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Run, hide, find Caitlin. No, Caitlin hasn’t been here for weeks, Mum took her away. Mum doesn’t love him anymore, Dad never loved him in the first place, he’s mean and horrible and nononono. Simon is out with friends, Simon’s always out with friends; old enough to look after himself, Dad says. Martin can’t wait until he’s old enough to look after himself, he’ll leave and never come back. But the footsteps are coming closer and closer, he’ll be here any second, he’ll hurt him again. No, please!
Martin jolts awake and stares up at the glow-in-the-dark stars that Douglas had decorated the ceiling with, it was just a nightmare, just another nightmare, he screws his eyes up and breathes sharply through his nose, why won’t they just stop? Martin rolls over under his thick duvet and covers his ears with his hands, shying away from the glow of the landing light through the crack between his door and the wall. His whole body is trembling against the blanket, spasming and jerking so hard that he’s worried he might throw the covers off. It was just a nightmare, just a stupid, stupid nightmare. His breathing is still frantic though, fast and shallow and it was making his tummy turn in funny circles. He brings his hands to his mouth; he was going to be sick. He couldn’t get it on the carpet; it would make Douglas so cross. Martin rolls out of his bed with a thud and dashes for the toilet.
It’s cool and dark in the bathroom, the tiles are cold against his toes; he hadn’t had time to put his slippers on, although he barely notices the chill as he leans over and retches into the toilet bowl. It isn’t fair, why is it only him that has to have nightmares? Simon never seemed to have any trouble and Caitlin is too young to remember anything. Martin can’t possibly imagine what he had done wrong to deserve all of this, why won’t it just go away? He heaves over the toilet again, disgusting boy, he hates this, why can’t he just be normal?
Martin wants his mum. Where was his mum? Why wasn’t she here? Martin remembers her staying with him for the whole night after Dad had hit him for the first time. She curled up with him on his little bed and held him against her chest, sometimes stroking carefully down his back and at other times kissing the purpling bruise across his cheek. His mum would make it alright, she would fix it; she had to. But then Martin remembers when Dad had hit him again, “You have to stop being such a bad boy, Martin. You’re upsetting your father.” And then eventually she took Caitlin and left them all behind, she didn’t love Martin anymore, he wasn’t good enough. She wasn’t going to come back.
He moans when the tears come, the sobs choking in his throat and curling with the almost painful ebb of nausea in his stomach. He sucks a breath in and holds it, he must be quieter, it took ages for Douglas to get Arthur to sleep, and Martin doesn’t want Douglas to have to do it all over again if he wakes Arthur up. He retches again; why won’t it stop?
The light suddenly switches on and Martin screws his eyes shut at the onslaught and chokes out a harsh, “Dad.” He’s found me, he’s come to take me away and Martin chokes again as the bitter tasting bile forces its way up his throat. Pathetic.
A hand reaches out and touches his back gently. Martin can’t help it, he drops away from the touch and crawls between the small gap between the bathtub and the toilet and curls up in a defensive ball. Even his eyes are shaking now, shuddering in his skull as he twitches against the wall. Help me please, he thinks, please make it better. He can feel the cold of the floor now; his pyjamas aren’t thick enough to keep the chill out and he can feel the thick, sluggish tendrils of it sneaking up into his bones and around his heart.
“Martin?” It’s Douglas, it’s alright; it’s only Douglas. Douglas will keep him safe. Martin squints up at the light,
“Please.”
The hands are back, pulling him up and against a broad chest that’s more like Dad’s than Mum’s. He wriggles in vain to try and escape but the hands hold him firm and a deep voice rumbles, “Hush, Martin. It’ll be alright in a moment, just breathe with me. Just like this.” Douglas takes a long breath in and then releases it slowly. Martin copies Douglas and manages a small shaky breath in and out, “Good,” Douglas breathes, “That’s very good, Martin. Can you do that again for me?” Martin nods and tries again and again, each breath more sure than the last until the trembling stops and he collapses against Douglas’ chest with exhaustion.
Martin is near sleep when he feels a damp face cloth brush against his forehead, he tenses again before he realises that it’s just Douglas wiping the tears and the sick off his face. He turns his face upwards so that it’s easier for Douglas to mop at his face, “Thank you,” Douglas rumbles and Martin almost smiles in relief. Douglas isn’t angry at him; it wasn’t Martin’s fault he was sick, it’ll be alright now. He closes his eyes and rests his head against Douglas’ chest. When Martin is clean, Douglas dabs him on the nose with the flannel, which prompts another, small, smile from the boy.
Now his face is cleaned, Douglas props Martin up on his little stool by the sink so that he can brush his teeth with his brand new, Spiderman toothbrush. Douglas squirts some of the stripy toothpaste onto it and hands it over to Martin. Once he has finished, Douglas takes the toothbrush and gives Martin a tumbler filled halfway with water, “Drink as much of this as you can, but only little sips at a time. Can you do that for me?” Martin nods, and lifts the cup to his mouth. Douglas has to steady the bottom of it since Martin’s hands are still trembling slightly. He looks up at Douglas when he manages to finish all the water, “Well done, Martin.” Douglas takes the cup from Martin, places it on the counter and then reaches down to lift Martin up to rest on his hip. Martin, half asleep at this point, rests his head on Douglas’ shoulder.
Douglas makes the slow journey back to Martin’s bedroom just down the hall. He can feel Martin’s breath huffing gently under his chin and he shifts his hold slightly, bringing the boy closer to him. Once they are in Martin’s room, Douglas gently lays the child back down on his bed and then retrieves the covers that have been thrown from the bed. He brings the duvet up to just under Martin’s chin and tucks him in with one of Arthur’s “extra special” cuddly toys, a quick kiss on the forehead and Douglas makes a move towards the door. Martin’s eyes open as Douglas moves away, he looks up at him and smiles, not the small, hidden one that Douglas has gotten used to seeing, but a real smile, “It…It felt like flying!”
Douglas smiles back at the child who had been entrusted to his care. He’ll be alright, Douglas thinks. Given time, Martin will be just fine.