What Alice Sees: Chapter 4

“The strange man was back last night,” Alice said in the morning as she sat at the table eating her Frosties.

“The man?”

“Yup. The one who took David’s breath.”

“We’ve talked about this, Alice. There was no man. The police came and checked everything out. No one was in your room. David died of cot death, and besides, people can’t steal breath. Dying doesn’t work like that.” Mummy poured hot water into her mug.

“He did take David’s breath.” Alice dropped her spoon into her bowl and crossed her arms. “I don’t tell porky pies.”

“Everyone tells a lie sometimes.”

Alice kicked the underside of the table.

“Or has a dream that seems real,” Mummy said quickly. “You probably dreamed him. They can feel real. That’s the magic of dreams.”

Alice chomped hard on her cereal as her mother flitted about the kitchen, wiping the countertop free of crumbs, scrubbing the sink down with soft scrub cleaner so the metal gleamed again.

“He wasn’t a dream.” Alice dropped the spoon in her bowl. “He was in my room last night.”

“Why was he there, Alice?” Mummy turned around and leaned against the counter. She sighed deeply, and said, “Did he steal your breath?”

“No, silly, otherwise I’d be lost like David.”

“Oh.” Mummy rolled her eyes.

“He talked to me.” Alice picked up her spoon and scooped up a mouthful of cereal.

“What did he say?”

“He didn’t know why he was there.” Alice dug into her bowl and shoved more food in her mouth. “He didn’t stay long,” she mumbled through the cereal.

“It’s almost time to leave for school. I’m going to get dressed.”

Mummy walked off, wrapping her dressing gown around her middle, frowning as she left the room. Alice stuffed another couple of spoonfuls in her mouth, got up and ran after her mother.

Mummy was in the bedroom, fastening the button on her jeans. When she let go, they hung loose on her hips.

“What’s wrong with your trousers, Mummy?” Alice climbed up on the bed, climbing under the duvet and snuggling between the pillows. The sun came through her parents’ windows in the morning. The yellow light fell across the bottom half of the bed, warming Alice’s toes.

“Not enough cakes,” Mummy said. She pulled them off, chucked them next to Alice, and took a pair of sweat pant bottoms from a large wardrobe on the other side of the room.

“Cakes make trousers too big?” Alice picked up the jeans and examined them.

“No, cakes stop mummies getting too small,” Mummy said.

“I wish you were more cuddly, like Lizzy.”

“Gee thanks kid,” she said in a mock American accent, and pulled on a t-shirt. “Go do your teeth.”