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There is a film Jude can recall from her childhood. A ridiculous film. A relic from those fleeting years when she was still her mother's daughter.
For better or worse, it has played a part in the shaping of her.
She would have been six years old when she first saw it. It had been a sleepless night, plagued with tossing and turning and pleading for the sun to rise already. Eventually, she had heard her mother's door creak open, then the shfft-slap shfft-slap of her slippers padding down the stairs. The kettle had started boiling and the TV had turned on. Insomnia appeared to be a shared matter in the household that evening.
Jude had only needed to tiptoe down the stairs to aim a pair of pleading brown eyes at her mother, who quickly conceded to the midnight company with a huff. They snuggled beneath a blanket on the couch, sipping Ovaltine while flicking idly through channels. It was all nostalgic reruns and old movies at that hour.
