"Have you checked out Ground Level yet?" asked Chris.

Alex shrugged.  "Are we on it?"

"The whole street's on it.  Most of town is on it."  Chris gave a wicked grin.  "The brothel's on it, but nobody I know is on the doorstep."

Miriam was scarcely paying attention.  She was busy, weeding the narrow flower bed that lay outside the low brick fence.  Alex was supposed to be trimming the edges of the small patch of lawn on the inside of the fence, but it never took much to distract him.  It was just as well that the house was set so close to the road, leaving little space to be kept neat.

"They must have only sent the camera cars round recently," Chris went on, "that green Focus is parked outside number 27, and he's only had it a month.  Yeah, I'm coming, love.  See you round, Al."  He waved at Miriam and went back into his house.

Alex pottered a bit with the lawn edger, but had clearly lost interest.  "I'm going to have coffee," he said.  "You want one?"

Miriam surveyed the rest of the bed.  For the first time in years, it was cleared of weeds.  The spring bulbs, when they came up, would have some space.  "Yep.  I'll just tidy up here first."

She put the tools in their allotted place in the shed, and washed her hands at the laundry sink.  A mug of milky coffee was waiting for her on the kitchen table, but Alex had vanished into the office.

"Check it out," he said, turning from the computer as she glanced in.  "Looks pretty good."

Ground Level was the latest thing on the web, though hardly an original concept.  Like its better-known rival, it gave an eye-level view of the world, though it claimed to be both more up-to-date and more detailed.  In fact it was quite fuzzy and indistinct.

The image was of their house, certainly: close to the road, with a small patch of lawn inside the fence and a low border outside, which, in the frozen moment of the past, was still tangled with weeds; one large window set into a red-brick wall and shielded by an awning; and beside that a narrow porch with a stringy jasmine straggling across the eaves.

"Good thing the blinds were closed," said Miriam.  "They'd see right into the bedroom otherwise."

"Oh, yeah...that'd give 'em an eyeful,"  Alex sniggered.

He continued to play with the site for a few days, on and off.  Miriam wasn't interested in it, but it irked her to see how often he was prowling there.

"You could go out walking if you wanted to see the town," she told him.  "At least you'd get some exercise."

"I'm looking at other places now," he replied.  "In case we want to go somewhere.  I can have a look and see what it's like."

But a week later, when his sister called and he left the computer to take the call, she noticed that he was looking at their house again.  A surge of irritation set her reaching for the mouse, but something caught her eye, and she stopped.

The fuzzy image looked exactly the same as before, except that the vertical blind in the front window was drawn aside.

Miriam leaned forward, twisting her head sideways, trying to get a better view.  Then, realising the absurdity of this with a flat screen image, she pointed the mouse at the zoom icon, and clicked.  It didn't help much; the closer, grainier image was just as indistinct, and she could make out no inside details.  But the blind was certainly open.

Alex bustled into the room.  "Mum's had a fall," he said.  "I'll have to go."

"Do you want me to come with you?" asked Miriam, but she was still frowning over the image, and he sensed her distraction.

"Not if you don't want to.  She hasn't hurt herself, only you know how she gets.  She won't try to stand up now, thinks she'll fall again."

He set off in the car ten minutes later.  Miriam waved him off, then wandered back into the office.  The computer had gone into sleep-mode, and she rattled the mouse to bring the screen back to life.  

There was the house, just as she had seen it before.  But the blinds were closed.

Did I imagine...?

She sat staring at the screen for some time, at the red brick wall, the window, the patch of green lawn and, outside the fence, the bare earth of the border.  Then she turned the computer off.   She had been mistaken.  

Alex phoned late.  "Mum's fine, she was just a bit shaken up.  I'll stay tonight, and come home tomorrow."

"Okay."

"Are you all right?"

"Yep, I'm good.  See you tomorrow."  

No weeds in the border...

Miriam felt too restless to sleep.  She went to the office, and started the computer.  While she waited for the web page to load, she kept telling herself that it was a mistake, that she hadn't seen bare earth in the border; that she had seen a mass of weeds, just as it had been when the picture was taken.

There was the house, fronted with a narrow bed of yellow narcissus.  

Miriam's hand shot to the power button on the monitor, and the screen went black.

She took a deep, shuddering breath.  Then another.  And she turned the image on again.

Jonquils, sturdily upright, enjoying the clear space around them.  No weeds.

The blind was open again, and a pale smudge was visible behind the window pane.  A face.  A small, oval face, the features indistinct, but certainly not herself, nor Alex.  Too short, and the hair was too dark.  

And as she watched, the jonquils shivered as if touched by a breeze, and the small face turned away for a moment.

Miriam's hand was shaking as she turned the computer off again.

She slept badly, with the radio on.  Early in the morning, she crept out to inspect the front of the house.   Blinds closed; the front border dormant; everything as it was supposed to be.  She went back inside, and made coffee to chase away the hollow confusion her sleepless night had imposed on her.

She sat in the kitchen, propping her head on one hand.  Her eyes felt heavy, and she closed them.  The image of the house came into her mind, as clear as dreams often are.  There were the flowers, and there the face - a child's face - behind the glass.  The girl turned away; turned back, then seemed to notice Miriam, and waved at her.  

Miriam felt herself backing away - felt the road surface under her feet, and heard the shriek of brakes.

The car stopped short, close enough for her to reach out and touch it.  She saw Alex's shocked face behind the windscreen.  Then he was next to her, shouting, terrified.

"What the hell are you doing?  I nearly killed you."

He had grabbed her arms, and was shaking her.   This was real, this was not a dream.  She looked back at the house.  The blinds were closed, and there were no flowers.

***

Millie ran through the house, singing at the top of her voice.  Her mother called her to order.

"Oh, let her go," said Dave.  "Empty houses are fun."

"Can I have this room?" asked Millie.

Jo shook her head.  "I don't think so, Millie.  It's too close to the street, people might peek in.  That's the only thing I don't like about it," she added.

"We'll get some better blinds," said Dave.  "Those verticals are pretty old.  The price was so good, we can afford it."

"I still don't know why the sellers wanted to get rid of it so quick," said Jo.  

"Just took a dislike, I guess.  I spoke to the guy next door - Chris, was it?  He said the wife had a bit of a breakdown, went sleepwalking apparently.  Nearly got run over."

"Well, that's something we don't have to worry about."

She followed her daughter into the front room.  "Millie, come on.  We'll get some lunch and then come back when the movers get here."

Millie was at the window.  She turned around when her mother spoke, then turned back and waved.

"Who are you waving at?" asked Jo.

"That lady was looking at me," replied Millie.

She skipped out ahead of Jo, grabbed her father's hand and they went out together, past the patch of lawn and the waving jonquils.