Here, Always by Lucy Judd

Mum’s smile swings like a rocking chair across her face. ‘I’m here, darling,’ she whispers.

Billowing around her aching body, the cool duvet kisses Paige’s bare legs. Closing her eyes, she lets her cheek fall sideways onto the fresh pillowcase. Suddenly, it seems the whole bed is floating away down a dark river filled with roaring rapids; the noise could be her brother playing - she thinks - or her parents arguing, or it could be the roar in her own head. 

Lifting her eyelids, Paige peers into the gloom. Rolling onto her back, she tries to steady the room by concentrating on a beam. Gripping the duvet, she watches an out-of-place, upside-down V protrude from the uneven wood, and another, and another, four on each side— It jumps. Then, like lightning, It is back on the beam again. A prickly sensation bites at her spine, ‘Mum?’

‘I’m here, darling.’

Tilting her chin, Paige tries looking across her spinning room, wishing it would keep still. A blanket falls to the floor in a dark wave as a figure straightens. Stepping to Paige’s bedside, ‘Mummy’s here,’ she says, stroking the hair from Paige’s forehead. ‘I’m always here, right here,’ she places her other hand on Paige’s heart. Bending, she kisses her nose. The smell of sheep's wool and butter swims around Paige’s burning face. 

‘There’s a spider,’ her voice squeaks as her eyes search the beam. Not breathing, she checks It’s still there. 

‘He’ll go away. I cannot reach the ceiling.’

‘I can’t sleep.’

‘Yes, you can. I won’t let him near.’ Sitting on the bed, Mum moves her hand to Paige’s. Her touch is soft, cool— Yet there is a jerk in the stillness, as if she is unsure whether I want her near, Paige thinks.

‘Can’t Dad get It?’

‘Daddy’s not here.’

Opening her mouth, Paige pauses as the words stick to her dry lips. The memory of her mother on the phone; her anxious voice, her hunched body swallowed by her jumper. 

‘When is he coming home?’

‘Soon.’ Mum's voice challenges the word to disobey as it leave her mouth. ‘It can’t go on much longer.’ 

‘Why did he go?’

Paige hears a sigh. It lingers. She knows Mum hadn’t wanted Dad to go. She had pleaded, shouted, but he had marched out to play his part. It’s important, he’d said, puffing up like a blowfish, to fight for what you believe. Mum had urged him to believe in his family, believe they needed him, but this - Dad had patiently explained - could wait.

Why had he gone? Paige wonders, but her hot head swings shut against the thought, and she buries her head against Mum’s palm. 

Her lids feel odd, uncontrollable. Another eight legs crawl into sight behind her mother on the opposite wall, ‘Mum!’ 

‘Hush, darling. Everything’s okay.’ But the words come from the beast. Spinning his legs in her direction, He eyes her sternly through the darkness.

Dazed, Paige opens her mouth to breathe. Panting, she hangs her tongue out like a dog, until, horror-struck, she watches as mum takes it, dips it into a cup of strange-tasting liquid, and pops it back into her mouth. Swallowing, Paige tries to rearrange her tongue in her dry mouth. 

‘Why does my head feel funny?’

‘You’re ill, darling.’

Paige is happy to hear it. If she were ill, Dad would read her a story. 

‘Tell Dad I want…’ but tiredness wins, and she cannot say the book's title. 

Waving her hands in front of her face, she attempts to push away the strange-tasting drink Mum keeps spooning into her mouth. But the look on Mum’s face quells her protests. The room slows, as though, a ship - almost wrecked - has veered into calm waters. 

‘Here,’ Mum says near her ear, and something icy drops onto her forehead. Squirming, she tries dislodging the prickling pressure. ‘Lie still.’ Mum’s voice is a frozen lake, but Paige can hear the ice cracking. Tears fill her eyes. Confused, she peers up at her mother. Smiling down at her, mum says, ‘You look like your dolls, all pink with bright red cheeks and a parched little mouth.’

Considering this, Paige laughs, which makes her cough, but Mum beams.

         *

Laughter floats around Paige as she lies staring into the shadows. She knows she’s been asleep for ages. She feels warm and snug. Her head no longer burns, and, as her eyes rest on the beam, it stays quite still. 

Voices carry up the stairs and into her room. Paige can hear Ralph, his voice - usually resembling chalk on tin - is soothing. Mum laughs - the sort where she has thrown her head back and doesn’t care that everyone can see her fillings - followed by the rumble of another— ‘Dad!’ Hearing his laugh - his deep, belly-wobbling chuckle - she scrambles with the duvet, kicking it off.

Stepping into the hall, she pauses at the top of the stairs. Straining to hear every sound, Paige’s heart booms in her chest, full to bursting with the sound of her family, together and happy. Clinging to the bannister, she sits. Bumping down the stairs one at a time, she pauses. Resting her head on a spindle, she listens to the sounds from the kitchen. A soft smile tickles her lips, and in the dark pane of the window opposite, she watches it spread, until she is grinning at herself. Slowly, she continues bumping towards the laughter.

Lucy Judd is a British writer currently working on a novel. Lucy's stories have featured on BBC radio and The Laureate of Words Show. Lucy has been selected for Exeter's Northcott Theatre Elevate playwriting programme 2026, and had short stories shortlisted/longlisted by Wells Festival of Literature, Full House Literary and Mslexia. Lucy has a Master's from Imperial College and UCL.