In the tiny box-room 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 made 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 her special friend over, whilst she took her special medicine.

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 friend over, and 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 hadn't had time 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 blankets tangled over his mattress. Picking up the teddy, hugging the threadbare animal to his pyjama top, gaining courage from the stained, one-eyed toy. Then 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 was almost level with the first-floor flat window. Cheap curtains failed 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.

Creeping around the sofa, making sure mummy's special friend had gone away, climbing up, needing to snuggle, to feel mummy warm against him. He'd snuggle her 'til 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 fluffy blanket to cover her, instinct telling him that his mummy should not feel so cold.

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

Climbing down off the sofa, Jimbo tippy toed around, climbing back to worm his way into mummy's front.

Cold wetness 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 snuggled closer to mummy's breasts, laying his head on the damp 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, snuggled against his mummy.

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

Mummy's eyes sparkled. She was smiling, a big, yawny smile for him.

'Hey, big fella, good morning!'

She hugged him tighter, kissing his head, appreciating the little one had been looking after her whilst she slept. Knew he'd covered her, knew how cold and clammy she would've felt.

'Good news, Jimbo! You know my 'special' friend, the doctor, the specialist, who visits mummy?'

Jimbo nodded earnestly.

'Well, last night was my last time I needed to take my special medicine, love, the doc gave me the all-clear, that means mummy won't be so poorly from now on.'

Jimbo's smile brought tears to her eyes. The poor love had been through a lot during her illness, she felt so sorry for him, only wanted to be the mummy she had been before she got sick.

She heard his tummy rumbling, felt the emptiness gurgling beneath his jimjams. More tears came.

'Oh, my poor love, did mummy forget to give you supper last night? I am sooo sorry Jimbo! How about we go out for brecky, maybe get some treats on the way home?'

Jimbo said he'd like chucky eggs and chocolate.

'So, to celebrate mummy not being poorly. . . and Jimbo being such a big boy. . . how about we go to town and get the bestest chuckies and biggest choccies we can find?'

Jimbo squealed with delight.

'Just be a tick Jimbo, my love; promise I won't be long.'

She smiled, paused as she picked out makeup from her bag, saw Jimbo watching, and held out her hand.

'Would you like to sit next to me, help mummy put a new face on?'

FWR

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