answer the door.
There was no peephole in the door, so instead she slid the security chain on and opened the door a tiny crack. It was impossible to see anyone in the limited slice of hallway that the gap in the door afforded Willow, but as far as she could tell, the landing was empty.
“Hello?” she called, although she was fairly sure that any lurking villains or ax-wielding murderers would not issue a cheery reply. “Who’s there?”
Nothing. Willow thought for a moment, then pushed the door to release the chain, opened the door wide and stepped out into the hallway. The communal front door at the bottom of the stairs was open, the chill of the evening bowling toward her, raising goose bumps on her legs.
Sighing, Willow trotted down the stairs and out into the cold, fume-filled street. The fug of the day rose from the pavements, slimy with wet leaves and litter, the exhaust of the rush-hour traffic sitting thickly in the air, damp permeating everything. Willow folded her arms tightly around her and looked up and down the length of the street. There didn’t seem to be anyone around who looked suspicious, or more suspicious than usual, just the normal Wood Green crowd thronging the street, busy people desperate to be in their own homes, with their own people. The only person who appeared a little out of place was a teenage girl in a skirt that was far too short and skimpy for the cold weather, wearing a massive hooded top with the hood pulled low over her eyes, a scarf wrappedaround her nose and mouth. She was crouching against the railings, uncertainty framing every angle.
Probably lost, or a runaway, Willow guessed. Or another one of those skinny kids you see every now and then and you wonder why they aren’t at school or in bed but you don’t think about it too much because it makes you feel uncomfortable. There was something reminiscent about her, but unable to put her finger on exactly what, Willow shrugged and started to go back in. The girl sprang up, startling her.
“That’s it, walk away,” she said, in a faux street accent. Willow stopped, turned around, her heart racing unexpectedly. It couldn’t be . . . could it?
“Sorry, can I help you?” Willow said, shock and confirmation rippling through her in one fluid movement as her former stepdaughter, Chloe, pulled back her hood.
“Chloe!” Willow went toward her, more than ready to embrace her, but Chloe took two steps away, her flashing eyes a warning to back off. Willow halted, a confusion of emotion churning in her gut. In that first moment of recognition, Willow ached to hold her but quickly checked the impulse. The way they had parted meant she had no right to hug Chloe, who obviously didn’t feel the same way about seeing her; why would she?
“Hello, Willow.” Chloe stood there, caught between uncertainty and defiance.
“Chloe.” Willow repeated her name as a whisper, the roar and stink of the street around them receding to nothing in a moment. She hadn’t seen Chloe in five years, not since the day she had left Sam’s flat for good. Chloe had been ten then, and in Willow’s head she was still was ten. Not this hard-faced, beautiful, angry girl. “What are you doing here?”
“I’ve left home.” Chloe shrugged as if further explanation wasn’t necessary.
“Um . . .” Willow wavered, trying to process the statement at the same time as her brain tried to make a connection between