‘Auntie Mary?’
Mary opened her eyes. ‘Jacqueline?’ The bedroom was in darkness, the little girl outlined in the doorway by the nightlight from the children’s room.
‘I can’t sleep.’
Mary heard the sob in her voice. ‘Okay.’ She threw back the covers and fumbled around for her dressing gown. ‘Okay, love, wait a minute.’
‘Mary?’ Peter lifted himself up on one elbow. ‘What is wrong? What time is it?’
‘Three o’clock,’ Mary answered in a whisper. ‘It’s all right. It’s Jacqueline. She can’t sleep. I’m taking her downstairs.’
She peeped into the bedroom where the other children were sleeping and gently closed the door. Taking hold of Jacqueline’s hand she said, ‘Let’s go and get a drink of warm milk.’
‘Dad shouts a lot, Auntie Mary.’ Jacqueline hiccupped after the long bout of sobbing. She rubbed the heel of her hand over her eyes. ‘And Mum shouts back. I don’t like it.’
‘Grown-ups quarrel just like children do. Even you and Linda fall out sometimes, huh?’ Mary took the glass from her after she’d drained the last drops of milk.
‘Sometimes.’
‘And then you make up and everything’s okay again. And that’s what your Mum and Dad do. They love one another but they like a good squabble as well. You mustn’t worry about it. They talk and laugh too, don’t they?’
Jacqueline nodded.
‘Well then!’ Mary tucked the glass between the cushion at the side of her and the arm of the sofa and pulled Jacqueline closer. ‘Let’s have a cwtch.’
‘What?’ Jacqueline laughed, craning her head back to look at Mary.
‘Cwtch, it’s Welsh for a cuddle but it’s better than a cuddle.’ She gave her niece a squeeze. ‘See? It magics nightmares and worries away.’
Jacqueline snuggled closer and closed her eyes. Mary wrapped the skirt of her blue quilted dressing gown over the little girl as best she could. The grandfather clock marked each minute with its plangent tick.
When Jacqueline spoke again, the chill rippled Mary’s skin.
‘Dad punched Mum,’ she said.