Carrie shivered  her chilled skin untouched by the piles of blankets on her bed.

Her pale face bleached by the waxing moon that shone in through the thin cotton curtains.

Mum had made them from a tablecloth bought from a charity shop. They didn’t quite fit.

The front door slammed, she shuddered in anticipation and wriggled further under the blankets.

‘Is mum downstairs? Whose turn is it tonight?’ Her thoughts tumbled through her fear.

 

Malcolm peered round the door fear scored sharp across his narrow head.

He grinned, pyjama bottoms reached down to his calve the buttons gone on the jacket. A small hole in the cuff where his Dad had torn the fabric.

His exposed scrawny chest showed off ribs which bounced to match his shallow rapid breath.

Wide mouthed grimace hid his true feelings.

His unkempt tufts of hair told of the disturbed hours spent awake in bed.

 

”Shove over, I’ll warm you up.” He wrapped long arms around his sister’s freezing frame.

”Do you think it’ll be OK tonight?”

”Depends if Mum’s cooked his dinner properly.”

They heard him whistling and tones of feminine softness from their Mum floated up the dark stairwell.

SMASH!. They gripped each others bodies. ”You stupid fucking woman can’t you do anything right!”