He had called his mother Maggie for as long as he could remember. He knew she didn’t like it, but he couldn’t help himself. She was humming the theme tune to EastEnders. She always hummed TV soap theme tunes when something was wrong. Since Daddy went to hospital, she hummed them almost every day. But today he was the cause of her worries. He couldn’t make her feel worse by telling her what he had seen.

He toyed with the medal pinned to his shirt. His mummy only let him wear it at home. He hoped that one day, Daddy would come back. His daddy was a very brave man.

‘Did you know that tortoises smell with their throats?’ His tortoise facts always put a smile on Maggie’s face.

‘I didn’t know that,’ she said, glancing over her shoulder.

‘And they have to empty their lungs before they go into their shell,’ he said, encouraged.

‘Interesting,’ Maggie replied, elbow-deep in suds.

Elliott frowned. He wished he could talk to someone about his nightmares. He wasn’t just a watcher. The smells, sounds, and feelings swallowed him up and followed into his days. His brow knitted as the blurry image of the bad man faded. Then poof … like blowing out a candle on a birthday cake, it was gone. But the fear had soaked deep into his bones. He winced as his fingernails dug into his palms. He reached for his toast and took a couple of bites before swallowing the dry offering. Maggie had forgotten to butter it. She was standing at the sink, staring out of the window, humming slightly off-kilter, her head tilted to one side. Something inside her had broken. Elliott gulped his tumbler of milk, and rested it back on the fold-up kitchen table. The big house he had lived in before was a fading memory now too. Everything changed after Daddy got sick.

‘I’m expecting a visitor soon,’ Maggie said, with an almost-smile as she did up the buttons of her cardigan. ‘Nothing to worry about.’

Elliott jumped off his chair and wriggled his big toe as it poked through the hole in his sock.

‘Here, put your slippers on.’ Maggie handed him a pair of Gruffalo faces which were distorted with wear. ‘It’s a police officer – just popping in for a quick chat.’

‘Should I put the good towels out?’ he said, in an effort to please her. When they had visitors, they put out the bright yellow towels – the ones without the holes.

A little bit of sadness left Maggie’s eyes. ‘Yes, good boy. They’re in the hot press.’