Sunday, 19 January 2014
There are shadows in here, beside the curtains, underneath the chest of drawers.
The door is kept open a few inches more, half way, the light shining on carpet, respite from inky horrors. She's tucked in, arms around ted.
'Don't go,' she says, 'Mummy, I need you.'
I remember this. The drawers needed checking. The wardrobe, shutting tight. The door, open, safe exit from monsters, the things of fright.
'I'm sacred of the shadows,
is there a man on the roof?
Will a burglar come in?'
I tell her, no, she is secure, hidden from harm, mummy is here, in the next room.
'I'm a big girl, but I'm a little girl just now, I feel sad.'
'It's okay to feel that way - sometimes mummy feels very small too, and sad, like a tiny, crying acorn.'
'I need a hug.'
'You can have the biggest one my beautiful girl.'
There is no escape, not yet, we must sing another lullaby, hold hands again, and again. I don't mind, it's what I must do.
'When I go away from you, my heart stops, when I see you again my heart works.'
'Mine too. But when Mummy is away, she never stops loving you. Ever.'
'I love you Mummy.'
'I love you too.'
She is sleepy, ready to turn over with ted. The shadows are forgotten, the beasties in her head.