Once, after Steve Pamphlet had been bragging again about his dad and Australia, I came home and waited until Mam got back from the library, and then I came straight out with it and asked her if she knew where Dad had gone off to. She just looked at me and then went into her bedroom and shut the door. When she came back out, she told me to turn off the telly as she wanted to say something to me. You’re nearly eleven now, and so I can talk straight to you. Your dad’s gone off back to where he came from. Maybe he’ll turn up one day, but if he does, he’s not coming in this flat. She made me promise that if on the off chance he ever showed up when she wasn’t around, then I’d not let him in the flat. I nodded. I’ll not let him in. Ben, she said, this is important. She pushed my shoulder back. I know, I whispered. I could feel tears welling up behind my eyes. I promise. But what was I supposed to do, leave him on the doorstep? Anyhow, nobody ever knocked at our door, except gypsies selling clothes pegs and bits of lavender, or fat blokes in tight suits trying to sell you junk to clean your kitchen with, or creepy-looking Avon ladies. Your father’s left me to cope with the both of you by myself, and we’re doing alright. We don’t need him, do we? I shook my head, but realized that Mam probably wasn’t telling me the whole truth. Ben, she said, we don’t need him, do we? We’re better off without your father. I nodded. That’s right, and have you looked into that paper round yet? This time I shook my head. Well, see if you can’t get it, love. We need all the help we can, and you’re the man of the house now. She paused. Where’s your brother?
“Hey Jude”—The Beatles
While Mam was around, badgering us to unpack our suitcases and get settled in our new bedroom with its nice comfy twin beds and flannelette matching sheets and pillowcases, the woman was really nice. She even brought us a tray with three cups of tea on it, and a big plate of custard creams and digestives. Mam smiled and thanked the woman, and then Mrs. Swinson backed out of the bedroom and said she’d give us some time to ourselves and told us that there was no rush. She said this twice, about there being no rush. Tommy and I began to cram the biscuits into our mouths, but Mam got mad and said we had to behave properly. She insisted that Mrs. Swinson was a kind lady, so we had to be careful not to do anything to annoy her. Mam looked around the room. She has a beautiful home, she said. Me and Tommy nodded and promised that we would behave, but neither of us took our eyes off the biscuits.
Eventually we stood up and followed Mam down the stairs and into the hallway, where we watched the two women talking for a minute or so until Mrs. Swinson opened the front door. Mam looked back at us both, then wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. Mrs. Swinson closed in the door quickly and didn’t even give us time to listen to Mam’s footsteps finally fade away before she started up on us about our clothes and about Mam. Upstairs, she said, and get yourselves in the bathroom. Once you’ve had a good wash you can come down, and then we’ll have to go out and try and get you kitted out with something respectable to wear. And dry yourself properly in your small areas or you’ll get chapped. She didn’t smile, but then again we’d already noticed that she never smiled. Later, after tea, we had to do the washing-up, and she shouted at us to be careful with the dishes as they were antique. We were to take it in turns. One day I’d wash and Tommy would wipe, then the following day we’d change around, did we understand? We nodded but tried not to look at Mrs. Swinson, for she’d now plonked herself on a chair and was slowly rolling a stocking down the full length of her veined leg.
That first night we lay in our beds and wondered what our new school would be like. Tommy was ten now, two years younger than me, and Mam had told us that in this town we’d both be going to the same school, as juniors and seniors weren’t split up. Mrs. Swinson had already taken us out and bought us our new school uniforms, but everything was too big on us. I didn’t say anything to Tommy, but it occurred to me that we might have to fight at this new school, and I worried that it might well be the type of school where there was no point in reporting anything to the prefects as they might be the ones doing most of the beating up. That’s how it was at my grammar school, and I reckoned that it was no doubt even rougher at John Wardle’s. On our estate it was always me who had to scrap and stick up for our Tommy, as kids obviously saw something that made them want to pick on him, but Tommy couldn’t fight to save his life. However, with me it was different, and although I was never going to be cock of the school or the estate, I also wasn’t ever going to back down. I knew I was clever, as I was already top of the class at the grammar school, and I did like to show off a bit, so hardly a day went by when I didn’t hear the words “Do you wanna make something of it?” coming out of my mouth. However, on Monday morning, I soon discovered that things at this new school seemed to be a bit easier.
After we’d got through the first couple of days, I started to keep an eye on Tommy, and we began to hang out together. We seemed to always get chosen on the same side for football, but these kids didn’t have a proper ball, only a dirty grey tennis ball. Everyone quickly worked out that our Tommy was the best player by a mile, but being a new boy, he inevitably took a bit of a kicking, and so even when we were supposed to be having fun, I still had to stand up for him and occasionally belt a few people. Back at Mrs. Swinson’s, we soon discovered that we were a disappointment to her and she was only interested in her three husky dogs and not much else. The drill was we were to come home, get changed, then come down for our tea and afterwards wash and wipe the dishes and pile them up neatly next to the draining board. Mrs. Swinson soon gave up asking us about our school or if we had any homework to do, and she just made it clear that after we’d finished our chores, we were allowed to go down to the basement and watch telly for one hour, and one hour only, and then we had to go to bed. She never came down there with us; she’d just sit upstairs and play with her dogs, particularly the young one, Simla, who she talked to more than the other two.