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‘I want to help you, Tommy. I’m a policeman and that’s my job. I wasn’t much older than you when I lost my mum, ya know. Fourteen, and it was tough. It’s true what they say, though: time is a healer. I know it doesn’t feel like it at the moment, but one day you’ll be able to think about your lovely mum and smile again. Nobody can ever take the wonderful memories of her away from you. They last for ever.’
‘But it’s not just my mum, is it? It’s everything.’
PC Kendall sighed. The Hazel incident had been a major talking point at the police station. It wasn’t every day a fourteen-year-old girl clumped a lad of the same age over the head with a paving block, killing him stone dead. ‘Why don’t we get you home, eh? Your dad will be worried and it’s cold out here. That wind is bitter today.’
‘I ain’t got a dad.’
‘Course you have. Alexander’s your dad.’
Tears streamed down Tommy’s face as he looked the local bobby in the eyes. ‘He ain’t my real dad. My nan told me today. She ain’t my real nan either. That’s why Rex has to go to live on a farm and I gotta live with Uncle Ian,’ he gabbled.
PC Kendall winced. He knew life could be cruel, but not this cruel. Poor little Tommy had lost everything in less than a fortnight. He hugged the freezing boy close to his chest. ‘I’m so sorry, mate. I truly am. I know how much you love Rex. So, is Uncle Ian related to your mum?’
‘Yeah. He’s her weird brother.’
‘Weird? What do you mean by that?’
Tommy shrugged. ‘My dad – sorry, I mean Alexander – always called him a weirdo. Not to his face, like.’
Though he hadn’t been a copper long, this triggered alarm bells in PC Kendall’s mind. ‘Is your uncle married?’
‘Yeah. To a woman called Sandra. She’s very fat.’
Kendall relaxed slightly. ‘They got kids?’
‘No. They got cats.’
‘Where do they live?’
‘South London, but I don’t know the road name. It’s a smaller house than ours and not very clean.’
PC Kendall took a notepad out of his pocket and wrote something down. He handed it to Tommy. ‘This is the phone number of the police station I work at. Any problems, you call and ask for me, OK?’
Tommy nodded. ‘Thank you.’
‘Right, let’s get you home. I thought we might stop at Mr Abbot’s on the way and buy you some sweets. What’s your favourite?’
‘Sherbet lemons.’
PC Kendall smiled. ‘Sherbet lemons it is then.’
CHAPTER FIVE
So, that’s where it all began. Feels pretty good to get it off my chest, if I’m honest.
It makes me smile to think I once confided in the Old Bill. Having said that, he was all right was PC Kendall. Not like some of the sharks I’ve since met.
So many coppers are on the payroll of villains, you wouldn’t believe it. No integrity or conscience. Always on the take. I know because I’ve dealt with the unscrupulous bastards. They are worse than most of the gangsters I’ve mixed with. Reason being, they couldn’t give a shit who they trample on. Play ball or get nicked, that’s the option for many.
I’m rambling now, so let’s go back to my story. From the day my mother died, my life wasn’t my own for a while. Saying it had its ups and downs wouldn’t just be an understatement. I’d liken it to a Boeing 747 hitting a hurricane.
I was twelve, naïve, and honestly thought I had hit rock bottom. I hadn’t. There was far worse to come.
You know the name: Tommy Boyle. Now read on and I’ll explain what happened next …
*
Tommy was walking along the canal looking for the stray dog he’d made friends with, when he was unexpectedly jumped on and bundled to the ground.
‘No. Give me that back. It’s mine,’ Tommy insisted as his duffel bag was ripped from his shoulder and the contents tipped on the grass.
‘Shut it, ya little squirt,’ said one of the lads, aiming a sharp kick at Tommy’s head.
Another boy pinned Tommy to the ground.
‘Oi! Whaddya think you’re doing, Marshall? Leave him the fuck alone,’ bellowed a voice in the distance.
When his attackers fled without his belongings, Tommy sat up and locked eyes with a dark-haired lad who looked slightly familiar. ‘You all right?’ the boy asked.
‘Yeah. Thanks for that.’
‘You’re the new boy at school, ain’t ya?’
Tommy nodded and stood up. The boy was a lot taller than him. ‘You in my year?’
‘Yeah. I’m Danny. Danny Darling.’
‘I’m Tommy Boyle. Who were them boys, by the way? Do they go to our school?’
‘Nah. They live on the Walworth Road side. Us Bermondsey boys don’t like ’em. You won’t get no more grief from that lot. I already did three of ’em over.’
Tommy’s eyes widened. ‘Are you a good fighter then?’
Danny grinned. ‘Yeah. I’m a boxer. Gonna be a pro one day. You should try it, ya know. Look at my muscles,’ Danny bragged, taking off his jacket.
Tommy felt Danny’s biceps. ‘Wow! I dunno if I’d be any good, mind. I’m too short.’
‘No, you’re not. A lot of the best boxers are short lads. There’s all different weights in boxing. Come on, I’ll show you the gym.’
And just like that a friendship that would last a lifetime began.
Lynn’s Boxing Club was off Albany Road, and as soon as Tommy walked inside he was filled with a sense of excitement.
The smell, talk and general atmosphere was electric and Tommy couldn’t take his eyes off the lads sparring in the ring. Alexander had never been into boxing, therefore Tommy had little knowledge of it up until now.
‘See that lad in the photo on the wall – the one in the blue shorts holding a trophy?’
‘Yeah.’
‘That’s my elder brother, Ronnie. He’s turned semi-pro now, but my trainer reckons I’m far better than he was at the same age.’
‘Really! How old are you then? And how old’s Ronnie?’
‘I’m in your year at school, you numpty. Thirteen, I am. Ronnie’s eighteen, and I got a younger brother Eugene who’s ten. I also got a sister, Donna. She’s fifteen. You got brothers and sisters?’
‘Two sisters: Hazel and Linda. I don’t live with ’em no more, though. I got sent to live with my uncle.’
‘Why?’
‘’Cause my mum died in a car crash and I then found out my dad weren’t my real dad.’
‘That’s well shit. Bet you miss your mum.’
‘I do.’
‘I miss my dad too. He’s been in prison for the past ten years, but he’ll be out soon.’
Tommy’s eyes widened. ‘Why has he been in prison?’
‘Because he murdered someone. He shot them with a gun.’
‘My sister Hazel murdered someone too, with a paving stone.’
‘Really?’
‘Yeah. The police took her away then sent her to a bad girl’s home.’
‘Wow! That’s mental. Shall we spar in the ring? I won’t hurt you, I promise. I wanna teach you how to protect yourself.’
Tommy grinned. ‘Yeah, I’d like that.’
‘There we are. All tucked in. Would you like me to bring you up a mug of cocoa and a couple of chocolate digestives, Tommy?’ Uncle Ian asked.
Tommy faked a yawn. ‘No, thank you. I’m very tired tonight.’
Uncle Ian kissed Tommy on the forehead. ‘Night, night then. Don’t let the bed bugs bite,’ he grinned.
When his uncle left the room, Tommy smiled as he thought about his magical day. It was seven weeks now since his mum had died, and this was the first time he’d felt truly happy since.
Moving to South London hadn’t been easy. Uncle Ian and Auntie Sandra lived in a two-bedroom house off the Old Kent Road. Tommy’s mother’s house had been spotlessly clean, but Auntie Sandra’s wasn’t. It was shabby, dusty, smelled of cat’s piss and very often there were shit stains down the toilet for days on end. She didn’t even have a toilet brush and bought the most awful toilet paper. It wasn’t soft like his mother had used. It was like grease-paper, and Tommy struggled to clean his bottom properly with it.
Auntie Sandra was a short, fat woman who ate like a horse. She rarely bathed and her hair was long, grey and greasy. She stank too, of sweat and another odour Tommy could not quite distinguish. She was all right towards him, but he could sense she didn’t really want him there.
Uncle Ian, on the other hand, had been very welcoming and generous. He bought Tommy all his football magazines, and as many sweets as he wanted. He’d recently surprised him with the best kite Tommy had ever seen. It looked like a big multicoloured eagle. Uncle Ian had even promised to buy him a portable TV for his thirteenth birthday, which he could watch alone in his bedroom. Tommy was elated by this news, as the small TV downstairs was rarely switched on. Auntie Sandra and Uncle Ian only ever watched the news and Tommy felt awkward asking if he could watch Top of the Pops or The Big Match. He would also feel a bit silly watching such programmes with them. Neither of them were into pop music or football. They listened to the radio and played board games such as chess or draughts.
Starting a new school hadn’t been easy either. Tommy had felt invisible at times, like a lost sheep. Hopefully, now he’d met Danny all that would change. They were walking to school together tomorrow and going back to the boxing gym after their lessons.
For once, Tommy drifted off into a happy sleep. But at 4 a.m. he woke in a cold sweat. It was the usual kind of nightmare. In this particular one, Hazel had hit Rex over the head with a paving stone and killed him. Then his mother had told him she wasn’t his real mother.
‘I didn’t know you lived at number forty-four. Nobody likes your aunt and uncle, ya know. My mum calls them oddballs,’ Danny informed Tommy after school the following day. ‘And your aunt well stinks,’ he added.
Munching on a bag of chips dripping in vinegar, Tommy suddenly didn’t feel hungry any more. He felt embarrassed.
Uncle Ian was a short, dumpy man who wore thick-rimmed glasses and old-fashioned clothes. Tommy thought he looked like the comedian Benny Hill, but he was far less cool. At least Benny Hill was funny. ‘My mum was nothing like my uncle.’ Tommy squirmed. ‘Wanna see a photo of her?’ He carried one around with him; it made him feel she was still with him.
Danny nodded, then studied the image. ‘She is very pretty. She looks like Barbara Windsor. My brother Ronnie well fancies Barbara.’
Tommy handed Danny another photo. ‘That’s my sisters and my dog Rex.’
‘Are you keeping in touch with your sisters?’
‘No. I tried to, but the phone has been cut off where Linda is living and she hasn’t replied to my letters. I don’t even have an address for Hazel.’
‘Where’s your dog?’
‘Alexander found him a farm to live on in Essex.’
Danny felt sorry for Tommy. It had been tough for him over the years because his dad was inside, but at least he had his brothers, mum and sister. ‘Wanna come round mine for Sunday dinner? My mum cooks an ace roast.’
Tommy nodded. Auntie Sandra’s roast was the worst he’d ever tasted. ‘Yes, please. You sure that will be OK with your mum?’
‘Yeah, course. Don’t say where you’re going, though. My family have got a bit of a reputation round ’ere. Your aunt and uncle might try and stop us being pals,’ Danny warned.
‘I won’t. I promise.’
‘Cool. You wanna go to the boxing gym now?’
Tommy grinned. ‘Yeah. Race ya there.’
On the Saturday morning, Tommy was bored, so lay on his bed reading his football magazines. Danny wasn’t around today. His elder brother had recently bought a car, so he’d driven Danny up north to watch Millwall play away.
Tommy much preferred spending time alone in his room than downstairs. He had very little in common with his aunt or uncle, which made it a struggle to find subjects to talk to them about. He had a portable radio in his room, so would rather listen to his favourite stations, alone.
A tap on his bedroom door made Tommy jump. ‘Who is it?’
‘Uncle Ian. OK to come in?’
‘Yes. Of course.’
Tommy smiled as Uncle Ian sat on the edge of his bed. As usual, he was at a loss for what to say. If a person didn’t like pop music, TV, or football, Tommy had come to the conclusion it was difficult to have a conversation with them. Those were the main topics of conversation in his old house.
‘Sandra is going to visit her sister in the Isle of Sheppey today. She won’t be back until tomorrow. So, I thought you and I might do something nice.’
Tommy’s heart sank. Saturday afternoons were all about listening to the football results come in. ‘Like what?’
‘Well, the wind seems reasonably strong. How about we go to the park and fly your kite? I thought I would treat you too. I know how much you want a record player in your bedroom.’
Having missed his old record player almost as much as he missed Rex, Tommy flung his arms around his uncle’s plump shoulders. ‘Thank you. I would love that.’
Flying the kite was a bit of a let-down. The wind had dropped and the kite wouldn’t stay up in the air for long.
‘Cor, look at that, Uncle Ian!’ Tommy was transfixed by the red and orange plane some boy was flying.
‘Do you like aeroplanes, Tommy?’
‘Never been in a real one, but I like that. It’s ace.’
‘Let’s go and ask the boy’s dad where he bought it from then.’
‘Why?’
‘So we can get you one.’
‘No. You’ve been too kind to me already and I don’t expect you to keep buying me things.’
‘I can afford it. That’s why I go to work in the factory.’ Uncle Ian put an arm around Tommy’s shoulders. ‘I just want you to be happy.’
Tommy felt uncomfortable, but couldn’t put his finger on why. ‘I am happy. Thank you,’ he mumbled.
Tommy was thrilled with the record player from Dixons, then even more elated when Uncle Ian handed him a fiver and suggested they stop at a record shop. ‘You’re going to need some vinyl to play on it, aren’t you? Go on, take it,’ his uncle urged.
Tommy excitedly leapt out of the rusty Morris Minor. Slade were currently topping the charts with ‘Cum On Feel The Noize’ and he couldn’t wait to get his hands on that. ‘How much can I spend?’
‘All of it. Want me to come inside the shop with you?’
‘No,’ Tommy said, rather too abruptly. Record shops were for cool dudes and he would hate to be spotted inside one with his uncle. ‘I shall be a while. I’ll meet you back at home.’
Uncle Ian pointed towards a pub. ‘I’ll be in there. Just poke your head around the door when you’re ready. I thought we’d stop and get fish and chips on the way home for our tea.’
‘OK. See you soon.’
Tommy had never been inside a record shop in South London before and this one was buzzing. The Sweet’s ‘Blockbuster’ blasted out of two giant speakers and the bloke and lady serving behind the counter both wore tartan flares, high shiny red platform boots and black leather jackets. They looked like twins.
Tommy was in his element as he sorted through the vinyl. Seven-inch singles weren’t cheap any more, had gone up to fifty pence each, and this was the first time he’d ever had the luxury of buying ten all at once.
Tommy bought Slade, The Strawbs, The Faces, Gary Glitter plus six more, then left the store with a big smile on his face.
‘Did you enjoy today, Tommy?’ Uncle Ian asked, before stuffing a whole wally in his mouth.
‘Yes. Thank you.’
‘Best dish in the world this, you know.’
Tommy nodded in agreement. He’d already devoured his cod and chips.
‘Fancy a game of chess?’
‘I don’t know how to play chess,’ Tommy replied honestly.
Uncle Ian squeezed his nephew’s hand. ‘I will teach you.’
Tommy was dying to go upstairs and play his new records, but he didn’t want to seem ungrateful or unsociable. ‘OK, thank you.’
Uncle Ian set the board up. ‘Have you made some new friends at school now? I noticed you’ve been coming home later.’
‘Yes. I have actually. Is it all right if I go out with them tomorrow afternoon? We’ve organized a game of football over the park,’ Tommy lied.
‘Of course. You be good to me, Tommy, and I will be good to you, if you get my drift?’
Tommy didn’t understand, but smiled and nodded nevertheless.
Tommy stared at the TV in silence. It had been Uncle Ian’s idea they pack up the chessboard and watch Match of the Day together.
‘Who’s that who just scored?’ asked Uncle Ian.
‘Martin Chivers.’
‘What team does he play for?’
Tommy glanced at his uncle as though he were an alien. Surely everyone knew who Martin Chivers played for? He had scored the two away goals in the 1972 UEFA Cup Final, for goodness’ sake.
‘I’m going to run a bath. Sandra doesn’t like us to use too much water, but seeing as she isn’t here, we’ll make the most of it.’
Having missed the regular baths he was allowed to have at home, Tommy nodded in approval. He wanted to be clean and look his best to meet Danny’s family tomorrow. ‘OK, thanks.’
*
The first warning bell rang in Tommy’s head when his uncle informed him they couldn’t be using two lots of water and they had to share the same bath.
‘Erm, can’t I have a bath after you?’
‘No. The water will be dirty and cold. Didn’t you ever share a bath with your mother and sisters? Or your dad?’
‘Well, yeah. But not for ages. I used to get in after my sisters.’
‘We can’t upset your Auntie Sandra. I had to fight tooth and nail to take you in and she always checks the water bill.’
Tommy breathed deeply. He could not think of anything worse than having to share a bath with Uncle Ian, but the man had been so kind to him recently, he could hardly refuse. ‘OK then.’
Uncle Ian’s body looked even more awful with no clothes on and Tommy averted his eyes from the rolls of fat. Thankfully, there were lots of bubbles in the bath and Tommy sat frozen against the end with the plug hurting his bum, while his uncle splashed about like a beached whale at the other, cracking unfunny jokes.
‘Want me to scrub your back, Tommy?’
‘No, thank you. Can I go to bed now, please?’
‘Of course. Let me get you a towel to dry yourself.’
Having not gone through puberty himself, Tommy was shocked as his uncle struggled to get out of the bath. His willy looked huge and hard. Like a snake.
CHAPTER SIX
Suzie Darling was a funny, loud lady with auburn hair, dimples and a welcoming smile. She swore a lot and her house was clean, but not particularly tidy. Tommy immediately felt at home as he sat on the brown Dralon sofa.
‘You OK, Tom? Not gone all shy, have ya?’ Danny joked.
‘I’m fine, thanks,’ Tommy lied. He had lain awake most of the night thinking about Uncle Ian. Tommy was yet to get sexual urges himself, but he knew lads who had, and he couldn’t help worrying his uncle had been sexually aroused when he’d got out of the bath. Was that why Alexander always called him a weirdo? Was Uncle Ian some kind of pervert?
‘Whaddya think of me mum?’
‘She’s nice and very pretty. Where are your brothers and sister?’
‘Eugene’s playing football, Donna’s gone down Petticoat Lane with her mate and Ronnie’s a biker, so he could be anywhere. They’ll all be home for dinner though. No one cooks a roast like my mum. She works in the Prince of Wales pub as a cleaner. Do you know it?’
Tommy shook his head.
‘She don’t earn much, but Ronnie does. He pays for most of our food, bills and rent as my dad’s inside.’
‘Does Ronnie work as a boxer? Is that his actual job?’
Danny chuckled. ‘Nah. He earns some from the boxing, but he does other stuff too.’
‘Like what?’
‘Same as me dad. Ronnie’s a ducker and diver.’
Knowing Danny’s father was banged up for murder, Tommy decided not to ask any more questions.
Danny was right about one thing. Suzie Darling cooked an ace roast. Tommy had thought nothing could beat his mother’s and felt disloyal even admitting as much to himself.
‘Want some more pigs in blankets, Tommy?’ Ronnie Darling asked. Danny had told them about the tough time Tommy had been through. They were all shocked who the lad lived with. Ian and Sandra Taylor kept themselves to themselves in this neck of the woods, but even so they weren’t liked. Rumours had surfaced a few years back – about Ian in particular.
Tommy grinned and gratefully accepted the food. He liked Ronnie, who had arrived home dressed in black leathers. He was funny and extremely cool.
‘Want some more parsnips?’ asked Suzie, shoving a load on Tommy’s plate. The poor little mite looked like he needed feeding up a bit.
‘Thank you, Mrs Darling. This is like a Christmas dinner. It was very kind of you to invite me round.’ Tommy’s mother had always told him ‘Good manners cost nothing.’
‘You’re very welcome, my love. Our Danny speaks highly of you. Anytime you want to pop round, feel free. But please call me Suzie. Mrs Darling makes me sound like one of the blue-rinse brigade down East Street market,’ Suzie chuckled.
‘Do you really live at number forty-four, Tommy?’ asked eleven-year-old Eugene. He was quite impressed with Danny’s new friend, but he and his pals played knock-down ginger at Tommy’s aunt and uncle’s house. They called them ‘The Stinkies’.
Kicking his youngest brother under the table, Ronnie quickly changed the subject. ‘Danny says you like football, Tom. Who do you support?’
‘I did support Celtic, but since finding out my dad ain’t my dad, I don’t want to support them any more. Spurs are my team now.’
Ronnie ruffled the boy’s hair. Tommy was a good lad; he could sense that, with an air of vulnerability about him. ‘Wanna come over Millwall with me and Danny next Saturday? I’ll treat you.’
Tommy’s eyes shone. He had yet to attend a proper football match. ‘You bet I do. Thank you.’
‘Here she is, the latecomer. Dinner’s in the oven, burnt, young lady,’ tutted Suzie. ‘Serves you right for saying you’d be home by three and coming in at four.’
Tommy was rather taken aback when the stunning girl with big blue eyes and glossy long blonde hair sauntered into the kitchen. She was wearing a white catsuit and red platform shiny boots like those people serving in the record shop yesterday. He nudged Danny. ‘Is that your sister?’
‘Yeah. That’s our Donna. Pain in the bloody arse, she is,’ Danny laughed.
Eyes as big as organ stops, Tommy stared at the girl. At that moment, he had his first ever sexual feeling and it felt like heaven.
Life returned to normal back at Uncle Ian and Auntie Sandra’s house. The dinners were bland, Auntie Sandra spoke to him only when she could be bothered and Tommy spent most of his time in the sanctuary of his bedroom, playing his records and listening to the radio.
On the Saturday he was due to attend the Millwall game, Tommy heard the tap-tap he’d come to dread on his bedroom door. The bath incident had not been mentioned again and Tommy was far too embarrassed to tell Danny about it. ‘Who is it?’
‘Uncle Ian. OK to come in?’
‘Yes. Of course.’
Uncle Ian smiled as he plonked his fat self on the edge of Tommy’s bed. ‘Sandra is visiting her sister in the Isle of Sheppey again this weekend, so I thought we might do something together. I found a shop that sells those aeroplanes. I’ll treat you to one, then we’ll fly it over the park. Sound good to you?’
Uncle Ian stank, a mixture of stale sweat and smoke. Tommy had a strip wash every morning at the bathroom sink, but he’d never noticed his uncle or aunt do so. ‘I’m sorry, but I’m going out with a friend today.’
‘Can’t you cancel seeing your friend? I thought you wanted one of those aeroplanes.’
‘No. Thank you for offering, but I’m not bothered about having one now.’
Uncle Ian eyed Tommy suspiciously over his thick-rimmed glasses. ‘You’ve been going out an awful lot recently. Where exactly are you going today?’
‘Football. I’m going to watch Millwall.’
‘You will do no such thing, lad. I am not having you mixing with hooligans. You are my responsibility now.’
‘But I can’t let my friend down and we are going with an adult. My friend’s older brother is eighteen,’ Tommy protested.
‘Who is this friend of yours? Only you’ve been spending a lot of time with him recently. You’re hardly ever at home.’
Fighting the urge to inform Uncle Ian that this wasn’t his home and never would be, Tommy bit his tongue. He felt like crying. ‘Johnny – he’s in my class at school,’ he lied. ‘Please let me go, Uncle Ian. I’ve always wanted to go to a proper football match. I promise I won’t be home late. We can spend the evening together and do whatever you want then. Please, I beg you.’
Uncle Ian softened and handed Tommy a pound note. ‘Go on then. Enjoy yourself. But I want you home here by seven at the latest.’
Feeling a sense of relief wash over him, Tommy took the money and smiled. ‘Thank you.’
Uncle Ian stood up. ‘Your friend Johnny. What’s his surname?’
There was a lad called Johnny in his class, so Tommy decided to play it safe. ‘Rodgers.’
As he left the room, Uncle Ian frowned. He knew the Rodgerses and wasn’t aware Johnny had an older brother. Tommy had better not be lying to him. He hated liars.
Tommy was buzzing as he walked towards Millwall’s ground. Fans were already singing at the top of their voices and the delicious smell of fried onions wafting from the burger and hotdog stalls made him feel a bit emotional. His mum had cooked lots of meals with onions and that smell reminded him of happier times. He was genuinely happy today though, and was sure his mum would approve of his new friend and Danny’s family. They were all very kind to him.
‘You hungry, Tommy?’ asked Ronnie Darling.
‘I am. Get us a burger,’ ordered Eugene.
Ronnie grabbed his younger brother in a playful headlock. ‘Nobody asked you, ya little squirt. And you’ll get sod all until you say the word please,’ Ronnie chuckled.
When a group of men collared Ronnie for a chat, he handed Danny a fiver and told him to get them some food.
‘Doesn’t your brother know a lot of people,’ Tommy said to his friend.
Danny grinned proudly. ‘Yeah. My dad’s even more well known, ya know. My whole family are really. Nobody messes with us. That’s why them boys who picked on you ran off sharpish.’
Not wanting to pry, Tommy changed the subject. ‘Isn’t your brother a biker all the time?’ Ronnie wasn’t wearing black leathers today. He was dressed in faded flared jeans, trainers, and a black bomber jacket. He looked no different to any other football fan.
‘Ronnie’s a biker when he wants to be a biker,’ Danny laughed. ‘He’s the master of disguise, my brother. The pigs hate him.’
Not understanding what Danny meant, Tommy decided the best thing to do was smile politely.
‘Hello, Ian. How are you and Sandra keeping?’ asked Mr Patel the newsagent.
‘Yes, we’re fine, thank you. Could you make me up an extra-large bag of penny sweets, the kind that twelve-year-old boys like. And I’ll take a copy of every football magazine you have, please.’
‘Ah, is this for young Tommy who is staying with you?’
‘I’m actually Tommy’s guardian now. His mother unfortunately died in a car crash.’
‘Oh, I am very sorry to hear that. I see Tommy earlier with his friend, young Danny. They buy bubble gum to take to the match with them.’
‘Danny who?’
Mr Patel handed Ian five magazines and a big bag of mixed sweets. ‘Danny Darling. Everybody knows young Danny around here,’ he chuckled.
With a face like thunder, Ian threw the money on the counter, snatched the magazines and sweets out of Mr Patel’s hands and stormed out of the shop.
Tommy Boyle joined in with all the fans chanting ‘We are Millwall, from the Den’ as he left the ground. Everyone was buoyant and the atmosphere was awesome. Millwall had scored a late winner, but the funniest part of the day had been when the peanut seller had asked Ronnie to look after a sackful. Ronnie had started chucking handfuls in the air, then everybody nearby joined in, including Tommy. The crowd then started singing, ‘We hate peanuts and we hate peanuts,’ which Tommy thought was hilarious. He’d felt part of something for once, a tribal feeling.
‘Wanna come back to ours?’ Danny asked, when they made it back to the Old Kent Road.
Tommy’s heart suddenly lurched. ‘No. Erm … I better not.’
‘There’ll be lots of nice grub. Mum always lays out a big spread for us after we’ve been to football.’
‘I can’t. Uncle Ian said I got to be home by seven.’ The thought of spending another evening alone with his uncle without Auntie Sandra being around filled Tommy with dread. Say he insisted they share another bath together? Tommy had already made his mind up. No way was he doing that again. It made him feel dirty, not clean.
‘Right, I’m off to meet a bird, lads. Make sure you take Eugene straight home, Dan,’ ordered Ronnie Darling.
‘Thank you so much for taking me to the game today, Ronnie, and paying for me to get in,’ said Tommy.
Ronnie ruffled the boy’s head. ‘You’re very welcome, pal. So, you still a Spurs fan? Or you gonna be a Millwall nutcase, like us?’
Tommy grinned. ‘Millwall, definitely.’
‘You’re late,’ Uncle Ian snapped.
Tommy stared at his feet. He’d literally salivated at the mouth when Danny informed him his mother was preparing chicken, ham, beef, pork pies, pickles and hot crusty bread, so had ended up having his tea at his pal’s house after all. ‘I’m sorry.’
‘So, where have you been?’
‘Erm, with Johnny,’ Tommy lied. ‘His mum invited me in and I didn’t want to come across as rude. I won’t be late again, I promise.’
Uncle Ian forced a smile. ‘Come and say hello to our guest.’
Tommy followed his uncle into the small dining room that was adjoined to the lounge. The chessboard was out and there was a bottle of brandy on the table. The man grinning at him was fat, bald and looked older than Uncle Ian. ‘Hello,’ Tommy said awkwardly.
‘This is my friend, PC Norman. He’s off duty tonight and wants to have a word with you. I’ll leave you to it,’ Uncle Ian said, shutting the door.
