A Special Bond
Tommy was sure he was in for a right telling-off, and not from the local troublemaker Spike, but from his own mum.
He whistled as he walked home, but his stomach twistedhe was going to get it now, no mistake.
Auntie Rose, Mums best mate, had seen him with a fag. He couldve lied, said someone handed it to him, but noAuntie Rose had clocked him puffing away. What was he supposed to say to his mum? That someone shoved it in his mouth? Like thatd work.
Tommy pretended not to notice Auntie Rose, and to her credit, she didnt shout or clip him round the ear. Just gave him a long look and carried on.
But Tommy wasnt daft. He *knew* Auntie Rose had already grassed him up, and Mum was waiting with the belt. He was on his third lap around the block when he spotted Gran.
Here we go, the heavy artillery. Forbidden move. Now Gran would starttears, the whole “I raised hundreds of kids, honoured teacher of the county, and my own grandsons gone to the dogs” routine. How ashamed she was, how his grandad and great-grandad and all the ancestors were spinning in their graves.
When he was little, that bit scared the life out of him. He’d imagine the ground shifting as they turned over. Then one day, it clicked. Next time Gran started on about the ancestors, he shot back, “Good, keeps ’em from getting bedsores, like old Mrs. Jenkins down the road.”
Gran clutched her chest. Mum howled laughing, forgetting to belt himthen got a slipper to the head from Gran for it.
Now Tommy watched Gran hurry over.
“Whatre you doing out here? Why arent you home?” Grans eyes darted about like *she* was the one caught smoking. “Had a row with your mum?”
“N-no… I havent even been home yet.”
“What dyou mean? Whereve you been all this time?”
“School, then footie training, then… just walking.”
“Right then” Here it comes, Tommy thought. Any second shed tell him to breathe out, then the interrogation would start. “Whats this? Your handswhyre they red? Where are your gloves?”
“Left em at home, Gran.”
“At *home*? And your mum didnt notice? Whats *wrong* with her? Show me your ankles.”
Gran yanked up his trouser leg and gasped.
“Whats *this*?”
“What, Gran?” Tommy panicked.
“Look at this! Whyre your ankles red? Where are your thermals? And your *scarf*?”
Tommy burned with shame. Then he spotted Spike watching from the alley, his stupid red cap bobbing. Oh, Gran, *why*? Whats got into her? Was she losing it? Shed always been sharp, but this…
“Gran… whats five times five?”
“Twenty-five,” she said, baffled.
“Whats the square of the hypotenuse?”
“The sum of the squares of the other two sides… Tommy, love, have you not done your homework? She didnt even check? This is *unacceptable*. Come on, were going home. Just look at the state of thingsshes let you go completely!”
WaitGran was on *his* side? Maybe hed dodge Mums lecture. Was this some parallel universe? Had robots taken over? Was Gran even *Gran*?
“Gran, which sides my appendix scar on?”
“Right side. What scar? Youve never had it out.”
Okay, definitely Gran.
She dragged him home, huffing and puffing, grip like a vice.
Mum was in the kitchen, something delicious wafting from the oven. She wore her nice dress, curls done up, new earringsand *heels* indoors? Since when?
“Tommy, love!” She pulled him into a hug. “Get washed up, dinners nearly ready. Mum, you staying?”
“Whys the boy roaming the streets? Doesnt want to come home, does he? Youve done it now, havent you? Trading your own flesh and blood forwhere are his *gloves*? Where are his *thermals*? Its freezing! But oh, you dont *care*, do you? Too busy with *him*”
“Mum, *stop*. Are you eating with us or not?”
“No! Im done here. And you know what?” She turned to Tommy. “Pack your things, love. Youre coming with me.”
“What? Why?”
“To *live*, Tommy. Youre moving in with me.”
“No, Gran, I dont *want* to”
The thought of Grans nagging made his skin crawl.
“*Mum*, Tommys staying *here*, in *his* home, with *his* family.”
“*What* family? Youve thrown it all away! Tommy, *pack*.”
“If you dont stop, IllIll have to”
“*What*? Kick your own mother out?”
“Yes!”
“You *wicked* girl! After all Ive done”
Mum didnt let her finish. Tommy saw something *wild*Mum grabbed Gran by the arm, marched her out to the landing, and *slammed* the door.
Gran shrieked about calling the police, demanding Tommy be handed over, ranting about some prison officer.
Mum hauled Tommy into the loungewhere a bloke sat stiffly, eyeing him.
“Tommy… no lies. This is your dad.”
Gran battered the door. Mum stood frozen. The man stoodtall, lean, with Tommys eyes. Held out a shaky hand.
“Hello… son.”
Tommy recoiled, back against the door.
“But… you… you said he *died*.”
“Annie…” The man looked at Mum, bleak.
“*I* didnt, Steve. *She* did. Said itd be easier than… than him knowing youd…”
Banging at the door.
“Policeopen up!”
“Annie, maybe I should go”
“No. No more hiding. Tommy, well explain, just*wait*. Love, dont be scared”
Mum opened the door.
In stormed Gran, a constable, and nosy Mrs. Wilkins from next door.
“Reports of a disturbance”
“Nothings wrong. Just family dinner. My husbands home from the North. *Our* son.”
“But your mother”
“Hes a *criminal*! Escaped convict! Arrest him! Tommy, come *here*did he hurt you?”
“Mum, *enough*.”
“Your documents, sir?” the constable asked.
“Course.”
“Any convictions?”
“No. Worked oil rigs since school”
“Apologies, maam.”
“Arrest him! He ruined my daughters lifeshe couldve had *anyone*”
“Mum, *stop* humiliating me!”
The door shut.
A *dad*? Eleven years thinking he was dead, and now *this*? Hed been ashamed of his thief father, killed in some drunken brawlthats what Gran whispered, “for his own good.”
Turns out… theyd *lied*. All of them.
“Tommy” Mum reached, but he was already grabbing his jacket, shoes, bolting out the door.
He ran, crying. Who to trust? If his own family could lie like this
“TOMMY!” Mums voice faded as he sprinted, barefoot, clothes clutched to his chest.
“Oi, kid” Spikes voice. Tommy ignored him. Things couldnt get worse. “Hold upwhos after ya?”
Spike grabbed his arm.
“Who *are* you?”
“No one. *Piss off*.”
“Freezing out here. Youll catch your death. I was in hospital last yearate like a king. But *you*? Nah, youre… *soft*.”
“Oh, and youre *hard*?”
“Suppose. Cmon, mines close. Mums on a train shift”
“Wait, *what*?”
“Train guard. Lives away half the week.”
“You… live *alone*?”
“Yep.”
The flat door was battered, chewed-looking, but inside? Spotless. Oddly… *empty*.
“Keep your shoes on. My room.”
Posters covered the wallsThe Clash, Queen, Bowie. Tommys mum never let him stick posters upjust a space one and a *Take That* calendar swap with his mate Gary.
A *guitar*.
“Yours?”
“Yeah.”
“Tea?”
Tommy nodded. Stomach growledshouldve eaten first.
“Fancy some grub? Pasta n sardines?”
Tommy shrugged.
“*What*? Youve never had it? *Proper* good.”
Spike boiled pasta, fried onions, dumped in a tin of sardines in tomato sauce. Mixed it all up.
Tommy had *never* tasted anything so good.
They drank tea from chipped mugs, sugar cubes pinched from the café where Spike sometimes worked.
“Look… bit awkward, but… whats your name?”
Spike snorted.
“Dave. Dave Miller.”
“But why”
“*Spike*? Dunno. Just stuck.”
He played guitar, sang*proper* good.
“Youre *brilliant*, Dave. Whos this?”
“*Mate*, thats Queen! And this”
“Clowns?”
“*Piss off*! Legends!”
“Theyre not British?”
“Nah. But *this*”
“I know *this* one! *We Will Rock You*!” Tommy sang, Dave joined in*loud*.
“Youd best get home. Theyll have the cops out.”
Tommy scowled.
“Whats up?”
So he told him.
“Dont be daft. A *dad*? Thats *class*. Mines… dunno. Mum says astronaut.”
“*Really*?”
“Bollocks. She brought me back from a trip. No family, just us. Shes *tough*. Dont muck it up, Tommy. Sort it. Grown-up stuff, innit?”
“Cheers, Dave.”
“For what?”
“Everything.”
Tommy hugged him*proper* tight.
Dave walked him back.
They were all searchingMum, Gran, neighbours, even *him*… Dad.
They explained laterhow Mum fell pregnant, how Gran hated Dad, how they split when Dad went off to work.
Gran *lied*. Sent Dad a letter saying Mum had remarried.
Dad wrote back, furious. Met someone else. Mum filed for divorce.
Theyd been writing againDad lived alone now.
“Why?” Tommy asked Gran. “*Why*?”
“I wanted… happiness.”
“For *you*. Not *him*.”
Gran cried. “Forgive me.”
For his birthday, Tommy invited Dave. Dave gave him a Queen posterMum *let* him put it up.
Not Dave. The poster.
Tommy forgave them all.
“Grown-up stuff,” Dave said.
Gran took Dave under her wingfed him pies, helped with maths. He aced his exams.
Years on, theyre still mates. Sing *We Will Rock You* at family BBQs, eat pasta n sardines like its gourmet.
Tommy loves his dad. Has half-siblings nowall get on.
But with Dad?
A *special bond*.
