'Go and wake him up, then, you rotten old sod. You know how much he likes his kip.'
'Have you done him his boiled egg and soldiers?'
She turned from the draining board where she was cutting the bread and butter into thin strips.
''Course I have. He would do 'is crust if they weren't waiting for him!'
Joe laughed with her. They were happy these days and it was mostly because of that little child. Maggie's postnatal depression had meant they had been privileged to be a very big part of his little life, and they were grateful for that.
'Go and get him, Joe, and I'll make him his cup of tea. He loves his cuppa in the morning does our little man.'
Lena watched as her husband raced off to wake their grandson. She would have let him sleep, he loved his Sooty and Sweep, bless him.
Little Freddie sat with his father and ate his cereal. Freddie watched as his son shoved the Coco Pops into his mouth with no manners whatsoever. He was too busy watching Mighty Morphing Power Rangers on Sky. Jackie was pretending to drink black tea, which he knew was sherry, because the smell was overpowering, and the house reminded him of a fucking rubbish tip. There were overflowing ashtrays, the curtains were half drawn as they were most of the time, and the feel of decay was everywhere. He had spent fortunes on this drum and it was still like a fucking squat.
An advert came on the TV and there was a lovely family, with lovely kids. They were being urged to borrow money, but as they sat there, eating toast and jam and being nice to each other, he knew that other than the poncing to pay off debts they shouldn't have had anyway, that was probably how Maggie and Jimmy acted first thing in the morning.
Jimmy Junior probably had egg on toast, or fresh fruit, they drank tea from a teapot and Jimmy probably read a paper that had been delivered by a smiling paper boy.
As he looked around his own home, he was suddenly pleased his Rox had got out of it all. He had seen her drum, it was clean and tidy and decorated to death.
She would pore over catalogues for hours just to find the right cushion, or the right blind. And he knew that if Maggie had not been in her life she would not have known about anything like that. Would never have realised that people like them were just as entitled as everyone else to have a nice home, a nice life.
Jackie cared about nothing, except maybe the drink and then him, and then Little Freddie, in that order. But Maggie and her fussy ways also angered him, and his daughters' utter adoration of her irritated him. He felt that she and Jimmy were living his life and it was this which made him so bitter.
'Eat properly, shut your fucking mouth!'
Little Freddie stared for long seconds at his father and then did as he was asked.
Jackie was still sitting on the sofa in her grubby dressing gown. She was smoking a cigarette and drinking her sherry out of a chipped white cup.
It took all his willpower not to kick off there and then, and smash her face in.
Joe was staring down at his grandchild and the tears were running down his face. This could not be happening, this could not he true, he had to be in a nightmare. His heart was pounding in his breast, and he was sure it would stop at any second. Wanted it to stop completely, so he would die and this scene would he wiped from his memory.
He was panting. He had wondered, briefly, if it was the child breathing so heavily, wondered if it was the child making this awful wheezing noise but he knew that this child had not taken a breath for a long time.
His little face, when he had pulled the quilt back and seen it, had been the single most terrifying thing he had ever experienced.
He was so small, so small and so stiff and he was all wrong. He was lying all wrong, and they had slept in the room next door all night, and this little child had been dead. They had not gone in to tuck him in because he was such a light sleeper and as Jackie had been round causing ructions, they had left him. Left him alone, and he was dead.
He had tiptoed in and seen the little lump in the bed and then closed the door on him, his little grandson, the light of his life, and the reason his Lena got up in the morning.
Why hadn't he gone to him then? Looked at him properly and made sure the child was all right?
He was clutching his chest, and he felt the pain in his fingers.
'Hurry up, your egg's getting cold! What are you two doing?'
It was Lena's voice that finally made him move. Lena's happy voice, Lena, the woman he had hurt so much over the years and who he knew he could never be without. It was her, and the thought of her seeing this, that made him move at last.
Joe left the room and shut the door behind him.
She was in the hallway when he walked outside and she saw the tears on his face. 'What's going on, where's me boy?' Her voice was harsh, high and she was looking concerned, frightened.
He was shaking his head.
'What's wrong, you stupid old fucker, where is me little man, me little fella?'
He could feel the fear coming off her in waves, hear it in her voice.
'Let me see him, get out of my way…'
He was holding her now, struggling with her, making her stay outside, stopping her seeing what he had seen. The sight would kill her, he knew it would.
She was staring into his eyes now, and he was holding her by the forearms, afraid to let her go in case she went into the room, the mausoleum that was now holding the body of their dead grandchild.
'You're frightening me, Joe, stop it. Let me see me boy, please, Joe… Please…'
She was crying now, she was almost hysterical, and still he could not answer her. She was begging him, begging him to tell her everything was OK, and he couldn't.
How did you tell someone you loved about something like this?
Where the fuck did you even start?
Freddie sat beside Jimmy and watched his cousin's grief. It was so awful to witness another man's complete desolation. And he was feeling the same way. He was feeling the loss as acutely as Jimmy but he couldn't tell him that.
They had been together in the car and he was taking stick about being a granddad and they were laughing together, like they used to before. Then the call had come, and he had watched in amazement as Jimmy had swerved the car across the road before dropping the mobile, parking, and then starting to cry.
'What on earth has happened?'
He had for a few moments hoped that Ozzy was dead, that Ozzy had been wiped out but he also knew that that happening would not cause this kind of grief. It had to be Maggie, and he thought that she might have crashed her car, that fucking flash Merc she swanned around in. Or, at the least, that she had experienced an accident of some sort.
Freddie had nearly passed out, when after what seemed an age, Jimmy had turned to him and said brokenly, 'It's Jimmy, my little Jimmy. He died, Freddie, he died last night.'
Then he had cried, loudly and painfully and he had punched the steering wheel, and then he had cried again and Freddie had sat beside him in shock and wondered what on earth could have killed a dear little boy like that.
And he was a dear little child, and he had used that child to destroy his mother and now he was dead. That dear little Jimmy, with the bright smile and the funny little ways, was dead.
The world had gone fucking mad.
Lena and Joe felt guilty, and as the hospital room filled up with the family they felt even worse. He had died in their care, he had died while they had slept in the room next door. How were they ever going to get over that, how would they ever sleep again? Know another happy day without that little boy beside them?
Maybe they could have helped him, maybe they could have avoided it happening if they had only checked on him.