“I am so sorry, son. It is true. Your mother lives here with Mr Big.”
Immediately Frank felt as if he was underwater. The world around him felt silent and heavy. He couldn’t think. He couldn’t speak. He couldn’t breathe.
Dad wrapped his arms round his son. “I should have told you, mate, but I wanted to protect you from the truth.”
Frank didn’t want to cry in front of these men. He wanted to be strong. But he couldn’t. Through tears he asked, “Please don’t tell me my mum is here right now in this house.”
Mr Big smiled. “Of course she is! I don’t let her out!”
The two henchmen laughed at this joke, which, like most jokes, was serious.
“Ha! Ha!”
“Yes, Mummy’s here,” continued Mr Big. “Around this time of night you can find her alone in the drawing room downing a bottle of vintage champagne. Something your daddy here could never provide for her.”
The henchmen laughed again: “Ha! Ha!”
“So, little Frankie,” began Mr Big, “do you miss your mummy? Do you want to see her?”
“No!” snapped the boy.
“Well, I bet she wants to see you. It’s been a while. Chang, tell the lady of the house her son’s here.”
“Yes, master,” said the butler, bowing as he left the room.
Dad put a protective arm round his son. “Don’t do this to the boy,” he demanded.
“I can’t wait to see this!” replied Big. “Mother and son reunited at last!”
“I don’t want to see her, Dad,” sniffed the boy.
“Come on, mate. Let’s get out of here,” said Dad, taking his son by the hand.
But it was too late. The boy’s mother appeared in the doorway.
Mum looked very different to how Frank had remembered her. Now she was all hair and make-up and nails. Her skin was a good shade darker, and she was dripping in gold jewellery. She looked like a gangster’s moll, which was exactly what she had become.
“Oh, haven’t you grown?” slurred the woman, holding a glass of champagne with lipstick smudged round the rim.
Seeing her after all this time seemed unreal to the boy. Eventually Frank managed a “Hello, Mum.”
Mr Big beamed. He seemed to be enjoying all this. “Ain’t you gonna give your mummy a kiss?”
The boy shook his head.
“Come on, Frankie!” she said as she stumbled into the room. The woman tottered on her too-high heels, like a foal taking its first steps. Eventually she was nose to nose with her son. The boy had to close his mouth and try not to breathe, such was the stench of champagne, hairspray and perfume. “NOW GIVE ME A KISS!” she demanded.
“I don’t want to!” said the boy.
“You rude little toerag!” she snarled.
Fingers and Thumbs looked on, smirking at the scene. The two black cats purred.
Dad leaped in. “You leave my son alone!”
The woman turned her head slowly towards him. When her eyes met his, she said, “Gilbert, you are forgetting something. Frank is my son and all.”
The boy felt caught in the middle. Somewhere deep inside him, he still loved his mother, even though she’d let him down so badly over the years.
“Please don’t do this,” pleaded Dad. “Not now.”
The boy wrapped his arms round his father’s chest and held on tight.
The woman’s face glowed with anger. “I am going to bed!” she huffed.
“No, no, no,” ordered Mr Big. “Stay here, my love. I want you to see what these nice gentlemen have brought me.”
Chang nodded to Fingers and Thumbs. The pair snapped into action and emptied the brown suitcase full of money on to the desk. There were bundles and bundles of fifty-pound notes. Each bundle looked like a hundred notes, and there were at least a hundred bundles.
So that was 50 x 100 x 100. Maths wasn’t Frank’s strong subject – all he knew was that that was a lot of noughts.
“Look at it, woman!” said Mr Big.
Mum’s eyes lit up. “Oh, Biggie! It’s beautiful!”
The little crime boss scooped up huge bundles of cash and handed them to her. “There you go, babes. Buy yourself something nice for your birthday.”
“You’re the best, Biggie!” squealed Mum as she threw her arms round Mr Big and gave him a long,
SLURP!
Frank and Dad looked away, and even Fingers, Thumbs and Chang stared at the ceiling.
“Don’t be long!” she purred as she poured the last of the champagne down her throat and wobbled on her high heels.
The woman plucked a bundle of notes from one of her wads, and stuffed it in the top pocket of the boy’s pyjamas.
“Here’s some pocket money.”
“I don’t want your money,” replied Frank, and he took the notes out and stuffed them back in her hand.
“What do you want, then?” slurred the woman.
“I don’t want anything from you,” said Frank. “I don’t want to see you ever again!”
The woman’s face darkened. It was as if she’d transformed into a serpent. Mum raised her hand as if she was going to slap her son across the face…
Dad reached out and grabbed Mum’s wrist to stop her. He held on to it tightly, a millimetre from Frank’s face.
“What are you doing, Rita?” asked Dad.
“I don’t know, Gilbert!” replied the woman, suddenly shocked by what she might have done.
“Haven’t you hurt our boy enough already?”
“I know. I’m sorry. I am so sorry. I don’t know what came over me,” she spluttered, tears running down her cheeks. “I’ve let you down, Frank. That’s all I’ve ever done to you. Let you down.”
“You’re embarrassing yourself now!” snarled Mr Big. “Go to bed!” Mum bowed her head and tottered out of the study. “It’s none of your business how I speak to her. She’s my property now,” he continued to Dad and Frank with a sinister smile.
The boy realised this man was bad. Bad beyond redemption.
The crime boss then turned his attention to the loot piled on his desk. He picked up a wad of money. First he sniffed it. Then he kissed it. Finally he ran his fingers along the edges of the notes and put his ear next to them. A huge smile spread across his little fat face.
“Money…” he murmured to himself, as if under a spell. “Lots and lots of lovely money.”
“There must be half a million, guv’nor,” said Fingers.
“Not too shabby for a night’s work, gentlemen. Not too shabby at all.”
Like throwing a dog a bone, Mr Big threw a bundle each to his two trusty henchmen, Fingers and Thumbs.
“There’s your share,” said the boss.
The two men looked happy enough with their spoils.
“Thanks, guv’nor,” said Fingers.
“Yeah, thanks a million, guv’nor,” added Thumbs excitedly. “Now I can buy some more football stickers for my collection.”
Frank and his father shared a look. Football stickers! What was he? Ten years old?
Next to Mr Big was a huge tin marked CAVIAR. He pushed in a little gold spoon and lifted out hundreds of the little black fish eggs.
“Ronnie? Reggie?” he called.
Who are they? thought Frank.
Two fats cats stood up, arched their backs and bared their fangs.
“Ronnie!”
The first cat licked the spoon and gobbled down the caviar greedily as Reggie hissed.
“Don’t you worry, Reggie. Here’s yours.”
Mr Big then flicked a dollop of caviar into the air, which the beast caught in its mouth. The two cats purred.
“Chang!” ordered Big.
“Yes, master,” replied the butler.
“Dump the rest of the loot in the safe for me.”
“With pleasure, master,” said the butler. He pulled a picture frame to one side, revealing a safe behind. Chang pressed four buttons on the keypad…
…and the safe door whirred open.
>
Frank stole a look inside. The metal box was completely stacked full of gold bars and fifty-pound notes.
One by one, the butler placed the new bundles neatly in.
When Chang had finished, Frank spoke up. “Mr Big! This isn’t fair! What about my dad’s share?”
A deathly silence descended on the study.
“What did you say to me?” demanded Mr Big. His little piggy eyes were popping in anger.
“Nothing,” replied Dad, not wanting to cause any trouble. “The boy doesn’t mean anything by it.”
“It wasn’t nothing. What did you say to me, you nasty little
All eyes in Mr Big’s study were on Frank. This little wretch in a dirty old pair of pyjamas had dared to speak up to the crime boss.
“My dad drove the getaway car,” said Frank. “You would never have got away with the robbery without him. He deserves a share of the loot!”
Mr Big started laughing.
“HA! HA! HA!”
Then Fingers started laughing.
“HA! HA! HA!”
Then Thumbs.
“HA! HA! HA!”
Finally even the unsmiling Chang made a noise that sounded a little like a laugh. “Haw haw haw!”
Ronnie and Reggie purred.
“What’s so funny?” demanded the boy.
“What’s so funny,” began Mr Big, “is that your daddy owes ME money!”
A worried look swept across Dad’s face. “But, Mr Big, that’s not what we agreed. You promised tonight would clear all my debts.”
Mr Big over from behind his desk until he came nose to nose with Dad. The crime boss stared deep into the man’s eyes, and blew a plume of smoke from his cigar into his face. This made Dad cough and splutter.
“One night!” began Big. “One night’s work! Don’t make me laugh. You seem to have forgotten. You borrowed a huge amount of money from me!”
“It was only five hundred pounds,” pleaded Dad.
“Only five hundred pounds?”
“I needed it to buy a birthday present for my boy.”
“My race set!” said the boy.
“Yes.”
“But, Dad!” protested Frank. “You didn’t need to buy that for me! I would have done without.”
“Please be quiet, mate!” said Dad.
“But you didn’t pay the money back, did you?” continued Mr Big.
“I tried – I swear I did. I tried and tried to get my old job back, banger racing, but they wouldn’t let me drive again.”
“You owe me, Gilbert Goodie. With interest. Five hundred pounds became a thousand pounds. One thousand pounds became ten thousand pounds. Ten thousand pounds became a hundred thousand pounds.”
“That’s not fair!” protested Frank. “How can five hundred pounds become a hundred thousand pounds?!”
“I’m not a bank,” snapped Mr Big.
“No, you just rob them!” said Frank.
“Cocky little so-and-so, aren’t you?”
“But one hundred thousand pounds?!” pleaded Dad. “I will never, ever have that sort of money!”
Mr Big smiled a sinister smile. “Then you’d better keep working for me. Until you’ve paid off your debt.”
“That’s not fair!” said Frank.
“MATE! BE QUIET!” snapped Dad. “But for how long?”
“As long as I say so.”
“And what if I say no?” asked Dad.
“Fingers? Thumbs?”
At once the two henchmen sprang into action.
Fingers grabbed Frank by looping his arms under the boy’s. He scooped him off the floor.
“Get off me!” screamed the boy as he struggled to get away.
“Get your filthy hands off my son!” shouted Dad.
Thumbs kicked the man’s wooden leg so hard that it collapsed from under him.
THWACK.
Dad fell to the floor.
“DAD!” shouted Frank.
The poor man was lying on the floor. His body was broken, but not his spirit.
“If you do anything to hurt my son, I swear, I’ll…”
“You’ll what?” asked Big mockingly. He trod on Dad’s fingers.
“OW!” Dad screamed.
“Thumbs!” ordered Mr Big. “Do your worst with the boy!”
Frank looked on in terror as the man bent back his humongous Thumbs, ready to cause damage.
The henchman pressed them hard into the boy’s ears. Frank felt like his brain was going to burst.
“ARGH!” he screamed.
“PLEASE!” shouted Dad. “I’ll do whatever you say! Just leave my boy alone.”
Mr Big smirked before finally saying, “That’s enough, gentlemen.”
Fingers and Thumbs put Frank down. After a moment more enjoying his power, Big took his feet off Dad’s fingers. Still writhing in pain, the man scrambled up on to his knee to hug his son, who was shaking with fear.
“I’m glad you have come round to my way of thinking, Gilbert,” continued Mr Big. “I will be in touch about the next job very soon.”
Frank kneeled down to help Dad reattach his wooden leg. Suddenly the boy spied one of the wads of cash lying by his feet. It must have fallen off Mr Big’s desk as the suitcase was emptied. There in crisp fifty-pound notes was the answer to so many of his and his father’s problems.
When he thought no one was looking, Frank moved his left foot slowly forward to cover it. If he kept his nerve, he could craftily slide it out of the room.
“My master thanks you for your visit. Now it is time to leave,” announced Chang.
Frank kept his foot pressed to the floor as he and his father were shown out of the study.
After a few paces, Big barked, “STOP!”
The pair did what they were told.
“Why are you walking funny?” he demanded.
“Who? Me?” asked the boy innocently.
“Yes, you. We know why that crippled father of yours walks funny.”
Unsurprisingly the two goons laughed again at their boss’s cruelty. “Ha! Ha!”
“I’m not walking funny,” replied Frank.
“Take a few steps, then,” said Mr Big.
The boy did as he was told, dragging his left foot.
“What is that under your foot?”
“Nothing,” lied the boy.
Mr Big bristled. The boy was testing the man’s patience.
“Thumbs!” ordered Big.
The brute knew what to do. He marched over to Frank, wrapped his arms round his chest and lifted him off the ground.
All eyes looked down at the bundle of cash that the boy had slid halfway across the study.
“Sorry, Dad,” whispered Frank.
Dad gave his son a supportive smile.
“It seems we have a thief amongst us!” announced Mr Big.
“Please, please, Mr Big, sir, have mercy on the boy,” begged Dad.
The crime boss over to Frank, and stared straight at him. Frank took a deep breath. What was this nasty little man going to do?
The answer was a smile. “Boy, I am impressed,” began Big. “Very impressed. Stealing from Mr Big himself. That takes some guts. You should come and live here with me and your mother.”
Dad looked to his son, fear blazing in his eyes.
“NEVER!” shouted Frank.
“Never say never,” replied Mr Big. “Think about it.”
“I’ve thought about it. It’s never.”
“I could train you up.”
“Come on, Dad,” said Frank, tugging on his father’s sleeve. “We have to go.”
Just as the pair had reached the study door, Mr Big called after the boy. “One day all this could be yours.”
“I would rather die.”
“That can be arranged,” purred Mr Big.
Frank and his father trudged through the wind and rain in silence until they found a train station. There they huddled together for warmth on a bench on the platform, waiting for the first cold, empty
train to take them back into town.
“Your mum does love you, you know,” said Dad.
Frank said nothing. All that had happened during the night had brought back the feelings of hurt, and deepened them.
“She never used to drink like that,” said Dad.
“It made me sad.”
“Come on, I think we both need a huggle.”
The pair held on to each other until the train trundled into the station. By the time they’d reached their block of flats, dawn was breaking. With the lift in the block still out of order, they climbed the flights and flights of steps. When Dad finally put the key in the front door, both were weary beyond words. As they entered the flat, the door to the living room opened. A figure appeared out of the shadows.
Frank gripped on to his father in fear.
“Good morning, boys!” It was only Auntie Flip.
“Oh, good morning, Auntie Flip!” said Dad.
Both he and his son had completely forgotten she was babysitting.
“Sorry you were here all night,” said Dad. “I saw you asleep when I got back and thought I’d leave you to it,” he added.
“Oh my word, look at the state of you!” said the lady as she frantically started rubbing the dirt off their clothes with her hand. When the mud stains wouldn’t budge, Flip did Frank’s most hated thing.
The lady took out her handkerchief, on it and began vigorously wiping the mud off.
Then she sniffed her handkerchief. “This is cow dung!” she exclaimed. “Where on earth have you been?”
“We just popped out to get a pint of milk,” lied Dad.
“Straight from the cow?” she asked.
“Er, no. It came from Raj’s shop,” added the boy, hoping to make the lie sound a little more believable. “I think we must have stepped in a cowpat on the way back.”
“Is that so? Well, I could murder a cup of tea,” said Auntie Flip. “Where is that milk?”
“What milk?” asked Dad.
“The milk you bought.”
Bad Dad Page 8