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Edgar lies in bed in his dark, empty room, staring at the ceiling. He’s trying to sleep, he really is! But he just can’t. He’s not tired at all.
It feels like forever since his mum tucked him in and read him a bedtime story. He’d heard her go downstairs again afterwards, heard the sounds of her clearing up and doing all the other things she does at night. He normally falls asleep during that, unless his dad starts shouting. But tonight, even though his dad is away and the house had stayed quiet, he’d still been awake when his mum came upstairs again and got ready for bed. That feels like forever ago now, too.
He wonders what time it is. There’s a clock on his mantelpiece, but he doesn’t know how to read it. His mum and grandpa have both tried to teach him, and his dad has shouted at him and called him slow, but Edgar still doesn’t understand how the circle of numbers can spell out twelve o’clock, or twenty past five. So the clock just sits there, being as useless as him.
He closes his eyes and listens to it ticking in the otherwise silent house. Tick, tick, tick, tick, tick. It’s very annoying. He’d prefer it if it wasn’t in his bedroom, really. Tick, tick, tick, tick, tick.
There’s another sound. A bit muffled, like it came from somewhere else in the house. Edgar lies perfectly still and strains his ears, wondering what it was.
Tick, tick, tick, tick, tick, tick, tick—
It happens again — a quiet little noise from down the corridor. It sounds sad. In pain, even.
Slowly, hesitantly, Edgar slips out of bed. He creeps down the hallway, making sure to avoid the creaky floorboard outside his dad’s study. The sad noises are a bit clearer, now. He thinks they’re coming from his parents’ bedroom.
He tiptoes over to the bedroom door. Turns the handle as quietly as he can, and cautiously nudges the door open a tiny bit, just enough for him to peer in.
His mum is curled in on herself on the bed, hugging herself tightly as she cries into a pillow. Even in the dark room, Edgar can see the glint of tears streaming down her face, see her body shaking with each muffled sob. He feels hot tears welling up in his own eyes. His mum is hurting, and he doesn’t know why.
He needs to help her. Needs to comfort her, like she comforts him when he’s sad. She normally cuddles him, so he feels warm and safe in her arms. Maybe she’ll like that, too.
He knocks on the door, making a show of turning the handle as he pushes it open. He pretends not to notice his mum sniffling and quickly wiping away her tears. Pretends he can’t see the sadness in her quick smile, or hear the little wobble in her voice as she asks him why he’s up so late. She doesn’t like him seeing her upset, he knows that. So maybe— maybe he can pretend he needs comfort. Yes, and then she’ll cuddle him, and she’ll be happy again, because she likes cuddling him; she tells him that a lot.
He puts on his best scared look, staring up at his mum with wide eyes. “I had a bad dream.”
Her face softens. She helps him up onto the bed, offering soothing words as she wraps him up in her arms and kisses the top of his head. Edgar feels sure she’s holding him tighter than she normally would. He leans into her, listening to her heart gradually go from a fast thudthudthudthudthud to a steady da-dum, da-dum, da-dum.
They stay like that for a while. It’s nice and peaceful, something they don’t get to do much now Edgar is getting bigger. His dad just gets angry at his mum for ‘making their son soft’, and then there’s shouting, or he forgets they exist for days. It makes Edgar sad, because he likes cuddling his mum; her and his grandpa are the only people who can touch him without it feeling like something sharp is being poked into his skin. But he knows it upsets her when his dad is mean to her, so he tries to keep to himself, tries to hide it when he feels bad or needs a hug. He’s learnt to comfort himself by rocking back and forth in his room, flapping his hands and shaking his head to get the bad feelings out. He can’t do that around his dad either, but at least it’s only him who gets in trouble for it.
His dad’s not here tonight, though. They can cuddle for as long as they want, and he won’t know.
It’s not long before Edgar feels his eyes getting heavy, lulled half to sleep by the slow rise and fall of his mum’s chest. He’s finally tired now — but he doesn’t want to leave her. He needs to stay with her, to make sure she doesn’t get sad again. Needs to comfort her if she does.
“Can I stay here tonight, please?” he mumbles sleepily.
He’s expecting to be told no, that he needs to go back to his own bed; that’s how it normally goes when his dad is here. But this time, his mum just gives him another gentle kiss on the head and softly agrees.
Edgar murmurs a thank you and burrows under the covers. His mum smiles at him — really smiles, this time — and joins him, lying down and pulling the covers over herself too. He cuddles up to her, feeling warm and cosy and safe. He hopes she feels safe as well, with his dad away and him there with her. Hopes the thing she was upset about has gone now, and won’t be coming back.
It’s sad they can’t be alone more often, or even forever; he thinks his mum would like that. He thinks he’d like it, too. But at least he can stay with her tonight, bringing her comfort when she was so upset before.
His eyelids droop closed as he snuggles into her, curled up in her tight embrace. He’s just drifting off to sleep, a small smile on his face, when he hears her whisper into the silence of the room.
“Oh, Edgar. Thank God I’ve got you.”