Little Anne woke up screaming. Her forehead glistened as she wrapped her thin arms around herself and shivered.
‘Nightmares again?’ I asked softly.
We were used to the routine by now: Anne would awake screaming and I would come and sit on the corner of the bed. Downstairs, her mother and father hurled abuse. A plate smashed, followed by loud cursing.
‘Can monsters hurt me?’ she asked.
‘I wouldn’t believe in them, if I were you.’ I leaned over, and squeezed her foot for reassurance.
Anne nodded. ‘Okay.’
I tucked her back into bed. Then I crawled underneath it again.