Page 1 of Dream a Little Dream

Prologue

Dream a Little Dream

Ten years ago, September 21st, 2014

The cupboard door creaked open, piercing a narrow shaft of light through the bedroom. His mother knelt beside him, kind eyes pools of warmth in the dimness of the dark and dreary space. She ushered him inside with a gentle hand yet a quiet urgency, and through practiced obedience and a knowledge that good things were coming, he clambered in without hesitation. The coats wafted the faint scent of lavender and mothballs. He sneezed. The dust aggravated his allergies.

It wouldn’t matter in a minute.

“Time for your medicine, my darling boy.” His mum produced a syringe from the folds of her apron and he opened his mouth, the metallic taste expected and familiar.

He swallowed in compliance. The drowsiness would follow, but his mum would cuddle him until he woke cocooned in herarms. She’d be humming to him, too. Rocking him. Perhaps playing to him on their vintage walnut piano.

He enjoyed his long sleeps.

Felt safe.

If he kept really quiet, she’d reward him with a cookie after.

“Good boy.” She brushed a lock of his nearly translucent blond hair from his forehead, tender fingers tracing the contours of his delicate face, and her voice, a soft melody, filled the small void when she sang. “Dream a little dream of me…”

He solovedit when she sang.

It meantgoodthings. A long sleep. Maybetwocookies…

His eyelids grew heavy but, entranced by his mother’s serenading voice, he fought them. She was beautiful in these moments. And as she hummed his favourite tune, her voice enveloped him, shielding him from whatever lay beyond the walls of his cupboard. From whatever she didn’t want him to see. To know. But tonight, her tone, although soothing, hinted at an emotion he couldn’t quite grasp. It wasn’t like it had been before. It unnerved him.

“Mummy…?”

“Hush now, honey pie.”

He did. And he hung onto her every word, her every note. Nothing could penetrate the safety net his mother swathed him in.

Could it?

Why was he questioning it?

She cupped his face in her hands with such care, as though he were the most precious thing in the universe, and through her singing, her impenetrable gaze, her unwavering love for him, she rid him of any fear. She was his, and he was hers. They always would be.

An unbreakable bond.

She stroked his cheeks, and he focused on her fingertips, soft and gentle, but the medicine and her lullaby forced him into the open arms of the dreamland she sang about. He couldn’t imagine a life where his mum didn’t sing to him anymore.

Life would be sad. Dreary.Dark.

A distant clamour shunted him alert.

His mother’s voice wavered, but she didn’t break the song, only darted her eyes towards the door. His little heart raced, matching the heavy footsteps growing louder, threatening to stamp over his carefully constructed existence.

“Remember, you are mygoodboy,” she said, her voice a fervent hush. “Myboy. You’ll always bemine.” There was a promise in her tone, a fierce declaration extending beyond the cupboard walls, beyond the looming chaos, imprinting on him forever. And she cradled his face in her hands, pressing him to memorise how it felt to be totally, consumingly cherished. “No matter where you are, who you become, you belong tome. No one will love you as I do.”

Abruptly, reality shattered.

A door burst open, and the unyielding grip of his father wrenched her away from him, the cupboard door falling almost closed. Sleep evaded, he peered through the tiny gap at the confusing scene unfolding before him. Figures swarmed the room, an ocean of white. Official voices covered by masks spoke in harsh, rapid tones. Words he didn’t know. Didn’t understand.

“Mummy…?” He feared raising his voice, but he couldn’t see her. Couldn’t feel her. Where was she?

His mother’s silhouette flickered like the eight candle flames on his last birthday cake. He had a birthday soon. Was it today? Tomorrow? He couldn’t ask because his mother disappeared from sight, eclipsed by a mass of white. He pressed his face against the gap in the cupboard door, small fingers gripping the wood.

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