The Sting. Kimberley Chambers
of the Day together.
‘Who’s that who just scored?’ asked Uncle Ian.
‘Martin Chivers.’
‘What team does he play for?’
Tommy glanced at his uncle as though he were an alien. Surely everyone knew who Martin Chivers played for? He had scored the two away goals in the 1972 UEFA Cup Final, for goodness’ sake.
‘I’m going to run a bath. Sandra doesn’t like us to use too much water, but seeing as she isn’t here, we’ll make the most of it.’
Having missed the regular baths he was allowed to have at home, Tommy nodded in approval. He wanted to be clean and look his best to meet Danny’s family tomorrow. ‘OK, thanks.’
*
The first warning bell rang in Tommy’s head when his uncle informed him they couldn’t be using two lots of water and they had to share the same bath.
‘Erm, can’t I have a bath after you?’
‘No. The water will be dirty and cold. Didn’t you ever share a bath with your mother and sisters? Or your dad?’
‘Well, yeah. But not for ages. I used to get in after my sisters.’
‘We can’t upset your Auntie Sandra. I had to fight tooth and nail to take you in and she always checks the water bill.’
Tommy breathed deeply. He could not think of anything worse than having to share a bath with Uncle Ian, but the man had been so kind to him recently, he could hardly refuse. ‘OK then.’
Uncle Ian’s body looked even more awful with no clothes on and Tommy averted his eyes from the rolls of fat. Thankfully, there were lots of bubbles in the bath and Tommy sat frozen against the end with the plug hurting his bum, while his uncle splashed about like a beached whale at the other, cracking unfunny jokes.
‘Want me to scrub your back, Tommy?’
‘No, thank you. Can I go to bed now, please?’
‘Of course. Let me get you a towel to dry yourself.’
Having not gone through puberty himself, Tommy was shocked as his uncle struggled to get out of the bath. His willy looked huge and hard. Like a snake.
Suzie Darling was a funny, loud lady with auburn hair, dimples and a welcoming smile. She swore a lot and her house was clean, but not particularly tidy. Tommy immediately felt at home as he sat on the brown Dralon sofa.
‘You OK, Tom? Not gone all shy, have ya?’ Danny joked.
‘I’m fine, thanks,’ Tommy lied. He had lain awake most of the night thinking about Uncle Ian. Tommy was yet to get sexual urges himself, but he knew lads who had, and he couldn’t help worrying his uncle had been sexually aroused when he’d got out of the bath. Was that why Alexander always called him a weirdo? Was Uncle Ian some kind of pervert?
‘Whaddya think of me mum?’
‘She’s nice and very pretty. Where are your brothers and sister?’
‘Eugene’s playing football, Donna’s gone down Petticoat Lane with her mate and Ronnie’s a biker, so he could be anywhere. They’ll all be home for dinner though. No one cooks a roast like my mum. She works in the Prince of Wales pub as a cleaner. Do you know it?’
Tommy shook his head.
‘She don’t earn much, but Ronnie does. He pays for most of our food, bills and rent as my dad’s inside.’
‘Does Ronnie work as a boxer? Is that his actual job?’
Danny chuckled. ‘Nah. He earns some from the boxing, but he does other stuff too.’
‘Like what?’
‘Same as me dad. Ronnie’s a ducker and diver.’
Knowing Danny’s father was banged up for murder, Tommy decided not to ask any more questions.
Danny was right about one thing. Suzie Darling cooked an ace roast. Tommy had thought nothing could beat his mother’s and felt disloyal even admitting as much to himself.
‘Want some more pigs in blankets, Tommy?’ Ronnie Darling asked. Danny had told them about the tough time Tommy had been through. They were all shocked who the lad lived with. Ian and Sandra Taylor kept themselves to themselves in this neck of the woods, but even so they weren’t liked. Rumours had surfaced a few years back – about Ian in particular.
Tommy grinned and gratefully accepted the food. He liked Ronnie, who had arrived home dressed in black leathers. He was funny and extremely cool.
‘Want some more parsnips?’ asked Suzie, shoving a load on Tommy’s plate. The poor little mite looked like he needed feeding up a bit.
‘Thank you, Mrs Darling. This is like a Christmas dinner. It was very kind of you to invite me round.’ Tommy’s mother had always told him ‘Good manners cost nothing.’
‘You’re very welcome, my love. Our Danny speaks highly of you. Anytime you want to pop round, feel free. But please call me Suzie. Mrs Darling makes me sound like one of the blue-rinse brigade down East Street market,’ Suzie chuckled.
‘Do you really live at number forty-four, Tommy?’ asked eleven-year-old Eugene. He was quite impressed with Danny’s new friend, but he and his pals played knock-down ginger at Tommy’s aunt and uncle’s house. They called them ‘The Stinkies’.
Kicking his youngest brother under the table, Ronnie quickly changed the subject. ‘Danny says you like football, Tom. Who do you support?’
‘I did support Celtic, but since finding out my dad ain’t my dad, I don’t want to support them any more. Spurs are my team now.’
Ronnie ruffled the boy’s hair. Tommy was a good lad; he could sense that, with an air of vulnerability about him. ‘Wanna come over Millwall with me and Danny next Saturday? I’ll treat you.’
Tommy’s eyes shone. He had yet to attend a proper football match. ‘You bet I do. Thank you.’
‘Here she is, the latecomer. Dinner’s in the oven, burnt, young lady,’ tutted Suzie. ‘Serves you right for saying you’d be home by three and coming in at four.’
Tommy was rather taken aback when the stunning girl with big blue eyes and glossy long blonde hair sauntered into the kitchen. She was wearing a white catsuit and red platform shiny boots like those people serving in the record shop yesterday. He nudged Danny. ‘Is that your sister?’
‘Yeah. That’s our Donna. Pain in the bloody arse, she is,’ Danny laughed.
Eyes as big as organ stops, Tommy stared at the girl. At that moment, he had his first ever sexual feeling and it felt like heaven.
Life returned to normal back at Uncle Ian and Auntie Sandra’s house. The dinners were bland, Auntie Sandra spoke to him only when she could be bothered and Tommy spent most of his time in the sanctuary of his bedroom, playing his records and listening to the radio.
On the Saturday he was due to attend the Millwall game, Tommy heard the tap-tap he’d come to dread on his bedroom door. The bath incident had not been mentioned again and Tommy was far too embarrassed to tell Danny about it. ‘Who is it?’
‘Uncle Ian. OK to come in?’
‘Yes. Of course.’
Uncle Ian smiled as he plonked his fat self on the edge of Tommy’s bed. ‘Sandra is visiting her sister in the Isle of Sheppey again this weekend, so I thought we might do something together. I found a shop that sells those aeroplanes. I’ll treat you to one, then we’ll fly it over the park. Sound good to you?’
Uncle