The Sting. Kimberley Chambers
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Tommy lied, without looking up. He shoved a whole sausage in his mouth. Mealtimes were the only time he spent in his aunt and uncle’s company now and he couldn’t bolt his food down quick enough. How could that perve act like nothing had happened? Tommy couldn’t even look the bastard in the eye, let alone have a normal conversation with him. The most upsetting thing for Tommy though was that Ian was his mother’s brother. His mum had been such a kind, funny, gentle woman. How could they even be remotely related?
‘I thought we might go to Battersea Dogs’ Home this weekend, Tommy. I know how much you miss Rex and your mum and sisters. Perhaps a new furry companion is the tonic you need to perk you up a bit?’
‘The cats won’t be happy,’ Sandra hissed.
Ian smiled at the woman he’d married out of convenience. He worked long hours at the factory, was the breadwinner, so she would have no say in the matter. ‘I was thinking of a small dog, dear. What do you reckon, Tommy? Would a dog make you happy?’
Tommy pushed his plate away, his face distorted with anger. ‘I don’t want a dog. I don’t want nothing off you.’
When Tommy bolted up the stairs, Sandra scraped the remains of his dinner into the bin, then silently washed the plates. They’d had to move out of their last address as a local lad had accused Ian of inappropriate behaviour. The case had never gone to court, the boy had withdrawn his allegations, and Ian had sworn blind to her he was innocent.
‘You OK, love?’ Ian asked. ‘Tommy will be fine. He’s missing his family and dog, that’s all.’
Sandra nodded. She had an awful feeling in the pit of her stomach. Perhaps she should cancel stopping over at her sister’s next weekend. Only, if history were to repeat itself, she couldn’t bear the thought of vigilantes throwing eggs and bricks at the window again. She actually liked living round here.
‘I’m sorry, David, but …’ Tommy said, as he snapped each Bowie record he owned into tiny pieces and chucked them in the bin. No way could he listen to his favourite artist’s music ever again. ‘John, I’m Only Dancing’ had been playing when the pervert had done what he’d done.
Tommy felt incredibly melancholy as the DJ on Radio Caroline played ‘Long-Haired Lover from Liverpool’. He missed his sisters immensely and hoped they were faring better than he was. Nanny Noreen had definitely had her landline cut off or changed. Tommy’s guess was she had altered her phone number so he could not contact Linda. He reckoned she had intercepted the post too, as no way would Linda ignore his letters. As for Hazel, Tommy could only pray she was holding her own in the home. She’d always had a fiery temper, so could look after herself.
Picking up his duffel bag, Tommy took out the dagger. He ran his hand gently across the blade and was surprised to see blood spurting out of two of his fingers. Danny had said it was sharp, which was a good thing. Because, if that pervert ever tried to touch him again, Tommy would do what Hazel had done to Billy Fletcher. He would kill him, stone dead.
*
‘Happy birthday to you,
Happy birthday to you,
Happy birthday, dear Mum,
Happy birthday to you.’
Wishing he could sing ‘Happy Birthday’ to his own mother once more, Tommy plastered a smile on his face. He had become good at doing that recently, especially in front of the Darlings.
‘I bought you these, Suzie,’ Tommy announced, handing Danny’s mother a box of Milk Tray.
Suzie thanked and hugged the little boy she had become so very fond of. There was a sadness about him and she guessed it was due to all that he had been through. His mother must have been a wonderful woman, Suzie thought. Tommy’s manners were impeccable.
‘I got you this, Mum,’ Danny announced, thrusting a Carpenters album into his mother’s hands. It was easy to thieve down that record shop in the Old Kent Road. So simple, he’d also helped himself to three seven-inch singles.
‘Here’s my present, Mum,’ said Donna. She winked at Danny. Woolworths was also a doddle to thieve out of and she had presented her mother with far more than him.
‘And last but not least …’ Ronnie Darling chuckled, dragging a massive square thing into the lounge.
With an arm still around Danny and Donna’s shoulders, Suzie looked bemused. ‘What the bleedin’ hell is that, Ron? Only, I ain’t got room for ornaments of that size in my front room.’
Ronnie grinned. ‘No more scrubbing the whites and soaking our underwear in a tin bucket for you, Muvver. This does it all for you. It’s a washing machine.’
Suzie put her hand over her mouth. ‘What! Like the ones they have at the laundrette?’
Ronnie kissed his mother on the forehead. ‘Even better, angel. This one has a built-in tumble dryer.’
When Eugene handed her some Mary Quant eyelashes and a bright red lipstick, Suzie hugged each member of her family. ‘How lucky am I to have such thoughtful children?’
Suzie turned to Tommy and gave him a second hug. ‘And you can be my adopted son. You are welcome here any time, day or night, and I truly mean that, Tom.’
‘Thank you.’ Seeing Donna smile at him, Tommy quickly averted his eyes. She made his tummy flutter, a feeling he’d never experienced before. She also made him tongue-tied.
Over the next few weeks, Tommy spent more and more time with the Darlings. He was now totally converted to Millwall Football Club, having been to a couple more games, and he couldn’t get enough of the boxing gym.
‘Tom, enough please. Tommy! What the hell you doing? You’re meant to be sparring, lad,’ yelled the trainer as he yanked Tommy away from the kid he had pinned to the rope in the corner.
Tommy apologized to the boy and the trainer. He could not help the red mist that seemed to descend upon him the second he stepped inside the ring. All he had to do was think of what life had thrown at him recently, and before he knew it, he was knocking seven bells out of whoever.
‘What the fuck is wrong with you lately? Has that nonce done something else to you?’ Danny Darling asked, as he and Tommy walked home together.
Luckily for Tommy, ‘The Perve’ – as he now referred to Uncle Ian – had been giving him a wide berth. Auntie Sandra had not been to visit her sister again and, bar mealtimes, Tommy either hung out with the Darlings or listened to music and read in his room.
Spotting PC Norman, the perve’s mate, walking towards him, Tommy ducked behind a nearby wall.
‘What you doing now? Ya nutter.’
‘That fat geezer, he’s Old Bill. Ian is friends with him and if he spots us together, I’m dead.’
Danny burst out laughing. ‘Who? Noncey Norm? He ain’t the filth, you div. He’s the local perve. Stand up. Don’t be a wimp.’
Tommy did as he was told and was surprised when Norman crossed over the road and pretended not to see him. ‘You sure he ain’t Old Bill?’
‘Positive. He’s another oddball, like your uncle. Why are you dead if he spots us together? What’s been said?’
Briefly explaining, Tommy was horrified when Danny chased after the man bellowing, ‘Oi, nonce-case, I want a word with you.’ Danny was totally fearless.
Tommy chased after his pal and grabbed his arm. ‘Leave it, Dan,’ he pleaded.
Refusing to look at Tommy, Norman cowered in the bus shelter. He was scared of the Darlings. Jack was a lunatic, which was why he was banged up, and Ronnie wasn’t far behind his father. They were like a pack of dogs – if you touched one, the others would be on you. ‘Leave me alone. I’ll call the police if you touch me.’
‘But you are the police, ain’t ya? Only that’s what you told Tommy,