by Hannah Retallick
hot chocolate
Mummy
says we are pilgrims. Pilgrims are people who go off on an adventure to some
place special and they hardly ever cry because they are brave. Brave people are
sad too, I say, aren’t they? They are, she says, but sometimes it’s better not
to show it.
It isn’t a nice time for pilgriming. It’s dark – she’s whizzing around my room, picking up my things, throwing them
into her red spotted backpack with the breaking straps, which makes me worry
about Bob. Bob has been squished in and might get bruised like Mummy. Mummy fell
down the stairs yesterday and it made a lumpy sound, but she didn’t scream or
anything and she smiled at me after, so I know she was okay. Okay enough for
Daddy not to come down.
Down the stairs now, carefully,
quietly, she says. Says Grandma will have Maltesers. Maltesers are what
we’re going for and we’re going in the night so that when we get back we can
surprise Daddy. Daddy isn’t one of the pilgrims. Pilgrims need to be girls or
teddy bears, says Mummy.
Mummy strangles my hand, pulls me
out onto the dark street with scary shadows – now, walk quickly Jenny, I can’t
carry you. You will get more sweeties at Grandma’s if you are quick. Quick is
hard when you’re sleepy, everything is hard when you’re sleepy – that’s why I
cried before.
Before we had got to the end of the
street, I told Mummy she was hurting, stop please. Please keep moving, don’t
drag your feet, she says, we’ll get there soon, she says. Says when the
pilgrims get scared they-
Daddy’s
coming. Coming faster than we’re going – he’s cross, like when I was bad and
left Bob in his doorway and he’s using the same words. Words he hit me with.
With one arm, Mummy pushes me
behind, turns, raising the other arm in front of her. Her grip stops my fingers
feeling – I press my head onto her long red coat, push my nose right into it. It
smells of good.
Mummy?
Great story, love the point of view of the child. Well done Hannah!
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