Room for the Whole Day

Ellis was six, and Mum sometimes called him her young mole. He liked to burrow under the blanket on his bed, with just his nose showing. His bedroom had a crooked bookcase, a blue lamp, and a pillow that stayed cool when he turned it over.

At school that morning, the letters on his spelling worksheet kept getting muddled. He rubbed out one word so many times that the paper grew thin. Later, he stepped out of the lunch queue to pick up his dropped jumper. When he turned back, he couldn't find his place. He ate with a tight little ache behind his ribs.

By bedtime, his worksheet was finished and lunch was long over. But the ache had followed him home. Now Ellis was packing his schoolbag beside his bed. His library book needed to go back tomorrow. He pushed it into the bag. It caught on something inside.

He turned it sideways. He tried the other corner. The cover bent against the zip. His cheeks grew hot, and his fingers squeezed the book. His throat hurt with the effort of swallowing. Then tears splashed onto his pyjama sleeve.