Vicky was sure he was about to get the thrashing of his lifeand not from the school bully, Gaz, but from his own mum.
He whistled as he walked home, but his chest tightened. Oh, he was in for it now.
Auntie Sue, Mums best mate, had spotted him with a cig. He couldve lied, said someone just handed it to him, butAuntie Sue had seen it in his mouth. What was he gonna tell Mum? That someone shoved it in his gob and told him to puff? Nice try.
Vicky pretended not to see her, and thank goodness, Auntie Sue didnt scream or clip him round the earjust gave him a long look and carried on. But Vicky wasnt daft. He knew shed already snitched. Mum was waiting with the belt. Hed already circled the house twice when he spotted Nan.
Oh, brilliant. Heavy artillery. Forbidden move. Here we goNan would start wailing about how she, an honoured teacher, had raised hundreds of kids but failed her own grandson. How ashamed she was, how his grandad and all their ancestors were spinning in their graves.
Little Vicky used to be terrified of that. Hed picture the earth shifting as the dead turned over. Then one day, when Nan started up, he blurted, “At least they wont get bedsores like Gazs nan.”
Nan clutched her chest. Mum lost it laughing, forgetting to belt himso Nan whacked her with a tea towel instead.
Now, Vicky watched Nan hurry over.
“Whatre you doing out here? Why arent you home?” Nans eyes darted like *she* was the one caught smoking. “Fallen out with your mum?”
“N-no… I havent even been home yet.”
“What dyou mean? Whereve you been all this time?”
“School, then football, then… just walking.”
“Right,” Nan said. Vicky braced. Here it came. “Whats this, then? Your handswhyre they red? Wherere your gloves? *Where?*”
“Left em at home, Nan.”
“At home? And your mum didnt notice? Whats going on? Show me your ankles.”
She yanked up his trouser leg and gasped.
“Whats this?”
“What, Nan?” Vicky panicked.
“Your ankleswhyre they red? Wherere your thermals? And your scarf?”
Vicky burned with shame. Then he spotted Gaz watching from the alley, his stupid red snapback peeking out. Oh, *brilliant*. Nice one, Nan. Who even asked her? Was she losing it? Shed always been sharp, but now…
“Nan… whats five times five?”
“Twenty-five?” She blinked.
“Whats the square of the hypotenuse?”
“Sum of the squares of the other two sides… Victor? Did you not do your homework? She didnt even check? This is *unacceptable*.”
WaitNan was on *his* side? Maybe hed dodge Mums lecture. Was this a parallel universe? Were they all robots? Was Nan even Nan?
“Nan, which sides my appendix scar on?”
“Right. What scar? You never had it out.”
Okay, still Nan.
She dragged him home, huffing. Mum was there, the flat smelling of dinner. She wore her good dress, curls done, new earringsand *heels* at home? Weird.
“Vicky, love.” She hugged him. “Wash up, dinners ready. Mum, you staying?”
“Whys my grandson roaming the streets? Doesnt want to come home, does he? *Brilliant* parenting. Wherere his gloves? His thermals? Its freezing! But no, youre too busy with your”
“Mum, *stop*. Are you eating with us or not?”
“No! Im done here. Vicky, pack your things. Youre coming with me.”
“What? No!” Vicky imagined Nans nagging. No thanks.
“Hes staying *here*, Mum.”
“Wheres *here*? Youve thrown everything away for”
“Mum, if you dont stop, IllIll have to
“What? *What*? Kick your own mother out?”
“Yes!”
“Youungrateful!”
Mum didnt let her finish. She grabbed Nan, shoved her onto the landing, and slammed the door. Nan screeched about calling the police, demanding Vicky, ranting about some jailbird.
Mum yanked Vicky into the lounge. A bloke sat there, tense.
“Vic… no lies. This is your dad.”
Nan howled outside. Mum stood limp. The mantall, thin, with Vickys eyesstood.
“Hello… son.”
Vicky staggered back. “But… youre *dead*.”
“Toni…” The man looked at Mum, wretched.
“*I* didnt say that. *She* did. Said itd be easier than… than you knowing the truth.”
Banging at the door.
“Police! Open up!”
“Toni, maybe I should go”
“No. No more hiding. Vicky, well explain”
Mum opened the door. Nan stormed in, wild-haired, with a PC and nosy neighbours.
“Whats going on? Weve had reports”
“Nothing. Just family dinner. My husbands home from Aberdeen.”
“But your mother”
“Hes a *convict*! Arrest him! Vicky, come *here*!”
“Mum, *enough*.”
“ID, sir?”
“Of course.”
“Any convictions?”
“No. Worked up north since school…”
“Apologies, maam.”
“Arrest him! He ruined my daughters life”
“Mum, *stop*!”
The door shut. A *dad*? Eleven years without one. Nan said he was a thief, died in a pub brawl. A *shameful secret*.
But nohe was *alive*. Theyd *all* lied.
“Vic” Mum reached, but he lunged for his coat, shoes, and bolted.
He ran, crying. Who to trust? If his own family betrayed him
“VICKY!” Mum shouted. He didnt stop.
“Oi, kid” Gaz. Vicky ignored him.
“Hold up! Whos after you?” Gaz grabbed his arm.
“No one. *Piss off*.”
“Its freezing. Youll catch your death. I was in hospital last yearate like a king, but youre too soft for that.”
“Yeah? And youre some street rat?”
“Pretty much. Cmon, mines close. Dont worryI like you. Wish I had a brother like you.”
Gazs flat was… odd. Chewed-up door, but clean inside.
“Keep your shoes on. My room.”
Posters covered the wallsBowie, Led Zeppelin, Oasis. Mum never let Vicky put any up.
“Tea?”
Vicky nodded. Stomach growled. Shouldve eaten first.
“Hungry? Fancy spaghetti hoops on toast?”
Gaz cooked it uponions fried, beans mixed in. Vicky had never tasted anything so good.
They drank tea from proper mugs, sugar cubes with trains printed on the wrappers.
“Erm… whats your real name?”
Gaz snorted. “Dave. Dave Carter.”
“Why Gaz?”
“Dunno. Stuck, didnt it?” He grabbed a guitar. “Wanna hear summat?”
Dave played*properly*.
“Youre amazing. Whos that?”
“Oi, thats *Queen*! And *this*”
“Theyre not British?”
“Nah. But this”
“I know Bowie! *Rebel Rebel*”
Dave joined in. They sang loud, laughing.
“You should get home. Theyll have the law out by now.”
Vicky scowled.
“Oi. Whats up?”
So he told him.
“Dont be daft. A *dad*? Thats *brilliant*. Mines MIA.”
“Where?”
“Dunno. Mum reckons hes an astronaut.”
“Yeah, right.”
“No nan, no grandad. Just us. But she kept me. Ill get a proper job, make her quit trains. Dont run, Vic. Sort it. Its their mess, not yours.”
“Cheers, Dave.”
“For what?”
“Everything.” Vicky hugged him tight.
Dave was right. He walked Vicky back.
Everyone was searchingMum, Nan, neighbours, police… and *him*. The dad.
They explained it allhow Mum got pregnant, how Nan hated Dad, how they stayed together. Dad went north for work. Nan wrote him, pretending Mum remarried. Dad sent a furious letter, then moved in with another woman. Mum divorced him. Theyd been writing again for three years.
“Why?” Vicky asked Nan.
“I wanted the best for you.”
“And what about *him*?”
“Forgive me…”
On Vickys birthday, he invited Dave. Dave gave him a Bowie posterMum *let* him hang it.
Vicky forgave them all. “Grown-up stuff,” like Dave said.
Nan took Dave under her wingfed him pies, helped him ace maths.
Years later, they still meet at the cottage, singing *Rebel Rebel*, eating beans on toast like its gourmet.
Vicky loves his dad. Hes got half-siblings nowall get on. But with Dad? Thats their own, *special* bond.
