I would love to visit you though, or you visit me. Obviously, I won’t come anywhere near the old crow’s house. Let me know what you think and whatever you do, don’t take this letter indoors in case the witch finds it. Leave it at your mate’s house.
Your loving brother,
Tommy xxx
Tommy wrote the address on the envelope, Lisa’s phone number on his arm, bolted down the stairs and came face to face with Maureen. ‘Er, hello. How are you?’ Tommy asked awkwardly. Maureen was the lady whose house he’d been taken to after being questioned at the police station for stabbing his uncle. Maureen was a nice lady, but Tommy always felt tense when he saw her these days. He knew PC Kendall must have told her what had happened to him, and the older Tommy got, the more humiliated he felt that others knew of his plight.
At that moment a girl stepped out of the downstairs bathroom. Tommy’s jaw dropped open. He remembered skinheads being all the rage when he was growing up, but fashion had changed since then.
‘I’m fine, thank you, Tommy,’ Maureen replied. ‘This is Scratch. She’s spent the past week or so living at mine and is now moving into Maylands.’
The girl had blonde shaved hair with a long fringe and bit at the back, and was dressed in light Sta-prest trousers, a button-down collared shirt and what looked like steel-toe-capped Dr Marten boots. Tommy couldn’t help but stare at her. She also had lots of earrings and was wearing a navy Fred Perry cardigan. Not knowing what else to say, Tommy said, ‘Ain’t you hot in all that clobber?’
‘Who are you? The local weatherman?’ the girl snapped.
Taken aback, Tommy immediately apologized. ‘No offence, I just meant it’s sweltering outside and in ’ere.’
‘So?’
‘Right, I’ll be off then. Got a letter to post,’ Tommy said, edging past Miss Attitude. ‘Nice to see you again, Maureen.’
Having already been forewarned that the newcomer hated her real name and insisted on only her nickname being used, Connie said, ‘Come with me, Scratch, and I’ll show you around. The girls’ bedrooms are in a different part of the building to the boys’. Girls and boys aren’t allowed in one another’s rooms, but other than that you’ll eat together and can freely mix together. Would you like to see your bedroom first? Or the rest of the rooms?’
‘Don’t care.’
‘Hang on a minute, Tommy,’ Maureen shouted. ‘Scratch, you go with Connie, love.’
‘What’s up?’ Tommy asked, as Maureen caught up with him outside.
‘Nothing, lovey. Ray’s been telling me how well you’ve been doing with your boxing and in general. I’m so pleased. You have come on leaps and bounds, haven’t you?’
‘Cheers,’ Tommy mumbled, feeling awkward.
‘I was wondering if you could do me a small favour.’
‘What?’
‘Could you please keep an eye on Scratch for me? You know, just look out for her in general. She’s been through an extremely tough time recently and I know you know what that’s like.’
Guessing what Maureen was referring to, Tommy stared at his feet. ‘OK.’
‘Thanks, Tommy. And please, can we keep this little conversation between ourselves. Don’t mention it to Scratch or your friends. I know I can trust you.’
‘Yeah, no worries.’
Tommy walked to the nearest phone box, only to discover it was out of order, so he trudged towards the one on Oxlow Lane.
It was a baking hot day and Tommy wondered how the lads were getting on in Romford. Some of the clothes they chored they kept for themselves. Anything else, they sold to Bob the Fence who drank in the Beacon.
Usually, Tommy and his pals would spend their ill-gotten gains on records, booze and cigarettes. But these past few weeks they’d been saving every penny. Next weekend was the Dagenham Town Show, the biggest local event of the year. The fairground was awesome and it had been Tommy’s idea they club all their money together so they could go on as many rides as possible. The fair stayed for a couple of weeks after the actual Town Show and it was a cool place to hang out. Tommy loved the atmosphere of the fairground. An air of excitement surrounded it and he couldn’t wait until next weekend.
The next phone box was free, worked, and Tommy felt the first stirring of nerves as he dialled his mother’s friend’s number. The phone was answered on the third ring. ‘Hello. Is that you, Lisa? It’s Tommy, Valerie’s son.’
*
Tommy felt anxious as he made his way to Dagenham Heathway. He and his pals would often come here to thieve. Dewhurst’s was an easy target to steal meat from, and Mr Byrites and the Jean Joint were a doddle to try items on in the changing room, then walk out with some under their own clothes.
Lisa had said very little on the phone. All she’d said was she’d meet him at the Wimpy on Heathway hill at 2 p.m.
Tommy was early, so had a browse through the records in Woolworths. He was desperate to get a copy of the current number one, ‘Tears On My Pillow’, but he and the lads had made a pact to one another not to buy another record until after the fair had gone. Tommy was not a person to go back on his word, so after picking up the record, he reluctantly put it back on the shelf.
At 1.55 p.m., Tommy walked over to the Wimpy. He peered through the window, but didn’t spot Lisa until she waved at him. She’d once had long brown hair, but now it was short, wispy and blonde.
Lisa stood up and tried to hug Tommy, but he was no longer a touchy-feely person, so he dodged the embrace and sat down at the table.
‘Are you hungry? Would you like a burger?’ Lisa asked.
‘No, thanks. I just wanna know who my dad is.’
‘We need to order something, Tommy, else we won’t be allowed to sit in here.’
‘OK. Get me a Coke and a cheeseburger then. Please.’ Tommy felt sick, rather than hungry.
Lisa called a waiter over, then turned back to Tommy. ‘Wow! Look at you. The last time I saw you, you were this tiny little whippet. When did you grow so tall and where did all those muscles come from?’ Lisa smiled. Tommy looked sullen, not the happy little boy she remembered.
‘Got the muscles from boxing and I grew taller when I took up smoking. Me mum used to say to me, “You must never smoke. It’ll stunt your growth.” Another lie. Then again, me mum lied to me a lot, didn’t she, Lisa?’
Lisa sighed. It was clear Tommy had turned into an angry young man and in a way she couldn’t blame him. ‘Your mother worshipped the ground you walked on, and if she did lie to you it was only to protect you, Tommy.’
‘Really?’ Tommy replied, his voice laden with sarcasm.
‘Yes, really,’ Lisa insisted.
‘So, who’s me real dad then?’
Lisa took a deep breath, there was no harm telling the truth now she supposed. ‘One of the pubs your mum worked in as a barmaid, she met a man who put a smile on her face once again. She was having it extremely hard with your dad at the time. He was a very handsome man, could charm the birds off the trees. He most certainly charmed your mother, as she began an affair with him. It wasn’t a fling, Tommy. Your mum was truly in love with this man. He was wild, looked up to by many, a bare-knuckle fighter, by all accounts.’
Tommy’s eyes widened with excitement. ‘My dad was a bare-knuckle fighter!’
‘Alexander found out about your mum’s affair. He was spying on her outside the pub one night, by god he beat her black and blue when she arrived home. Shortly afterwards, your mum learned she was pregnant with you. She didn’t know who the father was at first, but as you turned from a baby into a toddler, it became obvious you wasn’t Alexander’s. Your hair was the same colour as Patrick’s, so were your eyes. You even had his freckles. Patrick had freckles on his nose too.’
‘Patrick. That’s a cool name. Did he know about me? Why didn’t my mum leave Alexander and run away with my dad? Surely, if he was a prizefighting champ, he could have handled Alexander?’
‘The situation was complicated, Tommy. Patrick was also married with
kids.’
‘Kids! So I have half-brothers or -sisters. Were they boys or girls?’
‘I think he had two boys and a girl, but it might have been the other way round. Your dad did meet you, but only the once. I went with your mum to a pub in Canning Town to take you to see him.’
Tommy’s heart was racing. ‘What happened? Did he like me?’
‘Yes. Patrick held you in his arms. He was besotted with you, if only briefly,’ Linda lied. She had to try and soften the blow somehow.
‘Why didn’t he see me again?’
‘Because he was afraid of losing his wife and family, Tommy. By this time the affair with your mum was over. He told her to go back to Alexander, that it would be best all round if Alexander brought you up as his own son.’
‘What’s my dad’s surname? Do you know where he lives now?’
Lisa fished inside her purse and handed Tommy a piece of paper. ‘Flanagan is his surname. A year or so after you were born, he got sentenced to twelve years in prison for an armed robbery that went wrong. I really don’t want to build your hopes up, Tommy, because chances are there will be no happy ending. But you have every right to know who he is now your mum’s not here to tell you. You’re not to mention where you got this information or the address from, though. I don’t want any grief.’
‘I won’t. I promise,’ Tommy said, staring at the piece of paper. The address was a pub in Stratford. ‘So does my dad own this boozer? Or just work there?’
‘Neither, my love. But that’s where he drinks. You will be able to find him there most evenings in the week, or Saturday and Sunday lunchtimes. Whatever you do, don’t go bowling inside the pub though, announcing who you are. You will need to speak to him outside, alone.’
‘OK. Is my dad’s house in Stratford too?’
‘He doesn’t live in a house, Tommy. Patrick lives in a caravan. Your father is an Irish gypsy.’
Stunned beyond belief, Tommy dropped his Coke all over his favourite pair of strides.
CHAPTER TWELVE
‘Oi! Whaddya think you’re doing? Leave her be,’ Tommy ordered.
Yvonne Purdy was the female equivalent of Wayne Bradley. Not quite as evil, but certainly on a par when it came to bullying girls.
Yvonne stepped away from the new girl. Over the past six months, she’d developed an enormous crush on Tommy Boyle. His big brown eyes, long eyelashes and cheeky grin made her heart skip a beat. ‘I weren’t hurting her, Tom. I was only teaching her some manners. She’s a stroppy little mare,’ Yvonne explained.
‘We were all stroppy when we first arrived ’ere. It’s called survival,’ Tommy retorted.
Wayne Bradley, who’d followed Tommy into the hall, was an interested spectator to this exchange. Since returning to Maylands, he couldn’t help but notice the change in Tommy Boyle and he didn’t like it, not one little bit.
Having already taken a shine to the new girl himself, Wayne let out a false chuckle. ‘And there was me thinking you was a poofta, Tommy lad. You’re out of your league with that one, sunshine. She’ll take your little cock off with one swipe of those hobnail boots of hers.’
Tommy swung around, grabbed Wayne by the throat and shoved him against the wall. ‘You can shut your fucking cakehole an’ all.’
Connie appeared in the hallway. ‘Whatever’s going on? Your breakfast is getting cold.’ Monday to Saturday the kids were only given cereal or porridge for breakfast. But on a Sunday, Ray would rustle them up a fry-up as a treat.
‘Sorry. This is my fault. I started it off. We’re only mucking around though,’ Scratch piped up.
‘Well, I’m glad to see you’re settling in, Scratch,’ Connie smiled. ‘Now, chop-chop, into the dining room, all of you,’ she smiled.
‘Cheers for not grassing. Wanna sit with me?’ Yvonne Purdy asked Scratch. She was desperate to get in Tommy’s good books. At least he’d noticed her today and no way would he fancy Scratch. She wasn’t ugly, but dressed and sounded like a boy.
As Tommy followed the girls into the dining room, Wayne Bradley poked him in the back. ‘You’re dead, you wanker.’
Smiffy, Benny and Dumbo looked quizzically at Tommy. Sunday was the one day they never went thieving as all the shops were shut, but whether it be Matchstick Island, Parsloes or Ponfield Park, they always hung out together.
‘Where you gotta go then?’ Smiffy enquired.
Tommy hadn’t let on to anybody, not even Smiffy, about his father. He’d faked a headache last night, had needed to lie in a darkened room to get his head around the information Lisa had given him. Never in a million years would Tommy have dreamed his father was an Irish gypsy, but then certain memories from his childhood had come back to him. ‘Been out with your pikey boyfriend again, have you?’ he remembered Alexander shouting on a few occasions. It all made sense now. ‘I’m going to see my mum’s mate,’ Tommy fibbed.
‘Well, how long you gonna be? Where does she live?’ Benny asked. ‘We was thinking of going swimming over Leys for a change.’
‘Lisa lives near the Heathway. Look, you lot go over Leys and I’ll try to meet you there later.’
‘I might ask that skinhead bird if she wants to come. I’d love to see her in a skimpy bikini,’ Dumbo laughed.
‘You leave her be,’ Tommy ordered.
‘Got the hots for her yourself, have ya, Tommy? Only I reckon she likes a bit of black meself,’ Benny goaded.
Tommy waved a warning finger at all three of his pals. ‘I mean it, lads. You disrespect that girl in any way, shape or form and you’ll have me to deal with. Understood?’
Tommy got a District Line train to Mile End, then hopped on the Central Line to Stratford. He’d never been to Stratford before, so didn’t have a clue where he was going. ‘Excuse me, do you know where the Railway Tavern is, please?’ Tommy asked an elderly lady.
‘Yes, son. It’s in Angel Lane.’
‘Is that far?’
‘No.’ The lady gave Tommy directions.
As he approached the pub, Tommy could feel his heart pounding wildly. He was very impressed his dad was a bare-knuckle fighter. Should he mention he was a good boxer too? Would that help them bond?, Tommy pondered.
Lisa had warned him not to build his hopes up, but Tommy couldn’t help but feel optimistic and excited. It wasn’t every day a lad met his real father, was it? And surely Patrick was nicer than that shitbag Alexander? He must be, if his mum had truly loved him.
Mouth drying up, Tommy reached the pub. He hadn’t known what to wear, so had kept it simple. His favourite faded flared jeans, black-and-white Gola trainers and white-and-black Adidas T-shirt.
Debating whether to just bowl inside the boozer, Tommy decided against it. His half-brother or -brothers must be older than him and they might be in the pub with his dad.
After what seemed like an eternity, an old man in a tweed cap came out. ‘Excuse me, do you know if Patrick Flanagan is in there?’
‘Yes, lad. On the table in the left corner playing cards with his muckers.’
‘Could you get him for me, please?’
‘Erm, yeah, I suppose so. Who should I say wants him?’
‘Tell him Tommy Boyle. Valerie Boyle’s son.’
‘OK.’
The elderly man quickly reappeared. ‘Patrick said not to go inside. He’ll be out in a couple of minutes.’
‘Thanks,’ Tommy mumbled.
The couple of minutes seemed like an hour to Tommy. Lisa said she didn’t know if his dad knew his mum had died. He couldn’t know. Otherwise his dad would have tracked him down by now, surely?
As the man walked out of the pub with two pints in his hand, Tommy immediately knew it was his father. He locked eyes with him. They had the same colour eyes and hair, but his dad’s was wavy and Tommy’s straight. The man smiled and handed him a pint. ‘All right, mush? Can’t talk here, let’s sit in my car,’ he said in a thick Irish accent.
The car was a 1974 pale green Mercedes and as Tommy got in the passenger si
de, he’d already decided his father was far cooler than Alexander. He’d driven a crappy old Ford Cortina.
‘Sorry to hear about your mum. A special lady, was Valerie.’
Tommy couldn’t hide his shock. ‘You knew she’d died!’
‘Yeah. I heard through the grapevine. Made me very sad.’
Tommy stared deeply into Patrick’s eyes. ‘So, why didn’t you come and see me? You know I’m your son, right?’
‘Well, your mum thought you might be mine, but she was never totally sure. There was equally as much chance you were her husband’s.’
Tommy took a gulp of his pint. This wasn’t going how he’d hoped it would. ‘I’m definitely your son. We look alike. I look nothing like Alexander.’
Patrick ruffled Tommy’s hair. ‘You ain’t got a flat hooter like mine, eh?’ he chuckled.
Tommy studied his dad’s nose. It was flattened. A boxer’s nose, they called it down the gym. ‘How many brothers and sisters have I got?’
‘Half-brothers and -sisters. Four. That’s if you are mine, of course. I honestly don’t think you are, lad. You look nothing like my kids.’
‘I know I am definitely yours because my mum told me not long before she died,’ Tommy fibbed. He felt desperate to belong. He wanted Patrick to be his father.
‘Drink up. You do like beer, don’tcha?’
Tommy’s eyes welled up. Was that all his dad had to say to him? ‘You could pick me up from where I live. We could go out for the day, get to know one another better. I won’t tell anyone.’
Patrick sighed. ‘Look, Tommy, I wish you well, but I can’t be a part of your life. Neither can you be part of your brothers’ and sisters’ lives. You got two sisters of your own. Concentrate on them. My Mary would cut my cory off, she ever got wind I had another son. My kids wouldn’t be none too happy either.’
Tommy felt deflated. He’d had no idea what to expect, but he hadn’t expected to be rebuffed like this. ‘Did you love my mum?’
‘Love’s a strong word. I was certainly very fond of Valerie. She was good fun and very beautiful,’ Patrick replied honestly.
The Sting Page 10