Vic was certain he was in for a right telling-offnot from the local troublemaker Gaz, but from his own mum.
He whistled as he walked home, but his chest tightened. Vic was in for it now.
Auntie Marge, Mum’s friend, had seen him with a cigarette. He couldve lied, said someone just handed it to him, butAuntie Marge had seen it between his lips. What was he supposed to tell Mum? *They shoved it in my mouth, like, “Have a drag,” same as “Hold this”?*
Vic pretended not to notice Auntie Marge, and thank goodness she didnt yell or box his earsjust gave him a long look before carrying on.
But Vic wasnt fooled. He just *knew* Auntie Marge had already grassed him up, and now Mum was waiting with the belt. He was on his third lap around the block when he spotted Nan.
Right. Heavy artillery. This was a dirty trick. Now Nan would startthe tears, the guilt, the whole *”I was a respected headmistress, raised hundreds of children, but my own grandson? A disgrace!”*
*How his grandad must be turning in his graveall the ancestors, spinning like tops down there.*
When he was little, that bit terrified him. Hed imagine the earth shifting, bones rattling under the soil. Then one day, hed had enough. The last time Nan wailed about ancestors flipping in their coffins, Vic piped up: *”Good. Stops em getting bedsores, like Gazs nan.”*
Nan clutched her chest. Mum howled with laughter, forgetting the beltthen got whacked with a tea towel for *her* trouble.
Now, Vic watched Nan hurry toward him.
*”Whatre you doing out here? Why arent you home?”* Nans eyes darted like *she* was the one caught smoking. *”Fallen out with your mother?”*
*”N-no I havent even been home yet.”*
*”Havent? Whereve you been all this time?”*
*”School, then footie, then walking.”*
*”Right.”* Here it comes, Vic thought. *Breathe in, then the interrogation.* *”Whats this? Look at your handsred raw! Wherere your gloves? Eh?”*
*”Left em at home, Nan.”*
*”At *home*? And your mother didnt notice? Whats she playing at? Lets see your ankles.”*
She yanked his trouser leg up, gasped.
*”Whats this?”*
*”What, Nan?”* Vic panicked.
*”Whyre your ankles red? Wherere your thermals? And your scarf?”*
Vic burned with shamethen spotted Gaz watching from the alley, his stupid red beanie poking out. Oh, *Nan*. Whyd she have to do this here? Was she losing it? Shed always been sharp as a tack, but now
*”Nan whats five times five?”*
*”Twenty-five,”* she said, baffled.
*”Whats the square of the hypotenuse?”*
*”Sum of the squares on the other two sides Victor? Whats this? Didnt you do your homework? She didnt even check? I wont stand for thislook at the state of you!”*
Waitwas Nan on *his* side? Could he dodge Mums lecture? Had he slipped into some bizarro world? Was Nan even *Nan*?
*”Nan, which sides my appendix scar on?”*
*”Youve never had it out.”*
Okay, definitely Nan.
She dragged him home, huffing. Mum was in the kitchen, wearing her good dress, curls pinned up, new earringsand *heels*? Since when did she wear heels at home?
*”Vic, love”* She hugged him. *”Wash up, dinners nearly ready. Mum, you staying?”*
*”Whys this child roaming the streets? Scared to go home, is he? Well done. *Well done.* Trading your own flesh and blood forWherere his gloves? His thermals? Its brass monkeys out there! But no, you dont care”*
*”Mum, *stop*. Are you eating with us or not?”*
*”No! Im done here. Andknow what? Vic, love,”* Nan turned to him, *”pack your things. Youre coming with me.”*
*”Why, Nan?”*
*”To *live*, sweetheart. With me.”*
*”Dont wanna, Nan.”* The thought of her nagging him 24/7no thanks.
*”Mum, Vics staying *here*. With his family.”*
*”What family? Youve thrown it all away! Victor, *pack*.”*
*”Mum, if you dont stop, IllIll have to”*
*”What? *What*? Kick your own mother out?”*
*”Yes!”*
*”Oh, you *vile*after all Ive done”*
Mum didnt let her finish. What happened nextVic couldnt believe it.
Mum *grabbed* Nan, hauled her onto the landing, and *slammed* the door. Nan screeched about calling the police, demanding Vic, yelling about some jailbird.
Mum yanked Vic into the front roomwhere some bloke sat stiffly, eyeing him.
*”Vic no lies. This is your dad.”*
Nan wailed through the door. Mum stood frozen. The mantall, thin, with Vics eyesstood.
*”Hello son.”*
Vic recoiled. *”Butyoure *dead*.”*
*”Toni”* The man looked at Mum, wretched.
*”Not me, Dave. *Mum* told him that. Said it was better than than knowing the truth.”*
Banging at the door.
*”Policeopen up!”*
*”Toni, should I go?”*
*”No. No more hiding. Vic, well explainjust wait”*
Mum opened the door. In stormed Nan, a copper, and nosy Mrs. Archer from next door.
*”Reports of a disturbance”*
*”Nothings wrong. My husbands home from the rigs. Meet our son.”*
*”But your mother”*
*”Hes a *convict*! Arrest him! Vic, come *here*has he hurt you?”*
*”Mum, drop the act.”*
*”Any prior convictions?”* the copper asked.
*”No. Been up north since school.”*
*”My apologies”*
*”Arrest him! He ruined my daughtershe couldve had *anyone*”*
*”Mum, *enough*!”*
Mum shut the door.
*Dad?* Vic had lived eleven years without one. Why now? He had Mum, Nanand now a live dad? But Nan always said he was
Vic had *hated* the thought of his dadsome two-bit thief, killed in a pub brawl. Nans *”secret,”* to spare him shame.
But now? Now he knewtheyd *all* lied. Mum. Nan. Even Dad, who wasnt dead at all.
*”Vic”* Mum reached for himtoo late. He snatched his jacket, bolted barefoot into the night.
*Who to trust?* If his own family could lie
*”Vic!”* Mums voice faded. He ran, clutching his clothes, tears hot.
*”Oi, kid”* Gaz. Vic didnt care. Nothing could hurt worse. *”Whos after you? Stop!”*
Gaz grabbed his arm. *”Who?”*
*”No one. Piss off.”*
*”Its freezing. Youll end up in hospital. I was in last yearate like a king. But *you*? Nah, youre a soft lad.”*
*”And youre what? Some street rat?”*
*”Suppose. Cmon, mines close. Mums on shifttrain guard.”*
*”You live *alone*?”*
*”Yeah.”*
Gazs flat was odd. Clean, but the front door looked chewed by a dog.
*”Keep your shoes on. My room.”*
Posters covered the wallsBowie, Queen, The Clash. Vic had a Gagarin poster at home, swapped six holographic stickers for a Bros one. *When will I When will I be famous?*
A *guitar*.
*”Yours?”*
*”Yeah. Tea?”*
Vic nodded. His stomach growled. Shouldve eaten before running.
*”Fancy some grub? Pasta n sardines?”*
Vic shrugged.
*”Trust mebangin.”*
Gaz boiled pasta, fried onions, dumped in a tin of sardines. Vic had *never* tasted anything so good.
They drank tea from chipped mugs, sugar cubes wrapped in paper with little trains.
*”Erm whats your name?”*
Gaz laughed. *”Gary. Gary Miller.”*
*”Why Gaz?”*
*”Dunno. Stuck. Wanna hear a tune?”*
*”Go on.”*
Gary played*properly*. Vics jaw dropped.
*”Youre *brilliant*. Whos that?”* He pointed at a poster.
*”*What*? Thats *Queen*! And *The Clash*legends!”*
*”Theyre not British?”*
*”Course they are! *This* ones Bowie.”*
*”Oh! *Ashes to ashes*”* Vic sang. Gary joined in on guitar.
*”You gotta go home, mate. Theyll have the bobbies out.”*
Vic scowled.
*”Whats up?”*
So Vic told him.
*”Dont be daft. A *dad*? Thats *mint*. Ive got no one.”*
*”Wheres yours?”*
*”Dunno. Mum says astronaut.”* He snorted. *”Bollocks. Shes a train guard. Found me on a platform. No familyjust us. But shes *solid*. Sort your lot outdont be a wet lettuce. Grown-up stuff, innit?”*
*”Cheers, Gaz.”*
*”For what?”*
*”Everything.”* Vic hugged himtight.
Gaz was right. He walked Vic home.
They were all lookingMum, Nan, neighbours, even the copper. And *him*. Dad.
They explainedhow Mum fell pregnant, how Nan hated Dad. How they stayed together anyway.
Dad went off to work. Mum stayed. Then Nan *wrote* to him*”Shes remarried, leave her be.”*
Dad wrote back, furious. Then he met someone. Mum found out, divorced him.
Three years ago, they started talking again. Dad lived alone nowcouldnt lie to that woman, said he still loved Mum.
*”Why?”* Vic asked Nan. *”*Why*?”*
*”I wanted her happy. *You* happy.”*
*”What about *him*?”*
*”Forgive me.”*
On Vics birthday, Gaz came. Gave him a Bowie posterMum *let* him hang it.
*Ashes to ashes, funk to funky*
Vic forgave them all. *”Grown-up stuff,”* like Gaz said.
Nan *adopted* Gazfed him pies, helped with maths. He got *straight As*.
Years later, they still meet at Gazs nans old cottagestrumming guitars, singing *Heroes*, eating pasta n sardines like posh gits.
And Dad? Vic loves him. Hes got half-siblings nowall get on. But with Dad?
Its different.
Something *special*.
