Eliza.

Eliza woke at 1 AM Saturday morning to the sound of the front door of the house slamming.

Daddy was home.

Eliza rolled over wearily in her mother’s bed (where she’d been allowed to sleep on account of the lighting outside. It scared her.) Mummy was not there. She must have been downstairs waiting for Daddy’s arrival.

Mummy’s bed room was on the second floor of the house. Daddy and Mummy were on the first. Too tired to bother going down and greeting her father, Eliza stayed in bed. At 1:10 Eliza was nearly back to sleep. At 1:11 the fighting started.

“Where have you been Tim? It’s a simple question!” Eliza’s mummy screamed. Tim matched her volume.

“I told you, I was at the pub!”

“I rang the pub, they said you weren’t there!” Mummy’s voice was rising.

“I was at a different fucking pub!” Daddy slurred his yell. Then, the noise of things breaking.

Upstairs, Eliza closed her eyes and buried herself under the blanket. Not again. Not again.

“Are you having an affair?” Mummy asked intently. “Are you cheating on me?”

“No.”

“Then where the hell have you been?” Mummy was nearing hysterics. Eliza covered her ears and closed her eyes tighter. It didn’t help.

“I told you I was at the fucking pub!”

Loud stomping feet indicated Daddy was coming upstairs. Following those were lighter feet. Mummy.

“Where are you going?” Mummy asked.

“I’m going to bed! Is that fucking right with you?”

The voices were getting louder, closer. Eliza, immersed in the blanket, ears covered, eyes shut could hear and see all. Mummy’s teary-eyed and angry face. Daddy’s cold glare, his intimidating movements.

“You can’t go to our room. Eliza’s sleeping in there!” Mummy’s retort came more as a challenge than anything else. An attempt to stand up to her husband. To piss him off.

“I can’t go to my room? Why the fuck is Eliza there? Where the fuck am I meant to sleep?” Dad’s booming voice made Eliza tremble.

“She couldn’t sleep. She was scared because of the lightning. You’ll have to sleep on the couch.” Another challenge.

“The couch?” Daddy roared.

Through closed eyes Eliza could see him go to Mummy. From under the blanket she could feel him grab Mummy by the scruff of the neck. With hands pressed tightly over her ears she could hear the slap of Daddy’s hand against Mummy’s skin.

“This is my fucking house and I’m going to sleep in my own fucking bed! Not any fucking couch!”

Each curse word was joined by a striking blow and then a shudder by Eliza. Each word of apology from Mummy escalated the conflict. Daddy was mad.

Mummy and Daddy’s argument took them back downstairs and into the kitchen. Further from Eliza, but still with her. Now Eliza was crying.

Below her, Daddy pushed Mummy to the ground when he saw that the dishes hadn’t been done.

“I thought I told you to clean this place up? It’s still a fucking pigsty!”

He grabbed a dirty pan and raised it over his head. Eliza shook with the force. Again. And Again. And again. Now Daddy’s yelling was unintelligible and Mummy’s crying was barely audible. And then non-existent.

At 1:23 Eliza fell asleep after the sound of the front door of the house slamming. Her face still wet with tears.