It must have been the smell of burning that woke us. I was about 10 or 11 so sis was younger. We had an antique, double lined, brass coal scuttle that was used as a bin and it was currently shooting out flames perilously close to the curtains.
My mother had a large brandy glass full of milk with lots of plastic coated tablets floating in it. Valium. Though she must have had it for a few years by then she was burning the decree nisi and other items of annoyance.
Drama. Always drama. And two young children having to deal with things way beyond their comprehension.
At 11 and 9 years old we became capable, and self sufficient and durable. And cynical about life. At least we had each other.