I'm stood in an upstairs council house toilet, the walls are apple-white and there's a little frosted window to the left of me. The lino flooring is cold beneath my feet, the door is painted white and there is a little round lock just below the door handle.
On the floor is a pajama clad child. She has long-dark-hair which half covers her face and she is crouched, panicked-sobbing, just behind the door, her hand stretched out holding the little lock in position.
The child is afraid, and on the other side of the door her mother is ranting; shouting and swearing, banging on the door..."YOU LITTLE GIT" she screeches, "OPEN THIS DOOR"!
I can see her so clearly, The-child, from where I'm standing. I want to reach out and touch her, pull her into my arms and tell her she's safe. I want to hold her until she falls asleep and then carry her from the cold lino floor, past her raging mother and into her bed. I want to sit by her bed, guard her until morning, and stroke her gently back to sleep if she should wake.
If this were possible, would she be comforted do you think?
Or would she see into my mind, as I can hers; and know the worst is yet to come.
God bless you, and all those you love