Читать книгу A Gift from the Comfort Food Café: Celebrate Christmas in the cosy village of Budbury with the most heartwarming read of 2018! - Debbie Johnson, Debbie Johnson - Страница 10

This year, Christmas Eve night

I’ve had enough. My head is pounding, and my eyes are sore, and every inch of my body from my scalp to my toes feels like it’s clenched up in tension.

All I can hear is the screaming, rising in shrieks and peaks above the sound of festive music, a playlist of carols I have on my phone to try and drown it all out. The mix is horrendous: the sublime choruses of ‘Hark the Herald Angels Sing’ alternating with yells of abuse.

Saul is sleeping, but restlessly, in that way that children will – I can see his eyes moving around under his lids, and his little fists are clenched, and every now and then his legs jerk, like a dreaming dog. It’s the night before Christmas – maybe he’s thinking about Santa, flying over the rooftops in his sleigh. I hope so, anyway. I hope he’s not about to wake up, and hear all the rowing, and the banging, and voices. I worked hard to protect him from this, but it’s chased me down, rooted me out.

I’m in my own little house, but I don’t feel safe here any more. I’m in my own little house, and there are too many voices. Too much conflict. I’m in my own little house, and I’m hiding upstairs, cowering beneath the bed sheets, paralysed by it all.

I’m in my own little house, and I have to get out. I have to get away. I have to run.