A Special Bond
Tommy was sure he was in for a right telling-off, and not from the local troublemaker Danny “Scrapper” but from his own mum.
He walked home, whistling nonchalantly, though his stomach twisted at the thought of the scolding he was about to get.
Auntie Jean, his mums best mate, had spotted him with a fag in his mouth. He couldve lied, said he was just holding it for someonebut Auntie Jean had seen him puffing away. What was he supposed to tell his mum? That someone had stuffed it in his mouth?
Tommy pretended not to notice Auntie Jean, and bless her, she didnt shout or clip him round the earjust gave him a long, knowing look before going about her business.
But Tommy wasnt daft. He knew Auntie Jean had already grassed him up, and his mum was waiting inside with a slipper in hand. Hed already circled the block twice when he spotted his nan.
Oh, brilliantnow the heavy artillery was rolling in. This was a dirty trick. Nan would start wailing about how shed raised hundreds of kids as a respected schoolteacher, yet her own grandson was running wild. How ashamed his grandad would be, spinning in his grave, along with every ancestor stretching back to William the Conqueror.
When Tommy was little, that image terrified himdigging his fingers into the grass, half-expecting the ground to heave as the dead turned over beneath him. Then, one day, it clicked. The next time Nan went off about restless ancestors, Tommy piped up, “Well, at least they wont get bedsores, like old Mrs. Jenkins nan.”
Nan clutched her chest. Mum burst out laughing, forgetting all about the slipperwhich earned her a whack with a tea towel from Nan.
Now, Tommy watched his nan hurrying toward him.
“What are you doing out here? Why arent you home?” Nan demanded, her eyes darting about like *she* was the one caught smoking. “Had a row with your mum?”
“N-no I havent even been home yet.”
“Havent been home? Whereve you been all this time?”
“School, then football practice, and now Im walking.”
“Right then” *Here it comes,* Tommy thought. *Shell tell me to breathe in her face, then the interrogation will start.* “Whats this? Why are your hands so red? Where are your gloves? *Where?*”
“Forgot em at home, Nan.”
“Forgot? And your mum didnt check? Whats going on? Show me your ankles!”
She yanked up his trouser leg and gasped.
“Whats *this*?”
“Wh-what, Nan?” Tommy stammered.
“Why are your ankles so red? Where are your thermal socks? And your *scarf*?”
Tommy burned with shameespecially when he spotted Scrapper lurking by the alley, his bright red beanie bobbing as he watched the whole scene. Oh, *Naaaaan*. Why did she have to do this now? Was she losing it? Shed always been sharp as a tack, but this
“Nan whats five times five?”
“Twenty-five,” Nan said, baffled.
“Whats the Pythagorean theorem?”
“The square of the hypotenuse equals Tommy? Whats got into you? Did you not do your homework? And *she* didnt check?” Nan huffed. “I wont stand for this! Come on, were going home.”
Waitwas Nan on *his* side? Could he dodge Mums lecture? Had he slipped into some bizarro world where nan robots had taken over?
“Nan which sides my appendix scar on?”
“The right. What scar? Youve never had your appendix out.”
Okay, definitely his real nan.
She dragged him home at a march, puffing and muttering all the way.
Mum was in the kitchen, the smell of dinner wafting through the flat. She wore her nice dress, curls pinned up, new earringsand *heels*? Since when did she wear heels at home?
“Tommy-love!” She pulled him into a hug. “Wash up, dinners nearly ready. Mum, you staying?”
“Whys this child wandering the streets? Doesnt *want* to come home, does he? Well done, well donetrading your own flesh forwhere are his gloves? His thermals? Its brass monkeys out there! But no, you dont care”
“Mum, *please*, stop. Are you eating with us?”
“No! I wont set foot in this house again, understand? And you know what?” She turned to Tommy. “Pack your things, lad. Youre coming with me.”
“What? Why, Nan?”
“To *live*, Tommy. Youre moving in with me.”
“I dont *want* to!” The idea of Nan nagging him 24/7? No thanks.
“Tommys staying *here* in *his* home with *his* family,” Mum said firmly.
“Wheres *his* home? *Where?* Youve thrown everything awayTommy, get your things!”
“Mum, if you dont stop, IllIll have to”
“What? *What?* Kick your own mother out?”
“Yes!”
“You *spiteful*after all Ive done”
Mum didnt let her finish. Tommy watched, gobsmacked, as Mum grabbed Nans arm and *hauled* her onto the landing, slamming the door behind her.
Nan shrieked about calling the police, demanding custody, something about a prison guard.
Mum tugged Tommy into the living roomwhere a bloke sat stiffly, giving him a wary look.
“Tommy no point lying. This is your dad.”
Nan hammered on the door. Mum stood frozen. The mantall, lean, with Tommys eyesstood and held out a shaky hand.
“Hello son.”
Tommy stumbled back.
“Butyou you said he was *dead*!”
“Toni” The man looked at Mum, helpless.
“That wasnt *me*, Dave. That was *Mum*. She said itd be easier if you thought”
Banging erupted at the door.
“Open up! Police!”
“Toni, maybe I should go”
“No. No more hiding.” Mum gripped Tommys shoulders. “Well explain everything, justjust wait”
She opened the door. Nan stormed in, wild-eyed, followed by a constable and nosy neighbours.
“Reports of a disturbance”
“Nothings wrong. Were having dinner. My husbands back from the oil rigs.”
“But your mother”
“Hes an escaped convict!” Nan wailed. “Arrest him! Tommy, come *here*!”
“Mum, *enough*!” The constable checked Dads ID. “Any convictions?”
“No. Been working up north since I left school.”
“Sorry for the trouble.”
“Arrest him! My daughter couldve married *anyone*”
“Mum, *shut up*!”
The door closed.
A *dad*? Tommy had lived eleven years without one. Why now? He had Mum. Nan. And a *living* father? But Nan had always said
Tommy had spent years ashamed of his “deadbeat thief” dad, supposedly killed in a drunken brawl. Nans little secret*best no one knows the disgrace*.
But it was all a lie.
Mum. Nan. Dad*alive*.
“Tommy” Mum reached for him, but he was already lunging for his coat, his shoes, bolting barefoot into the night.
He ran, tears blurring his vision. Who could he trust?
If his own family could liebetray
“Tommy!” Mums voice faded behind him.
“Oi, kid!” Scrappers voice cut through the dark.
Tommy ignored him.
“Wait upwhats the rush?” Scrapper grabbed his arm. “Whos after ya?”
“No one. *Leave it*.”
“Its freezing. Youll catch your death.” Scrapper scoffed. “I was in hospital last yearate like a king. But *you*? Nah, youre a soft lad.”
“Oh, and *youre* streetwise?”
“Something like that. Cmon, mines close.”
“Yours?”
“Mums on a train shift. Shes a conductor.”
“You live *alone*?”
“Mostly.”
The flat was small, tidy but… Tommy couldnt place the word.
“Keep your shoes on. My rooms here.”
Posters of Bowie, The Clash, Queen. A guitar.
“Yours?”
“Yeah. Want tea?”
Tommy nodded. His stomach growledhe hadnt eaten.
“Fancy some grub? Pasta and sardines?”
Tommy shrugged.
“Trust me, its proper good.”
Scrapper boiled pasta, fried onions, dumped in a tin of sardines in tomato sauce.
Tommy had never tasted anything so brilliant.
Over tea in chipped mugs, sugar cubes with train logos, Tommy finally asked, “Whats your real name?”
Scrapper laughed. “Dan. Dan Miller.”
“Why Scrapper?”
“Dunno. Just stuck.”
Dan played the guitar, singing Oasis, The Stones.
“Youre proper good, Dan.”
“You like this one? Thats Pink Floyd. Led Zeppelin. Legends, mate.”
“Theyre not British?”
“Some are. You know The Beatles?”
“Course!”
They sang together, laughing.
“You should go home. Probly got the rozzers out looking.”
Tommy scowled.
“Whats up?”
So Tommy told him.
“Dont be daft. A dads *brilliant*. Ive got no one.”
“Wheres yours?”
“Dunno. Mum says hes an astronaut.”
“Really?”
“Bollocks. She picked me up between shifts. No family, just us. But shes solid.” Dan nudged him. “Sort it out, mate. Grown-up stuff aint your problem.”
“Cheers, Dan.”
“For what?”
“Everything.” Tommy hugged him.
Dan was right.
They found himMum, Nan, neighbours, the constable *Dad*.
The truth came out. How Mum fell pregnant. How Nan disapproved. How Dad went up north for work, how Nan forged letters saying Mum had moved on.
Dad married another woman. Mum divorced him.
They reconnected two years ago.
“Why?” Tommy asked Nan.
“I wanted them happy.”
“And what about *my* dad?”
Nan sobbed. “Forgive me.”
On his birthday, Tommy invited Danwho gave him a Bowie poster. *Mum let him hang it*.
He forgave them all.
Dan was rightgrown-up mess wasnt his.
Nan took Dan under her wingfeeding him shepherds pie, helping with maths.
Years later, they still meet at the pub, singing *Wonderwall* over pints.
And Dad?
Tommy loves him. Theres a half-sister now, a little brother. But with Dad its different.
A special bond.
