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from side to side.
    Gloria produced a coin from her coat and pressed it into the palm of Frank’s hand. ‘Here, get a bag of crisps and a drink for yourself on the way home. The newsagent on the corner should be still open.’
    Frank pushed the coin in his pocket, and ran home, taking the maze of short cuts he had become accustomed to. He stood solidly as he knocked on the door, his cheeks stained red from the cold.
    His mother’s sharp face stared from under the hairnet stuffed with curlers, and she ushered him into the narrow hall before bolting the door. ‘I hope you’ve not been getting into trouble. You’d better not bring the police to our door, you hear me?’
    Frank frowned, fingering the coin in his pocket. He could give the money to his mother, but did she deserve it?
    ‘And I asked you to clean this dump. You best do it tomorrow or you won’t be going anywhere.'
    Frank bound up the worn lino stairs. It wasn’t a dump to him. Their two-up two-down house was just as good as anyone else’s on the terrace, it was his mother that made life difficult. He remembered her wailing the day she had moved there. He couldn’t understand it. At least the neighbours didn’t make snide remarks and look down their noses at them. Nobody really cared what they did.

    T he week passed without event . He kept his head down, went to school. Leaving private school for state had not been that hard. The dumber the other children were, the easier they accepted whatever persona he presented to them. The best way of keeping a low profile was to immerse himself in the mundane. Act like them, talk like them. A smile, a joke was all it took – at least during the day. The night was his own.

    F rank woke to the sound of a woman’s raised voice from downstairs. It sounded like Gloria was paying his mother a visit. But Frank’s mind was not on Gloria, it was on the spoils from his burglary the night before. Ducking his head under the bed, he pulled out a cardboard box containing the red leather bag he had stolen the night before. His habit of waking up at two a.m. served him well. He was able to reach the outskirts of Maple Avenue in twenty minutes if he ran without stopping.
    He pulled the stiff gold clasp of the bag open and rifled through the contents. Hair clips, a tissue, a comb, lipstick, papers, a few loose shillings, and five pounds! Frank kissed the crisp note and threw the bag back into the box under the bed. At least he wouldn’t have to listen to his stomach grumble. He might even treat himself to a new coat.
    He smiled, wondering if the owner would miss her handbag. What did she expect, leaving it in full view on the kitchen table last night? Frank had been shocked to see her old man with his nose in the fridge. Frank’s heart had felt like it was going to pound itself clean out of his chest as he hid behind the long velvet curtains in the living room. The old geezer was lucky he didn’t cave his head in with his crowbar. The cold solid metal had felt good in his hands. He would have smashed his skull to pieces for sure. He began to imagine standing over the old man’s body as crimson red seeped into the patterned swirls of their expensive carpet. But in the dimness of the light, the old coot was either blind or too stupid to see him.

    F rank’s attention was brought back to the voices from downstairs. They grew louder, relaying the same old story. Gloria arguing with his useless mother, telling her to look after him better, and Viv reeling off a bunch of excuses as to why she couldn’t give a shit.
    ‘When are you going to sort your life out? You owe it to Frank.’ Gloria’s muffled voice filtered through the bare floorboards. Frank squirrelled away the five pounds with the rest of his spoils, some shillings and trinkets of jewellery hidden in a box on top of the wardrobe. It was just as well he could look after himself.
    ‘Sort your own life out before you start coming around here preaching at me. At least