In the tiny boxroom Jimbo tried not to cry. Mummy didn't like him crying, said he was a big boy now, and big boys didn't cry just cos it was dark, but it wasn't just the dark that made him want to cry. Jimbo's tummy hurt, the gurgling noises had been funny at first, but now the emptiness just hurt.

For the umpteenth time he picked up his empty cup, sucking on the mouthpiece, despite the stench of sour milk coming from the plastic.

Jimbo's tummy lurched again. Hunger and thirst making his young mind up. He'd open the bedroom door, just a little and try to see if mummy was there to get him some milk, maybe a biscuit?

But mummy had told Jimbo to stay in his room, be a good boy, be a quiet boy whilst she had one of her special friends over, whilst she took her special medicine afterwards. Mummy liked to sleep a lot after her medicine, Jimbo liked to snuggle up with her, giggled when she made strange noises and spoke silly words in her sleep. He knew that when she was awake she would take him to the shops, buy him a treat, mummy always treated him after having her special friends over, always gave him extra snuggles after her special medicine had helped her feel better.

Jimbo was sure she'd wake up soon, it had been so long since she'd put him in his room, so maybe she was already up, getting his tea ready?

The thought of food spurred him on. Reaching up for the door handle, tippy toes, little fingers just about high enough to pull down.

His door opened onto darkness. Jimbo took a deep breath; he'd need to be a big brave boy to walk down the pitch black hallway to the living room.

He knew the light wouldn't work, even if he could've reached the switch, mummy said she didn't have enough pennies to buy a new. . . a new blub? The thing that made the darkness go away, yes, a new blub, he nodded at his cleverness, pleased he'd 'membered the word.

Halfway through the doorway he stopped, running back to the pile of dirty blankets and coats that was his bed. Picking up the teddy, hugging the threadbare animal to his even more threadbare pyjama top, gaining courage from the stained, one-eyed toy, with heart pounding, he stepped into the darkness.

At the end of the short hallway, the dim light shone like a beacon to Jimbo. The yellowish streetlamp almost level with the first floor flat window. Cheap curtains failing to keep the glow out, but Jimbo was glad of the dim light.

On the sofa bed mummy slept, face away from the light, one arm poking out at a funny angle behind her, the strange things she used for her special medicine scattered on the floor around her, the burnt spoon he'd been warned never to use for his cereal, the blackened foil, the pieces of cotton wool. Jimbo knew she used these things to help her feel better, was used to seeing them around the flat.

Jimbo noticed the funny pointy thing (he'd been warned never to play with) still sticking out of mummy's arm.

Creeping around the sofa, making sure mummy's special friend had gone away, climbing up, needing to snuggle, feel mummy warm against him. He'd snuggle her till she woke up, then he'd be fed, he could wait a little longer, try to forget the pains in his tummy, let his mummy sleep some more.

He nestled into her back, winced when he felt how cold she was, pulled his hand away from her pale skin.

Pulling up the filthy bed sheet to cover her nakedness, instinct telling him that his mummy should not feel so icy cold.

Maybe if he snuggled the other way, he could help her get all toasty warm?

Climbing down off the sofa, careful not to tread in mummy's medicine things, Jimbo tippy toed around, climbing back to worm his way into mummy's front.

Cold, sticky wetness, black in the shadows, surrounded mummy.

Jimbo knew that sometimes mummy's special medicine made her poorly, sometimes made her sick, he reached up with a corner of the sheet, gently touching her face in the dark, wiping at her mouth even though he couldn't see anything, her body deep in the shadows of the room.

Jimbo didn't like the feel of the wetness. The stickiness smelled funny too, not like when mummy was sick, no, this was a different smell, metallic almost, his tummy gurgled again, the sticky wet making his mouth water and his belly feel funny.

Jimbo snuggled closer to mummy's icy breasts, laying his head on the sticky cold flesh, wanting mummy to wake up, wanting her to hug him.

Mummy would smile that smile she always gave him, then she'd let him watch her 'putting her face on', making herself pretty, she said, (although Jimbo thought she always looked pretty).

Mummy said that putting her makeup on always made her feel better, like a new person she said, and then they'd go to the shops and he'd get his treat.

He dozed off, dreaming of biscuits, and mummy putting her new face on.

He awoke, daylight coming through the curtains, shivering against his mummy.

Jimbo opened his eyes, frowning at mummy's face, inches from his own.

Mummy's eyes were strange, not at all sparkly like usual. Then there was the browny purple sticky stuff that was everywhere.

He pulled back slightly, mind inquisitive, too young to be scared.

Underneath mummy's face, where her neck should be, was a big red smiley mouth.

Jimbo giggled; mummy had put a new face on for him!

Tiny, blood-soaked fingers began to play delightedly with the razor cut on mummy's throat, making mummy smile at him!

FWR

22.01.24 Front Page

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