There Are Worse Things in Life

“Hamish, have you got your bag?”

“Yes, Mum!” Hamish calls as he clutches his school backpack against himself, busily stuffing his bear and favourite book into its gaping mouth. Determination paints his face as he tries desperately to connect the zippers, the tip of his tongue caught in the edge of his lips, before giving up. As he trots down the corridor, he is completely oblivious to his possessions bobbing and shuffling together as they threaten to spill out. In the pale light of the torch, he looks small and delicate in Addy’s eyes, his skin as soft as tissue and his eyes wide with fear.

“Lily, you nearly done?” Lily hastily picks up her blanket and pillow and pats her toy cat twice for luck before turning and running out of the room.

“Done.” She replies in an accomplished manner.

“And you brushed your teeth?”

“Yes”

“And washed your hands?”

“Yes, Mum. I already said.” With the two children in tow and ready for bed, Addy starts to lead them downstairs. She can’t recall the last time that there was a blackout, or if her children have experienced the strange feelings that seem intertwined with them. In the darkness, their lives feel lifeless. In the dimness of the torch, their possessions are painted in hues of blue and grey, and she marvels at how even the most mundane of objects can take on a sinister light. For a second, the fear of the dark creeps back into her mind but she shakes it from her head, desperate for her children to not sense it on her.

After the power went out at midday, and the initial confusion had subsided, she quickly planned something to distract her children from the bones of their dead house. Dinner was rushed and served early and Addy attempted to sell her children on the idea that a break from their normal routine was something exciting, but she found it hard to convince herself. The world felt as if it was adding more pressure to see if it could break her and she slowly had become less confident that it wouldn’t.

The trio walk in single file across the wet grass, the cool wind of an early spring evening pressing against them. The air had only just begun to hold the smell of jasmine and blossoming pears, and yet despite these faint traces, the cold of winter still lingered. The two children shiver underneath the mismatched layers of clothes that she had wrapped them in. Finally, they reach the tent that was set up, the rush with which it was put together reflected by the lopsidedness of the tarp the entrance. She slides out of her shoes - the moisture from the grass has soaked through the soles - and tucks them neatly behind the external flap; Hamish and Lily copy: three pairs, lined up in a neat row, in descending order of size.

“Mum,” Hamish asks quietly. “why are the neighbour’s lights on?” Addy looks around and notices the golden glows from blindless windows. They reveal families settling down for a warm meal in front of televisions.

“Wait until we get inside. Then I’ll tell you.” Her brain rapidly fires to conjure a convincing story that will ease their worried minds. The truth is bland and salty; stories about overdue notices and phone calls begging for extensions do not help put children to sleep. Addy unzips the flap of the tent and holds it up. Unpleasant thoughts are quickly washed away and replaced with wonder. In the children's their eyes, they don’t see a cheap tent that will leak during a drizzle. Instead, they see a cave filled with sleeping bags, warm blankets, pillows, and glimmering fairy lights. They both duck low and slowly enter their temporary home – looking around the tent in astonishment. They unpack their possessions and neatly set the items they carry into opposite corners before snuggling down into their sleeping bags.

“You both comfortable?” They nod. Addy folds her legs and crouches low to sit facing the pairs of eyes that peer up at her.

“So... far, far away from here, we have a little monster that makes electricity for us.” Giggles are received from Hamish’s side of the tent.

“How does she do that?”

“Well, she runs and runs in a big wheel.” Addy stretches out her arms either side of her in an arch; her fingertips scraping against the tent’s sides.

“And why did she stop?”

“Because sometimes she runs but it isn’t enough. This week she got a little behind. So, we’ll sleep out here for now and then she’ll have made enough electricity for us again.”

“I hate monsters.” Lily’s voice comes out small and delicate from under the edge of her sleeping bag.

“Is she a monster like Daddy?”

“Oh no honey.” All the compassion in the world is suddenly concentrated into the caress of fingertips brushing away a strand of hair. “They are very different. Not all monsters do monstrous things”

“Good, because I don’t like those types of monsters.”

“Neither do I, little one.” When the abuse started, Lily had not been old enough to comprehend what she heard and saw, and in her mind, her father wasn’t a human being. Since leaving his shadow, Addy hoped Lily would forget about him. At night, when she couldn’t distract Lily from her memories, Addy would sneak into her room and watch her sleep; she wanted to make sure damaging dreams weren’t drifting into her small head. If at any point she twitched, Addy was ready to comfort her. Dreams should be white pillars of clouds, not circling storms. “We won’t ever have to see him again.” There wasn’t any way for her to change the past, but she could at least cover her when it started to rain.

“Our monster is good and tries her hardest. But sometimes, no matter how hard she pushes herself, she still falls short.”

“We should help her.” Hamish courageously raises his voice in a rallying cry.

“Oh don’t worry. You help her more than you know.” It is now his turn to receive her compassion. “We can all fall short sometimes; we just have to pick ourselves up again. That’s all that really matters.”

“I miss Daddy.” Hamish mutters, almost angrily.

“Why would you say that? That’s stupid.” The situation quickly turns. The sibling’s conflicting emotions pivoting toward hostility.

“Lily, it’s not stupid, Hamish is allowed to say how he feels.” Addy knows it’s what she needs to say – it doesn’t matter how difficult it is for her to acknowledge his desire for his Father. “There are bits of him that I miss too.”

“Why though?” In the glow of the string lights, Lily scowls and Addy sees the anger she used to hold reflected back at her,

“Because people are made up of lots of different parts, that’s what makes us so special. Just because we can do bad things sometimes, doesn’t mean there isn’t still good in us. What do you miss about him?”

Hamish thinks for a moment.

“I miss that he used to sing to us when he tucked us in.”

“Ahh yes, I miss his singing voice too.” Addy shifts her legs out from under herself, she then pulls the blankets over her chest and lays in-between her two children with her arms wrapped around them; immediately they turn to their sides and cling off her. Under the gentle sway of the golden lights, she starts to sing. It softly but by the time she’s gained the confidence to sing louder they are already fast asleep. After a while, she pulls out the book that she hid under her jacket. It’s small enough that even with two children resting against her, she can hold it outstretched with her thumb in the crease. The position is awkward and mildly painful, but she can hold it for as long as they need her to. Within a few minutes, her eyes begin to get tired and she realises that every second word of her book blurs, so she exhales softly and flicks off the light. In the darkness of the tent, drifting somewhere between the lines of sleep and consciousness, her fingers softly entwined in the hair of her children, she feels her muscles start to relax as she remembers that there are worse things in life than the lights turning off.