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What Mummy Would Want

3048 words

By Paul WilsonPublished 3 years ago 15 min read
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What Mummy Would Want
Photo by S&B Vonlanthen on Unsplash

Timmy Roberts altered the angle on his magnifying glass, squeezing the sun's light into a tight laser beam, and made suitable 'zap' noises. The ant must have known what was happening, for the moment the tiny white dot flashed across it the insect put on a dizzying burst of speed that was almost difficult to follow. The six-year-old persevered, however, and after the third time the tiny creature gave a shudder and curled up into a ball in less than a second. There were lots of ants in the garden today, but Timmy didn't get chance to laser another one. "Timmy! Time to come in now, please!"

The young boy stood up and put his laser-making disk into the pocket of his grey shorts, the ones with the Spiderman belt, and walked up to the back door where Mummy was waiting.

She was a nice Mummy. Most Mummy's were, of course, but this one was extra special. This one was the only one Timmy had, and he didn't want another one. She was thin and pale, with short blonde hair that might be dark tomorrow; Mummy's hair was always changing color. She wore blue jeans and a black long-sleeved jumper with sleeves that came down over her hands like a clown's big, baggy suit.

"What's wrong, Mummy?" Timmy asked. "You look sad." Mummy looked sad a lot these days.

"I wish you wouldn't do that, you know. What have those poor ants ever done to you?"

Timmy shrugged. "Nothing, I guess."

"So if they're not bad ants they don't deserve to be burned alive, do they?" Timmy shrugged again. "Come on," Mummy continued. "Let's get some tea, and then get you bathed for bed. Daddy will be home late tonight."

Timmy knew that when people got sad they needed somebody to make them happy again. "If I stop burning ants, would that make you happy?"

"Yes, Baby. That would make me happy."

Timmy smiled. Mummy did not.

They had smiley faces and chicken dippers for tea. Timmy liked smiley faces. He thought that if he asked for smiley faces Mummy would give him a smiley face of her own, just like she used to. But Mummy's smiley faces were now just smiley lips. Only her lips moved, and she didn't show her teeth and her eyes didn't shine and sparkle like the sea on a sunny day. Timmy wondered if it was his fault that Mummy didn't smile, but when he asked her she shook her head and looked even sadder.

"Oh no, Baby. Of course not! You don't make me sad. You make me the happiest person in the world. You could never make me sad." And then Mummy's slim arms curled about his small body and pulled tight, like a big snake, and he would just snuggle in and hug her back. Sometimes when they hugged Timmy thought he heard Mummy crying, but she always said she wasn't.

Timmy was allowed to watch some telly after tea, only for a bit, though, while Mummy tidied up the kitchen and started running a bath for him. After that, he had a glass of milk and a biscuit - cookies were Timmy's favorite - and then a story before lights out. Timmy knew it was still quite early because the sunlight was still trying to get past his dinosaur curtains. Timmy didn't mind though. He didn't want to be downstairs too late. He didn't want to be awake when the sun went down.

Sometimes Timmy woke up after lights out. Daddy shouted when he came home late. Daddy shouted a lot these days. But that wasn't the worst of it. Timmy wasn't allowed to watch wrestling, but Timmy sometimes went to Tom's house after school if Mummy had to work, and Tom was allowed to watch it. Once, the first time Timmy had been woken up, he wondered if Mummy and Daddy were watching wrestling and decided to go and ask if he was allowed to watch it too, because his best friend Tom was. The television wasn't on when he got into the front room. The sounds were coming from the kitchen.

Timmy followed the noise into the kitchen and saw Daddy bending over mummy, who was sat on the floor with her knees bent up in front of her face and both hands over her mouth. Her eyes were closed and wet.

"Have you fallen over, Mummy?" Timmy asked, not quite sure what else to say.

Mummy's face came up immediately, her eyes wide like Timmy's were when he saw monsters on telly. Daddy whirled around so fast that Timmy took a step back and began to shake. He had never seen Daddy look at him like that before. Timmy thought he must have done something wrong, and was in trouble.

"Yes, Baby, I'm okay. I fell over, that's all." Mummy was looking at Timmy now, her voice shaking and wrong. There were gulps and stops in it that Timmy didn't like the sound of.

"That's right, Timmy. Yeah. We were dancing, that's all. We were dancing and Mummy fell over." Mummy was nodding slightly as Daddy talked. "She isn't very good at dancing, you see, and she falls a lot. That's why Daddy has to teach her to be better. Right?" Mummy nodded a lot faster now, her eyes squeezing shut again. "Timmy, you gotta go back to bed now, okay? Daddy's gotta keep teaching Mummy her dancing lessons. So off you go. Right. Now." Daddy's voice wasn't very nice, and Timmy didn't like his smile. It wasn't a happy smile. Timmy had a book on sharks. Daddy looked like a shark.

Mummy started to get up. "I'll take him-" she said, but when Daddy's arm went behind his back Mummy stopped. Mummy must have landed on her face, because it was bright red. Timmy had landed on his face once. It had hurt a lot. Mummy shouldn't get up if she's hurt.

Daddy pointed at Mummy. "Stay. There. Timmy's a big boy now, aren't you? Timmy can take himself to bed, right, Timmy?"

Timmy nodded. He was a Big Boy. He liked it that Daddy thought he was a Big Boy and could take himself to bed, but he didn't want to leave Mummy if she were hurt. Mummy didn't leave him when he had fallen and was hurt. She always gave him a hug to make him feel better. He wanted to make Mummy feel better.

"Don't worry about Mummy." Daddy smiled again, showing his teeth but keeping them together as he talked. "I'll take good care of Mummy."

"Okay, Daddy. Good night, Mummy. I've got a plaster upstairs if you need one."

"Thank you, Baby," whispered Mummy.

Timmy turned around and started to walk back to the stairs. He couldn't quite hear the whispers from the kitchen, but Mummy's fall must have been really bad because she was crying. Timmy cried when he fell really bad, too.

Daddy took Timmy to school the next morning, saying that Mummy had to go to work early. Timmy liked going to school with Mummy better than going with Daddy. She took him into the schoolyard and talked to the other mummies while he played with his friends, and gave him a kiss when the bell went. Daddy just drove up to the gates and told him to get out. Daddy didn't even come in and explain to Miss Pickles why Timmy was late, and Timmy got into trouble for it. It was a good job he had helped Mummy do his packed lunch before he went to bed, because Timmy was certain Daddy would have forgotten. Timmy wanted to know if Mummy was okay after her fall, but Daddy couldn't have heard him because he just drove away without saying anything.

At least Mummy picked him up after school. She was wearing the big black hoody again, this time with the hood pulled up to stop the light shower wetting her hair. Timmy laughed at her, telling her she had forgotten to take her sunglasses off when the sun had gone behind the clouds. Mummy just nodded, but kept them on. Timmy asked later on if Mummy was better at dancing yet, but Mummy just jumped a little bit as if she had been stung and rubbed her arm. "No, Baby. I'm not better yet."

"Maybe you shouldn't try to dance, then," Timmy said. "I would stop, if I kept falling over."

"Well, i would stop, Baby. But sometimes, when Daddy comes home late, he likes to . . . He likes to dance, and . . . and I can't let Daddy dance on his own, can I?"

"But if Daddy knows you fall over, why does he make you?"

Mummy wrapped Timmy up again then, a big bear hug that squeezed the questions from his body. he could just make out Mummy's words: "I don't know, Baby. I don't know. He doesn't mean to hurt me. He loves me. He doesn't mean it."

Timmy woke up again that night. Daddy was shouting louder than ever he had before, and Mummy was crying more than ever she had before. Timmy didn't like that Daddy was shouting. There were Bad Words being said, the kind that Timmy got told off for saying. Timmy wished Daddy would just go back to the mucky pub, or work later, and stay there all night and not come home. They must have started dancing then. Timmy wondered if all dancing was supposed to start with shouting, but he had watched films with boys and girls dancing in it and they didn't shout before they started. Maybe it was a special kind of dancing that only Mummy's and Daddy's did. Maybe it was that break dancing thing he had seen someone do once. You could get hurt doing that.

Timmy jumped up in bed. Something had smashed. Mummy must be really bad at dancing. The smash must have been smaller than a window; Timmy had smashed the greenhouse door with a ball the other week, so he knew how that sounded. It must have been bigger than a glass, too, because Mummy had dropped one once when she had been drying it, and it had slipped from her hands and landed on the floor.

Whatever it was, Timmy was glad it had smashed. Daddy wasn't shouting any more and Mummy had stopped crying.

Timmy waited to hear something else, but after a while he decided he couldn't. He daren't open the door and go downstairs, just in case Daddy did what he had done last time, but he still wanted to know Mummy and Daddy were okay.

Timmy waited, silent and still in the darkness of his bedroom until lines of blue flashed along the edges of his curtains. Timmy hoped it was a fire engine. Fire engines were the best. He stood on his bed to open his curtains a crack.

Looking down, he saw it was an ambulance, and that it was pulling up right outside his front door, its lights a crazy mix of on and off. Timmy smiled. Fire engines were still better, because firemen looked cool with their black coats and yellow helmets.

The ambulance men rushed out of their white van, pushing a trolley with a white blanket over it right up to the front door. Then they were inside, inside Timmy's house, and Daddy was shouting again. "She's over there, over there. In the kitchen." He sounded unhappy, like he had been crying for hours.

Timmy still didn't know if he were allowed to go and see so he stayed where he was, looking out the window as the trolley and the ambulance men came back out of the house. Someone was on the trolley this time, but who?

Timmy's tummy started to twist and shake like he had eaten something bad. He couldn't help but cry, even though he knew he had to be brave, but he couldn't stop the tears. The ambulance men were taking Mummy away.

Timmy jumped off his bed then and charged to his door, pulling it open so hard it banged against the wardrobe. Timmy didn't care if he got shouted at for it. He had to say goodbye to Mummy, and ask when she would be coming back. He got to the top of the stairs when he saw Daddy shut the front door and turn toward him. Daddy looked up and saw Timmy.

"Back to bed, Timmy. Now."

"Wanna see Mummy!" Timmy's words burbled from his teary lips.

"She's got to go somewhere, just for a while. We'll see her tomorrow. Now go to bed. You have to go to school in the morning."a

Timmy was screaming now. He couldn't help himself. "NO!" Timmy cried. "NO! NO!" over and over and over and over.

That's when Daddy came toward him, tall, dark, and angry.

Timmy's feet went quickly from stamping to running, and he was in his bedroom with the door slamming shut behind him so fast he didn't even realize he had done it. Timmy couldn't hear Daddy following him, but the blue lights of the ambulance had gone with an anguished wail and his bedroom and become a black box again. Timmy hurled himself onto his bed, burrowed beneath his duvet, and shouted for his Mummy until he couldn't stay awake any more.

Timmy didn't go to school in the morning. Daddy had told him Mummy wouldn't be coming home, that he would never see her again. Daddy didn't look sad when he said it, and Timmy thought that he should. Timmy was sad. Timmy was so sad he stayed in his bedroom and didn't play with his toys. He didn't even go downstairs for dinner. He wasn't hungry. Not even a little bit. Timmy couldn't understand why he would never see Mummy again, and it hurt inside so much he cried all day. He cried until he slept, and when he woke up he remembered what he had been told and he cried again.

At last he did feel like having something to eat. It was dark outside, past lights out, and Timmy crept downstairs. He shouldn't be downstairs past lights out.

The house was quiet and black. Timmy couldn't reach the light switches, so he had to be very careful. There were a lot of cans and bottles on the floor. Mummy wouldn't have liked the mess, but Timmy was able to get past them all without touching any of them. The front room smelt nasty, too, not like flowers and birds like it used to, and lots of newspapers were scattered on the cushions.

At least the fridge light came on when Timmy opened the door, and it let him see what was inside. Timmy got hold of a squeezy yoghurt and ripped off the top, swallowing the creamy insides greedily and messily. He moved over to the bin and lifted the lid, noticing the broken bottle at the top. Maybe that's what had smashed before the ambulance had arrived.

Something rattled at the front door. Timmy hurriedly put the bin lid down and shut the fridge door. Then he rushed to the stairs just as the front door burst open and Daddy walked in on unsteady legs. His fingers were loose about the neck of a long, green bottle. The same sort of bottle that was in the bin.

"Wha' you doin' up, this time a night? Gedda bed." Daddy wasn't talking properly. It was kind of funny, and scary at the same time.

Timmy looked down at his feet and said with a small voice, "I got hungry."

"Right. Kay. Jus' go bed. Now."

Timmy couldn't stop the words. They were crawling up his neck into his mouth and slipped between his teeth. "Want Mummy."

"Yeah, well, she's gone. Alright?" Daddy's voice was getting loud again. "She ain't comin' back home. Not ever! An' I don' want you talkin' 'bout it no more. Now gedda bed, and don' come down again till I say so!"

Timmy ran all the way back to his room and slammed the door. He curled up under his duvet and wished he could see his Mummy again. He didn't know what to do. He couldn't get himself ready for school in the morning. He didn't know where his clothes were that Mummy had washed. He always helped Mummy make his packed lunch, he'd never done it on his own. Timmy didn't want to stay here with Daddy any more. Daddy was bad.

"Mummy!" Timmy sobbed, the backs of his hands pressed into his eyes. "Come back, Mummy. Help me!"

* * * *

Timmy liked fire engines. He liked the firemen in their big black coats and yellow hats. He was watching them now, racing in and out of the blackened house with their hoses and gas masks, and everything. It had taken most of the night to put the fire out; Mister Banks in the house next door had called it in after Timmy knocked on his door.

As a lady and a man in grey suits turned Timmy away from the house toward a car, talking about foster homes and other things Timmy didn't understand, he heard two of the firemen talking to each other.

"He's burned up good and proper. Bet it was a cigarette on the sofa. Poor guy was so tanked up he probably didn't even notice."

"Yeah," the other one said. "Least the kid got out. God only knows how, though."

Timmy turned away and smiled. He was happy now. He put his hands in the pockets of his grey shorts, the ones with the Spider Man belt, and felt his magnifying glass there. He didn't have his special Mummy any more, but he knew Mummy was happy where she was now, and that another Mummy was going to do Mummy things for him.

Timmy didn't have his Daddy any more, either, but he wasn't sad about that. Timmy wanted a different Daddy, one that did Daddy things and didn't hurt Mummy. He thought of his Daddy. He probably wasn't happy where he was now, but that was okay. Daddy was bad, and deserved everything he got.

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About the Creator

Paul Wilson

On the East Coast of England (halfway up the righthand side). Have some fiction on Amazon, World's Apart (sci-fi), and The Runechild Saga (a fantasy trilogy - I'm a big Dungeons and Dragons fan).

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