The first knock at the doorframe didn't catch her attention, but the second did.

"WHAT," Emma snapped, not looking up from her spot on the old mattress.

Gingerly, Olivia crept in, her steps measured as if to avoid making too much sound.

"How is she, Em?"

"Same as she was th' last time y' came in," came the reply, the younger rat holding her pup to her chest.

Olivia walked over and knelt down next to Emma and little Beatrice, the tiny girl asleep in her arms.

"Well, she's dozey, least that's something, eh?" Olivia offered, handing over a few cool, wet rags. "Here. Put one of these on 'er head for a few minutes at a go."

Emma snatched them away. "I know what I'm doin'!" she insisted, then gingerly folded the small cloth up and pressed it to little Bea's forehead, looking up at her older sister for confirmation. Olivia nodded approvingly.

"Em, you should take her to a docta."

The younger rat scowled at her sister. "I did! Rememba?? An' 'e said is just a li'l fever. An' I TOLD 'im it wasn't, but 'e said just keep an eye on 'er for a few days and she'll be biscuits, but does it look like she is??"

Olivia offered a meek smile. "Well, she's asleep, right? At least sh-"

"She's asleep from tirin' 'erself out cryin'! I tried to get summat in 'er stomach but she won't!" Emma nearly squealed, sounding more hysterical as she went. "An' Trevor's tryin' t' get some medicine but nothin' we've tried works an' I 'ave t' change her a 'undred times a day an' I can't keep up with the cleanin' and..."

As Emma went on her tirade, the noise woke up Beatrice, the infant rat's cry silencing her mother immediately. Emma lifted her daughter up, a look of desperation on her face, the bright red in Beatrice's ears unabated from the days prior. She huddled Bea to her chest and pressed the cool rat to her forehead, shushing her as best as she could, rocking the tiny bundle back and forth, her arms tightening around the protectively.

"Now look what you done!" Emma hissed. "Y' woke 'er up, an' she'd just now got t' sleep!!"

"Em, I di-"

"Get out!!" Emma barked, though her face looked more panicked than furious. Olivia stood up, leaving a small pile of rags along with a bowl of ice water and a few cloth diapers, then left the room.

"Shhh... sh.. it'll be okay... daddy'll be here soon, he'll have summat..."

Sighing, Olivia made her way downstairs, rubbing the bridge of her muzzle firmly. It had been over a week since Beatrice started getting sick. What began as a bit of extra fussiness blossomed into a fever, sleeplessness, and difficulty eating. What food she did keep down resulted in a terrible mess a short time later. During Alfie's brief return, Emma had been at her boyfriend Trevor's small home, not wanting to sully his big moment and send off with bad news. When he'd asked, they simply told him she was spending the night over there and left it at that. Alfie rarely asked follow-up questions.

"She alright, Liv?" came a voice from in the living room. The family had been giving Emma and the baby a room to themselves, dragging an extra mattress into the second bedroom and others sleeping downstairs. No one knew what was wrong, and they certainly didn't want to catch it.

Olivia shrugged in exasperation. "Tossed if I know, Natty. Think all th' no sleep is catchin' up with Em, though. Dunno 'ow long she can keep it up."

Natalie's tail sagged. "But if she'd just let us take care of her..." she began, with a clear bend to the word 'us' that said she had herself in mind.

A snort came from the kitchen. "Emma'd soona let you sleep wit' Trev than watch ova Bea for a neat, y'know that."

"And what are you doin', eh, Philip Norwich?" Olivia sniffed. "Don't suppose 'at pint is gonna 'elp your niece, izzit?"

Philip stood up, squinting. "No, but I'll put tails to a top hat 'at unless I keep 'at boiler runnin' once th' snow starts fallin' she's gonna be in a heap worse shape, eh? Or if you ain't got an over t' cook wit. Or the pipes pop again an' the water won't run. Ain't my fault Em is too fuckin' stubborn, sorry sibs, t' go an' get some real 'elp, but all I can do is make sure 'is house stays functionin'. Excuse me if that ain't enough," he snorted, and with that, went out onto the front stoop to sit down on the concrete.

The air in Toxteth was less than welcoming, and the contrast between it and the stuffy air inside the house made the cold that much more pronounced. Still, it was better than the din inside, the white noise hum that came from so many voices speaking over one another, arguing about every little thing, struggling to be heard over the rest, the scratches of claws along the floor and the wails of the youngest ones for no reason at all. There was no such thing as quiet in the Norwich house, just dips and valleys in the noise before it picked up again. Even on the coldest nights of winter, Philip sat out on that stoop just to get away from it for a few minutes.

Placing his beer bottle on the concrete at his feet, Pip reached into his shirt pocket and pulled out his box of cigarettes, lifting it to his muzzle to retrieve one with his teeth. Smoking always gave him an excuse to be outside. Of course, with Alfie gone, Philip got hassled far less often about smoking in the house. In the past week, his habit had already shown troubling signs of growth.

"Oi, Mista Norwich!" came a voice from slightly down the walk.

"Oi y'self, Mista Campbell!" Philip called back.

Mister Campbell, the Alley postrat, was making his weekend route. The vast majority of mail delivery was delivered simply within the Alley, but there was still some communication with the outside world. Relatives from elsewhere, mail to and from the local government or authorities when it came to that, or the rare delivery made their way through the nonphysical barrier that surrounded Rat Alley. Years of fluid residency meant that it was impossible to give out addresses reliably, so three years ago Mister Campbell, an older gentleman, had set up a Post Office Box at the office a short ways into Toxteth that the entire Alley used as their "permanent address" when it came to getting mail from elsewhere. Since he didn't have regular work, he took it upon himself to hand deliver it all, and even enjoyed it. It made him feel useful.

"So what y'got for me today?" Philip asked, taking the cigarette between two fingers.

"Just y' usual," Mr Campbell said with a chuckle, handing over a small stack. "I don't know why y' trouble y'self wit' all 'at, lad."

Philip snorted, "Same reason y' still botha pickin' it up, I s'pose."

"Fair enough, son! Enjoy y'reading material then, an-oh! Nearly missed 'is one." He handed a pair of envelopes over. "Here, these're for y' brothas."

Pip took the two and furrowed his brow curiously, then tucked them at the back of his stack, and began to leaf through them. None of the mail he'd been given was actually addressed to him, in fact. It was just a pile of bulk mail advertisements that were sent to the PO Box by virtue of it being registered as an address. Catalogs, flyers, pamphlets, coupon books, various and sundry mailings sent from stores and outlets to every address they had on record. To the rest of the Alley, it was just junk. Glossy pages from a world they had no connection to. Credit cards had long since expired, bills left unpaid and creditors no longer bothering to try and find the debtors. There were no Amazon accounts or PayPal transactions in Rat Alley.

For Philip Norwich, though, they were more.

Walking back into the house, Pip passed the two letters over to Terrence and went down into the basement. He flicked at the small lamp dangling from the ceiling and sat down on the weight bench he'd wrenched and jammed together so Alfie could get his daily workouts in, carefully turning from page to page, discarding all the ads for clothing he didn't care about, gardening tools, organic food, office supplies. Then, Philip got a big smile on his face.

"There's my dolly."

Pre-registered car brochures from various dealerships around Liverpool. Audi, Volkswagen, Ford, Vauxhall, the works. Page after page of brand new, spotless, pristine rides at what the ads assured were rock bottom prices. He leafed through slowly, really studying each image. He knew all the makes and models, the specs and figures surrounding them. He could rattle off horsepower and mileage, engine size and alternator power from memory. He knew the prices as they fluctuated from week to week, which ones were good deals and which ones weren't. He compared and contrasted, weighing options. Something reliable that he could drive from one side of the Alley to the other day in and day out, something with enough space to haul his tools around. Something with a little style, and a working stereo.

Like he did every week, Philip slowly culled the list down. He pretended he was actually shopping for them. That if he found that perfect vehicle, he could ring up the dealership with the phone he didn't have. Go over and take it for a test drive, discussing insurance rates and haggling over the price. Pay for it with money he earned from all the hard work he'd done over the years in the Alley. Every torn claw, every cut open arm, every burn, every time he got zapped by a frayed wire or had a pipe burst in his face, it wasn't all for nothing. He was making a living from it, earning his keep. Getting some goddamn recognition for doing real work, not bouncing a ball around. HE'd be getting a party at the Leaky Pipe, a bar that was still running because HE went down twice a month for repairs.

Philip reached into his pocket and pulled out his wallet, as if he might find more in it than last time. He looked at an ad for a brand new SEAT Ibiza FR. Beautiful.

"Heh, only £16,500. Just need anotha... £16,460 and it's mine."

With a grunt, Philip laid back on the weight bench and rested the remainder of the mail on his chest. Someday, it would be his.

Back upstairs, Terrence took a look at the pair of envelopes Philip had passed over to him. He couldn't even remember the last time he got a letter during the weekend route, let alone two of them. A quick glance at the addresses on them answered one of the questions, since the top was written to Alphonse. Both had the same return address, however. Winnipeg. From an... Antonio Garza.

Antonio.

Antonio had written him a letter.

Terrence swallowed an made his way into the kitchen, doing his best to look casual as he made his way through, stealing some of the remaining cider from the fridge and sitting at the small table, peeling his letter open.

Dear Terrence,

Congratulations on your brother! The big leagues are an exciting place to be, and I am sure he will enjoy his time in Hawaii. I am even more sure you will enjoy your chances to visit him! From what you told me, it is quite different from your hometown, ha ha! It was a pleasure having lunch with you, it is just a shame we did not get a chance for another!

I hope you are ready for being a part of professional basketball. Even though you are not on the court, as his family you will be a part of it all! If you ever need some advice about adjusting to this new life, or just to talk, feel free to write. I have also included my phone number.

Antonio

Terrence looked at the letter for a few seconds after he got to the end of it, examining the blank space beneath the immaculately written cursive, as if he could will more words into existence. He took a deep breath, doing his best to make his heart calm down, he was certain it was audible even from a room away. It wasn't possible. He checked the front of the envelope again. Antonio Garza. Winnipeg. A letter addressed to him. The suave grasshopper had somehow found out where he lived and... how? It must have been that black rat. How could Tony have asked her? Maybe that's why there were two letters. He wanted to read Alfie's, just to see. But he couldn't. Or could he? After all, Alfie was gone, and it's not like he would have wanted to read a letter from a nonnie anyway. He could take a peek, throw it away, then no one would know...

"Oi, what y'got there, Terry?" Josie asked, having wandered into the kitchen to see what her big brother was up to. The sudden snap back to reality nearly knocked Terrence out of his seat.

"Oh, just a note from one o' the blokes I met in America," he chuckled, folding the letter back up to hide its contents and tucking it into his pocket.

"Y'mean one o' them nonnies?" she inquired, head tilted.

"Er... yeh, Jos," he half-nodded, pulling her in for a small hug to his side. "Jus' sayin' 'e was happy to meet y' sibs while we was there."

"Was you 'appy to meet him?" Josie asked, leaning into Terry.

"Was he 'appy?" Nicky scoffed, having wandered in at hearing a few key words from the conversation. "Course 'e wasn't! 'at blighta should be lucky y' didn't crack 'im one, eh, Terry?"

Terrence's jaw tightened. He stood up and let out a forced chuckle. "Easy Nick, 'e was a nice bloke. No more, no less."

Nicky laughed. "So why's 'e sendin' y' lettas? 'e tryin' t' be ye beau? Some nonnie blanka wantin' a piece o' Alley rat?"

Terrence took another breath. He was used to such things out of Nicky's mouth by now. "A'right, enough o' that, Nick. Think 'e was jus' bein' polite."

"So throw that shite in the trash! Don't need no nonnie spit in 'ere," Nicky snickered, taking the letter off the table and tossing it in the wastebin.

Standing up, doing his best to keep composed, Terrence nudged Josie out toward the living room and gave Nicky a brief sidelong glance. "Think I'm gonna go down th' shop. Think we could use a few things," he said, stepping out the door.

Of course, he wasn't going to the shop. Once outside, he simply wandered down the main street in a vaguely shop-oriented direction. He wasn't even mad at Nicky for tossing that letter away. After all, there were two. He had Tony's address in his pocket. He could write back whenever he wanted. He just had to be a little secretive about it, and he was used to that by now.

Walking along with no particular destination in mind, Terry decided to go see Mr Campbell. Maybe he could make an arrangement.