to South London hadn’t been easy. Uncle Ian and Auntie Sandra lived in a two-bedroom house off the Old Kent Road. Tommy’s mother’s house had been spotlessly clean, but Auntie Sandra’s wasn’t. It was shabby, dusty, smelled of cat’s piss and very often there were shit stains down the toilet for days on end. She didn’t even have a toilet brush and bought the most awful toilet paper. It wasn’t soft like his mother had used. It was like grease-paper, and Tommy struggled to clean his bottom properly with it.
Auntie Sandra was a short, fat woman who ate like a horse. She rarely bathed and her hair was long, grey and greasy. She stank too, of sweat and another odour Tommy could not quite distinguish. She was all right towards him, but he could sense she didn’t really want him there.
Uncle Ian, on the other hand, had been very welcoming and generous. He bought Tommy all his football magazines, and as many sweets as he wanted. He’d recently surprised him with the best kite Tommy had ever seen. It looked like a big multicoloured eagle. Uncle Ian had even promised to buy him a portable TV for his thirteenth birthday, which he could watch alone in his bedroom. Tommy was elated by this news, as the small TV downstairs was rarely switched on. Auntie Sandra and Uncle Ian only ever watched the news and Tommy felt awkward asking if he could watch Top of the Pops or The Big Match. He would also feel a bit silly watching such programmes with them. Neither of them were into pop music or football. They listened to the radio and played board games such as chess or draughts.
Starting a new school hadn’t been easy either. Tommy had felt invisible at times, like a lost sheep. Hopefully, now he’d met Danny all that would change. They were walking to school together tomorrow and going back to the boxing gym after their lessons.
For once, Tommy drifted off into a happy sleep. But at 4 a.m. he woke in a cold sweat. It was the usual kind of nightmare. In this particular one, Hazel had hit Rex over the head with a paving stone and killed him. Then his mother had told him she wasn’t his real mother.
‘I didn’t know you lived at number forty-four. Nobody likes your aunt and uncle, ya know. My mum calls them oddballs,’ Danny informed Tommy after school the following day. ‘And your aunt well stinks,’ he added.
Munching on a bag of chips dripping in vinegar, Tommy suddenly didn’t feel hungry any more. He felt embarrassed.
Uncle Ian was a short, dumpy man who wore thick-rimmed glasses and old-fashioned clothes. Tommy thought he looked like the comedian Benny Hill, but he was far less cool. At least Benny Hill was funny. ‘My mum was nothing like my uncle.’ Tommy squirmed. ‘Wanna see a photo of her?’ He carried one around with him; it made him feel she was still with him.
Danny nodded, then studied the image. ‘She is very pretty. She looks like Barbara Windsor. My brother Ronnie well fancies Barbara.’
Tommy handed Danny another photo. ‘That’s my sisters and my dog Rex.’
‘Are you keeping in touch with your sisters?’
‘No. I tried to, but the phone has been cut off where Linda is living and she hasn’t replied to my letters. I don’t even have an address for Hazel.’
‘Where’s your dog?’
‘Alexander found him a farm to live on in Essex.’
Danny felt sorry for Tommy. It had been tough for him over the years because his dad was inside, but at least he had his brothers, mum and sister. ‘Wanna come round mine for Sunday dinner? My mum cooks an ace roast.’
Tommy nodded. Auntie Sandra’s roast was the worst he’d ever tasted. ‘Yes, please. You sure that will be OK with your mum?’
‘Yeah, course. Don’t say where you’re going, though. My family have got a bit of a reputation round ’ere. Your aunt and uncle might try and stop us being pals,’ Danny warned.
‘I won’t. I promise.’
‘Cool. You wanna go to the boxing gym now?’
Tommy grinned. ‘Yeah. Race ya there.’
On the Saturday morning, Tommy was bored, so lay on his bed reading his football magazines. Danny wasn’t around today. His elder brother had recently bought a car, so he’d driven Danny up north to watch Millwall play away.
Tommy much preferred spending time alone in his room than downstairs. He had very little in common with his aunt or uncle, which made it a struggle to find subjects to talk to them about. He had a portable radio in his room, so would rather listen to his favourite stations, alone.
A tap on his bedroom door made Tommy jump. ‘Who is it?’
‘Uncle Ian. OK to come in?’
‘Yes. Of course.’
Tommy smiled as Uncle Ian sat on the edge of his bed. As usual, he was at a loss for what to say. If a person didn’t like pop music, TV, or football, Tommy had come to the conclusion it was difficult to have a conversation with them. Those were the main topics of conversation in his old house.
‘Sandra is going to visit her sister in the Isle of Sheppey today. She won’t be back until tomorrow. So, I thought you and I might do something nice.’
Tommy’s heart sank. Saturday afternoons were all about listening to the football results come in. ‘Like what?’
‘Well, the wind seems reasonably strong. How about we go to the park and fly your kite? I thought I would treat you too. I know how much you want a record player in your bedroom.’
Having missed his old record player almost as much as he missed Rex, Tommy flung his arms around his uncle’s plump shoulders. ‘Thank you. I would love that.’
Flying the kite was a bit of a let-down. The wind had dropped and the kite wouldn’t stay up in the air for long.
‘Cor, look at that, Uncle Ian!’ Tommy was transfixed by the red and orange plane some boy was flying.
‘Do you like aeroplanes, Tommy?’
‘Never been in a real one, but I like that. It’s ace.’
‘Let’s go and ask the boy’s dad where he bought it from then.’
‘Why?’
‘So we can get you one.’
‘No. You’ve been too kind to me already and I don’t expect you to keep buying me things.’
‘I can afford it. That’s why I go to work in the factory.’ Uncle Ian put an arm around Tommy’s shoulders. ‘I just want you to be happy.’
Tommy felt uncomfortable, but couldn’t put his finger on why. ‘I am happy. Thank you,’ he mumbled.
Tommy was thrilled with the record player from Dixons, then even more elated when Uncle Ian handed him a fiver and suggested they stop at a record shop. ‘You’re going to need some vinyl to play on it, aren’t you? Go on, take it,’ his uncle urged.
Tommy excitedly leapt out of the rusty Morris Minor. Slade were currently topping the charts with ‘Cum On Feel The Noize’ and he couldn’t wait to get his hands on that. ‘How much can I spend?’
‘All
