‘I don’t know, love, but best you get yourself quickly washed and ready for bed before she gets home.’

Tommy tilted his head to one side and screwed his pale face up before asking, ‘Why is Mummy always so horrible? I try really hard to be a good boy, but she always shouts and says bad things to me and you.’

Sarah gulped hard. She’d been dreading this day. She’d hoped Tommy hadn’t noticed their mother’s spiteful tongue, but he was more than four years old; it was apparent he had, and she’d have to find the answers to some very difficult questions. ‘I don’t know, Tommy, it’s just the way she is. Some people are made of sugar and spice and all things nice, others are made of sharp bits of glass.’

‘I don’t like her. She’s all right sometimes when she’s quiet, but when she drinks that stuff that smells funny, she’s loud and nasty. Do you like her, Sarah?’

‘She’s our mum, Tommy. You shouldn’t say things like that about her. If it wasn’t for her, you and me would be in a children’s home or on the streets. She can’t help being the way she is. She’s ill, and the gin, the stuff that smells funny, she has to have it to make her better.’

‘But if the gin makes her better, why does she get horribler when she drinks it?’

Sarah could see Tommy’s bottom lip beginning to quiver. It broke her heart to see the child so upset. ‘She doesn’t mean most of the stuff she says. You’ve got to learn to do what I do … ignore it. Just let all her words go in one ear and come out the other. Don’t keep them in your head and then they can’t hurt you.’

Tommy nodded, and Sarah was thankful that the boy seemed satisfied with her answer for now. ‘Right, now hurry up, get yourself ready for bed,’ she urged.

Tommy scampered off to wash at the kitchen sink while Sarah rested her head back. I’ll just have five minutes before I get his tea ready, she thought, closing her eyes.

‘You wicked little brat! How dare you!’

Sarah’s eyes shot open at the sound of her mother’s angry voice. She didn’t know how long she’d been asleep, but it must have been for a while. She saw her mother standing at the kitchen sink with an empty gin bottle in her hand, and Tommy shaking as he cowered behind a kitchen chair. ‘What’s going on?’ Sarah asked, confused.

‘You’re supposed to be looking after him, but while you’ve been snoring your head off, the little bastard has tipped me gin down the sink! I’ll kill him, I swear I’ll skin the bleeder alive!’