five magazines and a big bag of mixed sweets. ‘Danny Darling. Everybody knows young Danny around here,’ he chuckled.
With a face like thunder, Ian threw the money on the counter, snatched the magazines and sweets out of Mr Patel’s hands and stormed out of the shop.
Tommy Boyle joined in with all the fans chanting ‘We are Millwall, from the Den’ as he left the ground. Everyone was buoyant and the atmosphere was awesome. Millwall had scored a late winner, but the funniest part of the day had been when the peanut seller had asked Ronnie to look after a sackful. Ronnie had started chucking handfuls in the air, then everybody nearby joined in, including Tommy. The crowd then started singing, ‘We hate peanuts and we hate peanuts,’ which Tommy thought was hilarious. He’d felt part of something for once, a tribal feeling.
‘Wanna come back to ours?’ Danny asked, when they made it back to the Old Kent Road.
Tommy’s heart suddenly lurched. ‘No. Erm … I better not.’
‘There’ll be lots of nice grub. Mum always lays out a big spread for us after we’ve been to football.’
‘I can’t. Uncle Ian said I got to be home by seven.’ The thought of spending another evening alone with his uncle without Auntie Sandra being around filled Tommy with dread. Say he insisted they share another bath together? Tommy had already made his mind up. No way was he doing that again. It made him feel dirty, not clean.
‘Right, I’m off to meet a bird, lads. Make sure you take Eugene straight home, Dan,’ ordered Ronnie Darling.
‘Thank you so much for taking me to the game today, Ronnie, and paying for me to get in,’ said Tommy.
Ronnie ruffled the boy’s head. ‘You’re very welcome, pal. So, you still a Spurs fan? Or you gonna be a Millwall nutcase, like us?’
Tommy grinned. ‘Millwall, definitely.’
‘You’re late,’ Uncle Ian snapped.
Tommy stared at his feet. He’d literally salivated at the mouth when Danny informed him his mother was preparing chicken, ham, beef, pork pies, pickles and hot crusty bread, so had ended up having his tea at his pal’s house after all. ‘I’m sorry.’
‘So, where have you been?’
‘Erm, with Johnny,’ Tommy lied. ‘His mum invited me in and I didn’t want to come across as rude. I won’t be late again, I promise.’
Uncle Ian forced a smile. ‘Come and say hello to our guest.’
Tommy followed his uncle into the small dining room that was adjoined to the lounge. The chessboard was out and there was a bottle of brandy on the table. The man grinning at him was fat, bald and looked older than Uncle Ian. ‘Hello,’ Tommy said awkwardly.
‘This is my friend, PC Norman. He’s off duty tonight and wants to have a word with you. I’ll leave you to it,’ Uncle Ian said, shutting the door.
Tommy eyed the policeman suspiciously. He looked nothing like PC Kendall or any of the other local bobbies in Barking. He wasn’t wearing a uniform and Tommy could not but wonder if one would even fit him.
‘Sit down, Tommy.’ Norman patted the seat next to him.
Tommy did as he was told. ‘Have I done something wrong?’ he asked innocently.
Norman smiled. ‘No. But you are knocking around with a bad crowd. I have said nothing to your uncle as I didn’t want to get you into trouble, but those Darlings are bad news. I know you have been to the Millwall game today with Danny. I also know you went back to Danny’s house. You must promise me you will have no more to do with that family. Your Uncle Ian has been very good to you, taking you in when nobody else wanted you, so you need to be a good boy for him.’
Tommy was a bit taken aback. ‘OK,’ he muttered.
‘The Darlings are bad people, Tommy. The last lad Danny got friendly with was found floating in the River Thames.’
Tommy’s eyes widened. ‘No way! Really?’
Norman ruffled Tommy’s hair. He was a handsome kid and he could see why Ian was so smitten with him. ‘Yes. Really. Keep away from the whole family.’
‘What did PC Norman want to talk to you about?’ Uncle Ian enquired later that evening.
‘Not much. Just told me to be a good boy. Can I go to my room and play some records, please?’ Tommy was confused. He felt at ease with Danny and his family, much more at ease than he did with his uncle and aunt.
‘Not so fast. I bought you some presents earlier. They’re on the kitchen top.’
Instinct told Tommy he shouldn’t accept any more big presents from Uncle Ian, so he was relieved to see only sweets and football magazines.
‘Well?’ Uncle Ian grinned.
Apart from flying saucers and blackjacks, Tommy wasn’t a fan of penny sweets. Linda had loved them. She’d scoff bagfuls. But he was chuffed with the football magazines; he only had one out of the five. ‘Thanks, Uncle Ian. Can I go to my room and read my mags, please?’
‘Not until you’ve had some supper and a bath.’
Tommy froze. He was yet to get big stonkers himself (that’s what the lads at school called them) but he was sure Uncle Ian had had one last time they shared a bath. ‘I’m not hungry, I ate at Johnny’s. And I’m not dirty, I had a strip wash at the sink this morning.’
‘I won’t force you to eat, but you have to have a bath, lad. Auntie Sandra doesn’t like us to use too much water, so now’s the time to have one.’
‘No. I don’t want one.’
Uncle Ian knocked back his drink and paced the room. ‘You are starting to get on my nerves, Tommy. I have been very kind to you, and not only are you lying to me, you are also defying my orders. Do you see me as some kind of a fool? Do you? I know exactly where you have been today and who with, you lying little toerag. Now do as I say. Go run a bath.’
‘OK. But I’m getting in it on my own, not with you.’
Uncle Ian grabbed Tommy by the shoulders and pushed him up against the wall. ‘I make the rules in this house, not you.’
Tommy felt extremely uncomfortable. Uncle Ian reeked of alcohol, his eyes were glazed and he had a twisted, vicious look on his face that reminded Tommy of Alexander when he’d come home drunk and lash out at his mother.
‘Bullies come in all shapes and sizes. Always stand your ground, Tommy, even if there are four of ’em or a bloke is bigger than you. You’ll survive if you get a good hiding. It’s better to fight back than surrender,’ Ronnie Darling had told him earlier today.
‘Tommy, Tommy! Get back here,’ Uncle Ian bellowed, when his nephew kicked him hard in the ankle and bolted up the stairs.
Gutted that his brilliant day had been spoiled, Tommy flung himself on his bed and wept. He so wished he could speak to his sisters or hold Rex in his arms once again. He missed his mum most of all though. Why did she have to die? He hated living
