When Sammy awoke the room was still dark and Jenny was wrapped in his arms. She’d crawled in beside him at some point in the night and, as always, she’d wet the bed. They were both sodden and he was so tired. The loud music, laughter and shouting had gone on for a long-time last night. He rolled over to find a dry area and Jenny’s wet, little body immediately followed, her arms clinging like a limpet.
They’d been back home from the foster home for nearly a month. The first week wasn’t too bad, but then Mum began letting her friends come around and now “parties” were happening nearly every night.
When he woke again it was light, and Jenny was standing by the bed and crying. They were both cold, having slept under thin blankets and an old overcoat of Mum’s. There were no sheets, and the blankets were now soaked, so Sammy took four-year-old Jenny to the bathroom and tried to find them both some dry clothes. Jenny’s pyjamas were thrown into the bathtub, along with the bedding he’d pulled from the wet mattress. But finding clean clothes was a problem. He eventually dressed Jenny in a vest and a pair of his pyjamas he found in a drawer. Clothes for himself weren’t so easy to find. He’d been so cold last night that he’d slept in yesterday’s clothes, so now they couldn’t be worn to school. They were added to the contents of the bath, and he shivered, naked, searching through cupboards. He was finally resigned to looking through the dirty clothing in the overflowing laundry basket, and found a grubby T-shirt, muddy jeans and a torn sweater which he hastily pulled on. Jenny was dressed in yesterday’s socks and shoes, but he’d worn his socks in bed, so they’d joined the other clothing in the bath. His canvas shoes, worn sockless, barely warmed his feet.
The two children crept downstairs, and Sammy looked into the sitting room where his mother had been “partying” last night. The room was a mess, and their mother lay sprawled on the couch, with a variety of empty bottles and pieces of tinfoil littering the floor at her side. Sammy was thankful, none of the men were still there.
He quietly told Jenny to stay at the door while he crossed to his mother and tried to pull down her skirt which was up around her waist. Her underwear was absent, and Sammy avoided looking at her as he pulled at her clothing. A sudden grunt accompanied a swipe of her arm and Sammy was flung, painfully, against the coffee table. He swallowed a cry as his forehead connected with the wooden corner and he moved quickly into the kitchen, pulling Jenny with him. His head throbbed.
His mother would be asleep for hours, but he so wanted to go to school today. He was only eight years old and hadn’t been to school all week. Today he knew the teacher was having a science lesson, his favourite subject, and he wanted to be there.
The fridge held nothing but a little milk and a dried sliver of cheese. In the cupboard he found a packet with a few cornflakes. He poured the milk into a dirty cup for Jenny and gave her the cornflakes to eat with her fingers, straight from the packet.
He had a cup of water from the kitchen tap and started to chew the cheese.
‘I’m hungry.’ Jenny reached towards the cheese in his hand, so he gave it to her and drank more water.
When he told Jenny he was going to school, she started to cry, so he hugged her and told her to be a good girl and stay out of the sitting room. Then he moved towards the outside door as Jenny started wailing, “Stay, Sammy. I’m cold.”
He took off his sweater and wrapped it around her. He shook with cold, as the cold morning air in the house hit his bare arms. When he pulled open the door to the outside, he saw bread which the neighbour had thrown onto her lawn for the wild birds. It only took a moment to climb the fence and pick up the crust which he stuffed into his pocket.
Jenny watched wide-eyed from the doorway and pleaded sadly, “I’m hungry, Sammy.” Kneeling in front of her he said, “Play with your dolls in the bedroom until I get back. Don’t go in the sitting room.” Reluctantly, he took the pilfered bread and pressed it into her hand. “Eat it slowly” he begged. “I’ve got to go, Jenny.”
He closed the door securely and ran, shivering, across the road, reluctant to leave Jenny, but desperate to get away from the house. If he could only get to school, he might be able to forget about ‘home’ for a while and even be warm. He knew he was late. He’d have to run faster.
***
The lorry driver later said he had no chance of avoiding the child, and witnesses agreed that the boy seemed to come from nowhere. A policeman knocked several times on the door of the house Sammy had been seen leaving. It took a while before they realised the child, who was inside and sobbing, couldn’t open the door. She was too small to reach the handle.
A window was broken to gain access, and when they entered, the mother was found suffering from a drug overdose. She was in a critical condition and rushed to the hospital. It was the same hospital where her son had been taken, but she was oblivious that he lay dying, close to where the doctors were trying hard to save her own life.
Jenny was once again put with temporary foster parents while her mother got “cleaned up”. She screamed for Sammy and clutched an old crust of bread when the social workers took her away. The neighbours all shook their heads and said it was such a shame about the children. But what can you do?
Burnside Writers Group 