The Sting

by Kimberley Chambers

  ‘Which one?’ Smiffy asked.

  ‘The blonde with the big knockers. Her dad hates blacks, apparently, so I can’t pick her up from her house. I’m gonna take her to the pictures next weekend, though. We’ll sit in the back row, obviously,’ Benny chuckled.

  Tommy took the packet of mints out of his pocket and ordered the lads to suck them. The effects of the alcohol had now worn off, but it was better to be safe than sorry. Ray would be waiting for them to arrive home. He always was.

  ‘Shit! Look, I got come all down me strides,’ Smiffy announced.

  ‘I’m surprised you even got a hard-on with that monster, let alone managed to come,’ Benny chuckled.

  ‘Yeah. She weren’t a looker, was she?’ Dumbo said. ‘But I wish I could have got a wank. All I got was a smack round the clock.’

  The jovial banter continued for the rest of the short journey back to Shitlands. They rarely referred to their home as Maylands any more. It was their own private joke.

  ‘I can’t believe you didn’t ask Laura Higgins to dance at the end. I’d have been in there like a rat up a drainpipe if she’d been drooling over me all night. She’s hotter than a fucking gas cooker,’ Smiffy announced, playfully grabbing his best pal in a headlock. He and Tommy had been inseparable ever since Tommy had arrived at Maylands. Nobody beforehand had had the balls to stand up to that arsehole Wayne Bradley, but Tommy had. Smiffy had been extremely impressed by Tommy’s bravery. Though he’d only been tiny at the time, and as a result he’d lost the fight, Tommy had still given Bradley a run for his money and a shiner of a black eye.

  ‘Well? Why didn’t you ask her to dance?’ Smiffy repeated.

  ‘’Cause he’s a bum boy,’ Benny joked.

  Unable to stop himself, Tommy grabbed hold of Benny by the throat and rammed him up against a nearby wall. None of his pals knew his story. All Tommy had disclosed was that his mum had died, his sister had been sent away and he’d then found out his dad wasn’t his real dad and his nan wasn’t his real nan, therefore he wasn’t wanted.

  ‘What the fuck, Tom. I’m only messing with you,’ Benny exclaimed, his eyes bulging.

  Dumbo’s eyes welled up. His pals were his world and he hated them fighting. Both his mother and father had been violent alcoholics and junkies, and seeing Tommy grabbing Benny by the throat and pinning him against the wall brought back awful memories of his terrible childhood.

  Smiffy grabbed Tommy by the arm. ‘Let’s not argue, mate. We’ve all had a great night. It’d be such a shame to spoil it.’

  Instead of punching Benny, Tommy punched the wall. ‘Don’t ever say shit like that to me again, OK? I ain’t no bum boy, I just don’t like slags, and that’s what Laura Higgins is – I can tell. My mum was a slag and that’s why she died.’ Tommy often had dreams of his mother and in those dreams he still loved her. But, in the cold light of day, he found her death easier to cope with if he told himself he hated her. If she hadn’t been out whoring with Terry Fletcher, he’d never have been separated from his sisters, sent to live with that disgusting nonce-case, and Rex would still be alive.

  What angered Tommy also was the memory of that awful Christmas when he’d asked his mother outright whether there was any truth in the accusations he’d heard his father throw her way. She’d looked him straight in the eye, insisting she had no idea who Terry Fletcher was. As a child, his mother had always drummed it into him: ‘a liar is worse than a thief’. She was a fucking hypocrite as well as a slag.

  ‘Well? Did you have a good night?’ Ray grinned, as he opened the front door. None of the residents were allowed their own keys. Both he and Connie lived at the home, so one of them was always there to greet the residents. They also employed part-time staff who helped out with the cooking and cleaning during the day.

  ‘Yeah. Great night,’ Tommy muttered. He had to get up early tomorrow for boxing, and wanted to go to bed now.

  ‘It was blinding. Thanks again for allowing us the special privilege, Ray,’ said Smiffy.

  ‘Can we go again next month?’ Dumbo asked bluntly.

  ‘Provided you behave yourselves in the meantime, I don’t see why not,’ Ray winked. ‘Some letters arrived for you earlier, Tommy. Connie forgot to give them to you,’ he added.

  ‘Some! How many?’ Every month, Tommy would receive a lengthy letter from Danny Darling with a ten-pound note enclosed from Ronnie. Other than that, PC Kendall was the only person to write to him. That month’s letter from the Darlings had arrived only last week, so it couldn’t be Danny writing.

  ‘Two.’

  The hairs stood up on the back of Tommy’s neck. Had one or both of his sisters finally found him? He had no idea how Hazel or Linda were. Their old house had been sold and new people were living in that old cow Nanny Noreen’s house, as Tommy had visited it last year in the hope of seeing Linda.

  Ray handed Tommy the letters. ‘Oh, and while you were all out enjoying yourselves, we had a familiar face return to Maylands.’

  ‘Who?’ Benny asked, hoping it was Carly Macintosh, who’d left only last week to live with her mother again. He’d fancied Carly something rotten.

  ‘Me,’ boomed a familiar voice.

  Benny, Smiffy and Dumbo all looked at one another in horror as Wayne Bradley’s grinning face appeared around the doorframe of the games room.

  Tommy didn’t flinch. He stared straight into the eyes of the bully who’d once terrorized them, yet acted like butter wouldn’t melt in front of Ray and Connie. ‘All right, Wayne? What a lovely surprise. It’s great to see you again, sunshine.’

  ‘I can’t believe you said that to him, Tommy. He knew you were taking the piss. Now he’s gonna make all our lives a misery again. His old cronies still all live locally, ya know,’ Smiffy warned, strutting up and down the room he and Tommy shared. There were only fifteen of them living at the home at present, ten lads and five girls. It had been a great place to live since that arsehole Bradley had left around eighteen months ago. The atmosphere had changed almost instantly the day that nasty bastard had walked out the door.

  Remembering the incident with Patch, Tommy’s lip curled. When he’d first arrived at the home, there’d been a stray dog that used to hang around. He was a little Jack Russell and Tommy and Dumbo both took a particular shine to him. They’d wrap scraps of food in tissue and take it outside to feed Patch regularly.

  One sunny day, for no reason whatsoever, that evil tosser Wayne Bradley decided to pick Patch up and wring his neck right in front of them. Both Tommy and Dumbo had been distraught. That’s why, the following day, Tommy had attacked Wayne on the way home from school.

  ‘What you thinking, Tommy? Did you see the state of Dumbo? He pissed himself as we came up the stairs, poor bastard. He’s petrified of that psycho.’

  ‘You leave the fucking psycho to me. I ain’t a little boy no more, Smiffy. Now do me a favour. Pop next door and make sure Dumbo and Benny are all right. Tell ’em not to worry, OK. Give me ten minutes or so alone. I want to read my letters, in private.’

  ‘OK, mate.’

  When Smiffy left the room, Tommy studied the handwriting on both envelopes. His heart beat wildly as he recognized neither. Tommy studied the postmarks. One was from Clapham, the other Barking. Deciding to open the one from Barking first, Tommy stared at the letter with his mouth wide open. It was from his mum’s friend Lisa Clayton explaining she had some information for him regarding his father and asking him to call her on the enclosed telephone number.

  Tommy read the letter again. Memories flooded back of his mum going missing and him traipsing round to Lisa’s house in the snow with his loyal buddy Rex by his side.

  A lone tear ran down Tommy’s cheek and he angrily wiped it away. He knew Lisa had moved home because he’d gone to her old house to confront her a year or so ago over who his real father was. Did she know where his dad lived? Taking deep breaths to calm himself, Tommy ripped open the letter posted from Clapham. When he realized who it was from, he was unable t
o stop the tears any longer.

  Dear Tommy,

  I do hope this letter gets to you.

  I miss you so much, and Mum, Hazel and Rex.

  I am living in Clapham now with Nanny Noreen and I am so unhappy. Dad has a new girlfriend called Brenda, and she is horrible. She has a young son of her own who I hate too. His name is Daniel and they live a few streets away. Dad is still working on the oil rigs and we are never allowed to mention your name any more indoors. I barely see Dad, to be honest. I am stuck with Nanny Noreen most of the time and have to attend this awful Catholic school where I am made to do Hail Marys and confess my sins every five minutes.

  I have made one good friend here though, Alice Piper. She and her lovely mum Catherine live a few doors away from us and have sort of become my saviours.

  I have been very upset these past few weeks. This would have been Mum’s 35th birthday and it was Catherine who helped me track you down. I thought you were still living with Mum’s weird brother, Uncle Ian. I had no idea you were now in a children’s home. What happened with Uncle Ian? Are you happy where you are? And have you heard from Hazel? I haven’t. I know Dad goes to visit her regularly, and Nanny Noreen does too, but they never allow me to go.

  Sorry to ask so many questions, Tommy. But I am writing this letter in my friend Alice’s house and she is helping me to word it. Alice’s mum Catherine reminds me of our wonderful mum. She is so pretty and kind and bakes lovely cakes.

  Please write back to me at the below address. It’s Alice’s address and she and Catherine do not like Nanny Noreen much either. They pretend to for my sake, but on the quiet we all call her a silly religious old cow.

  Love you, Tommy, even more than Little Jimmy Osmond these days (haha).

  Miss you and our old life so much.

  Your little sister,

  Linda xxx

  Smiffy walked back in the room. ‘Whatever’s wrong, mate?’ he asked, his face full of genuine concern. He’d only ever witnessed Tommy upset once before. He’d heard muffled sobs coming from under his blankets on the night after that evil bastard Wayne Bradley had strangled Patch.

  Shoving both letters under his mattress, Tommy lifted his T-shirt and dried his eyes. ‘Nothing. Leave me alone. I’m fine.’

  ‘No you ain’t. Talk to me, Tom. I’m your mate. Don’t keep things clammed up. My nan used to say that ain’t no good for ya.’

  Tommy puffed his cheeks out. ‘My mum’s best friend wrote to me and so did my little sister. I think my mum’s mate knows who my real dad is.’

  ‘Well, that’s great, ain’t it?’

  Tommy shrugged. ‘All depends what he’s like, don’t it? He could be dead for all I know. Or some fucking arsehole.’

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  ‘No good stood square on, Tommy,’ yelled Ted the boxing trainer.

  Tommy Boyle ducked, then danced around the ring.

  ‘That’s it, lad. Good footwork. You’ve got a minute left to go.’

  Tommy upped his game as he always did near the end of a bout.

  ‘Decent jabs, Tommy. Keep your guard up. There’s a good lad.’

  Smiffy cheered loudly as Tommy was declared the official winner.

  Tommy shook the other lad’s hand, then stepped out of the ring. He trained three times a week after school at a boxing club in Dagenham, then on a Saturday would take part in bouts against lads from rival clubs. They were only three rounds, but Tommy loved the buzz of being declared the winner on a regular basis. It gave him a sense of achievement and importance.

  Ted Barrett had a soft spot for Tommy Boyle. He was aware the lad had been through a tough time, as he knew the Darlings out of South London. Ted ruffled Tommy’s hair. ‘Have a good weekend and I’ll see you on Monday. You did good today.’

  ‘Cheers, Ted.’

  ‘Oh, and while I think of it, I saw your pal the other day – Danny Darling. He asked after you and I told him you were doing well, like. I know you write to one another, but why don’t you pay him and his family a visit one day? I know they’d love to see you again.’

  Wondering exactly how much Ted knew, Tommy averted his eyes. ‘Yeah, I’ll drop Danny a line and sort something. Gotta dash, else I’ll be late to meet me pals.’

  On the bus journey back to Maylands, Tommy was deep in thought. He loved the Darlings. They were a kind, warm family and had been so good to him. Tommy had no wish to ever see them again though. The reason being, he knew they knew what that perve had done to him and he felt far too embarrassed to look them in the eyes, Danny especially.

  The case against his Uncle Ian had never got to court. Tommy was relieved about that, as he just wanted to try to forget the whole thing and move on with his life the best he could. All Tommy had been told by PC Kendall was Ian had been given bail and, shortly afterwards, someone had set fire to his house in the middle of the night. He had managed to escape, along with that fat cow Auntie Sandra, but had then left the area, never to be heard of or seen since.

  Tommy wasn’t stupid. A downstairs window had been broken into, petrol doused all over the carpet and he guessed the Darlings had something to do with it. PC Kendall had sworn that what had happened to him wasn’t common knowledge, but Tommy was certain Ronnie knew as he’d been the one who’d spotted him sitting in the doorway that night, trembling with fear. Tommy could not remember exactly what he’d said to Ronnie before PC Kendall had picked him up, but he knew he’d said something. He’d also told Danny about the bath incident and guessed Danny would have since told his family.

  ‘You all right, Tom? You’re ever so quiet,’ Smiffy remarked. ‘You thinking about your dad? When are you going to phone that lady?’

  ‘Dunno. Probably later. And no, not thinking about my dad. Why would I? I don’t even know him. Look, I fancy a bit of time on me own this afternoon. You head on out choring with the others.’

  ‘What! But why? Oh, come on, Tom. It won’t be the same without you. It never is,’ Smiffy insisted. The clothes allowance and pocket money they received was a pittance, so pilfering wasn’t a crime, it was a necessity.

  ‘My mum would’ve been thirty-five today, ya know.’

  ‘Oh shit, mate. I’m sorry. Why didn’t you say something earlier?’

  ‘No point. Not gonna fucking bring her back to life, is it?’

  Benny and Dumbo were sitting on the kerb outside Maylands. Both looked glum.

  ‘What’s up?’ Smiffy asked.

  ‘Wayne Bradley. He’s started again already. After you two left earlier, me and Benny decided to play some records. He followed us,’ Dumbo said.

  ‘And?’ Tommy snapped.

  ‘He started name-calling, all the usual insults. But then he took a penknife out of his pocket and started scratching me records. I can take being called a nig-nog, Tom, but not me vinyl being damaged. They were me Ska records too. I flew at the bastard, but you know what a lump he is. He got me in a headlock and laughed in my face,’ Benny explained.

  ‘Where was Ray and Connie?’ Smiffy asked. The record player was downstairs.

  Tommy cracked his knuckles. He had a habit of doing that when riled. ‘Where’s Bradley now?’

  ‘Gone out. He said I looked like a character out of that film Freaks we watched that time. I ain’t that ugly, am I, Tommy?’ Dumbo asked in earnest.

  ‘No, mate. Course you ain’t. Not being funny, but Ray and Connie are fucking useless. Look how they reacted on the day that bastard killed Patch.’

  On the day Patch had been throttled, Dumbo had screamed blue murder and Ray and Connie had come running outside. Being a grass was not cool, but for once, they’d all been so disgusted by what they’d witnessed, every single one of them had blurted out the truth.

  Wayne Bradley had been sent to his room, then that afternoon, Connie had sat the rest of them down for what she described as a ‘little chat’.

  Tommy could remember that little chat as though it were yesterday. ‘I’ve spoken with Wayne and he knows what he did was wrong. Ap
parently, he was bitten by a dog as a young child and has been petrified of them ever since. I am not condoning what he did, but Wayne says he feared Patch was about to attack him. He’s very sorry for his actions.’

  Tommy hit the roof, insisting that Wayne’s version of events was utter bullshit. It was then Connie explained that Wayne’s childhood had been very difficult and he’d been subjected to extreme violence himself.

  Tommy had wanted to remind Connie he hadn’t had it easy either, had been the victim of a nonce-case, but instead he’d kept his trap shut in front of the others. That secret he would rather take to his grave with him.

  ‘What you thinking, Tommy?’ Dumbo asked.

  Tommy cracked his knuckles again. ‘I’m thinking I’m gonna get hold of Bradley away from this gaff, and hurt him so bad, he’ll wish he’d never been fucking born.’

  Tommy put his pen down and studied his words.

  Dear Linda,

  I can’t tell you how overjoyed I was to hear from you. I have missed you so much, and Hazel, Rex and Mum.

  Sorry to hear you’re not happy living with the religious old witch, but it doesn’t surprise me. Bit of luck, one day she will get lost and Saint Anthony won’t be able to find her!

  On a serious note, really chuffed your new mate and her mum are looking out for you. I met a family when I lived in South London and they looked out for me too. They still write to me now and send me money.

  The home I am living in is OK. Uncle Ian and Auntie Sandra were oddballs, so I’m much happier here than I was with them. I have three good mates and the four of us go everywhere together. Smiffy is my best pal, but Benny and Dumbo are great lads too. We watch one another’s backs, so to speak.

  You wouldn’t recognize me now, sis. I am 5 foot 8 inches tall and I’ve filled right out. I’m into boxing, train regularly at a local gym. My trainer Ted reckons I got the makings of a top boxer, if I put my mind to it and keep out of mischief.

  I have never heard anything from Hazel either. I wrote to PC Kendall (our old bobby) a while back to see if he could arrange a visit for me. He wrote back saying he tried, but couldn’t.