Sunday

From Planet 241

A short story by Alissa Bevan

Throughout my childhood, I suffered with vague pains in my stomach and head that started every Saturday evening when I came home after spending the day out on my bike with friends. My mother would listen to my complaints, a crease appearing between her straight black brows. She was a conscientious parent, ready with a palm that I was certain she kept cool in case it was needed as a compress for my forehead. Methodical in her mothering, Mam offered a range of solutions for my ailments. I would accept a cold flannel for my head and a hot water-bottle for my stomach but demurred from taking painkillers. A boy at school told me that paracetamol would burn holes in my stomach if it didn’t have pain to fight.