Cops

The doors slide open, and dad walks up to the counter and speaks to the fat, sweaty man there.

"Help me. Please. You've got to help me."

The man looked at him, at all of us, and his eyes went wide. I bet that's because Dad's hair is all clogged up with blood, and his t-shirt's all gross with it as well. He looks mad.

The fat man must have looked at us kids as well: sleepy Tansy on Dad's shoulder, and Fern scowling and yawning. And me. I don't think he would have thought anything about me.

I don't know what time it is. There's a clock on the wall, but it's one of those round ones with hands, and I've never got the hang of those. It's late, that's all I know. Very late. Dark outside, still, and it has been for ages and ages. Years, it feels like. I wonder if it's late enough to be morning soon.

The desk man presses a buzzer and someone called a Duty Inspector comes out.

Dad tells them again you've got to help me. He says mum attacked him. That can't be right. Can it? I've heard her shouting at him sometimes, when we are in bed.

Dad leans on the counter and speaks quietly, but I've got pretty good ears. I feel sick. I look over at Fern. She's scuffing a mark on the floor with her foot.

The men at the desk keep talking, and Dad keeps glancing at us. One of them asks him do you need medical attention? Dad reaches back and touches the back of his head, which looks mostly dry but still a bit sticky.

"No. I... I don't think so. Maybe? Look, I just needed to get the kids away from her, she came at me with a knife-"

The sick feeling gets stronger. It can't be true. Mum would never. Would she?

"We'll get someone to sit with the girls while we take your statement. Social will be called first thing. If it goes to CID, they'll assign a Family Liaison Officer."

Was Mum going to get in trouble?

We're taken into a little room, Fern and me. Dad's still holding Tansy, and the policemen says it might be better not to wake her. They go in a different room. Dad looks over his shoulder at me.

"It'll be OK. OK?"

I don't believe him.

A policeman sits with us. He gives us juice in little plastic cups. When Fern complains she's bored, the policeman gets some paper from somewhere and gives her a pen from his pocket. She pulls the chair close to the desk and leans over her picture, tongue sticking out the corner of her mouth, and Clarissa's blanket knotted at her neck like a superhero cape.

I wonder what Dad is saying in that other room. He's in there ages.

I wrap my own blanket ‘round me and huddle in the chair. My eyes close.

I get shaken awake by someone some time later, and stumble out to a car. We all get in and I'm disappointed, a bit, that it's not one of those with lights on top.

We go to a hotel. It's not fancy or anything.

What's going to happen to Mum? How am I going to get to school?

I don't even have a clean jumper or anything. I get into the bed, and Fern is too tired to complain that she has to share with me. The sheets are white and cold.

What's going to happen?

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