Read Humber Boy B for Free Online Page B

rock, No need to bawl.”
    “Give over,” Ben muffled into the bedding as Adam landed on the floor with a thud and began to tug at clothes from their shared pile, trying to find something clean, something suitable for a day at the seaside.
    “Mam!” he shouted at the wall, “I can’t go in me kegs. Where’s us shorts?” Mam didn’t answer, so he started muttering to himself.
    Ben tried to return to sleep but Adam was noisy, cursing that his Hull Rovers T-shirt had sauce stains down the front, crowing that his dad said he could go to Peaseholm park, promising he’d swim naked in the sea if he couldn’t find his fucking shorts. Though the Hull Rovers top was in need of a wash, Adam pulled it on.
    Finally, he left the room. Ben heard their mother’s door being opened and then the shocked wail.
    “Dad? Where’s me dad?”
    Ben removed the pillow from his head to listen, but their mother could not be heard. Adam was loud and accusing.
    “Hasta been rowing again, even after all you said? And what’s this?” There was more banging, something being thrown to the floor, a bottle maybe. “You promised the social worker, Mam. You said you wouldn’t drink!”
    There was a reply, a pleading female voice, then Adam spoke again, no longer angry. It was a quieter voice that Ben strained to hear through the partition wall. “This time he’s really gone, hasn’t he? He promised us, that if he did he’d take me too. But he lied.”
    Ben placed the pillow over his head, not wishing to hear any more.
    Adam’s dad had left many times previously, he had broken many promises. There was no reason why this day, this promise, should cut any deeper, but for some reason it did. Adam returned to the bedroom and pulled off his Rovers T-shirt and the shorts he had searched so hard to find. He lay in his pants on the bed, face down, and only his shaking body revealed that he was crying.
    Ben watched, neither smug nor surprised. “Peaseholm park is lame anyway.”
    There was a long silence, so Ben thought his brother hadn’t heard him until he mumbled into the mattress, “Nobbut the battleships are cool.”
    Ben had to acknowledge that the battleships were a highlight, as he’d discovered when they all went to Scarborough last summer, a rare moment of family calm, just after Stuart’s last return and the departure of yet another social worker.
    Stuart had taken them all for a mini-break to his static caravan, his home when he was not with their mother. It was crammed full with unusual glass smoking devises and replica guns that both boys had to solemnly promise not to touch. They eagerly agreed, glad to be by the beach, happy to be a family. They spent the day in the park, watching the battleships with their steamy funnels and bubbling motors, but the day had turned sour as the sun dimmed and the adults’ voices began to slur from too much beer. A caravan is a small space for four, and Mum and Stuart each had large personalities and loud voices, so it wasn’t long before the neighbours had rapped on the flimsy caravan door followed by the sound of a police siren. They had to cut the trip short and returned to Hull the next day in a car filled with adult rage and childish confusion, but Ben remembered the battleships with fondness.
    Mum appeared in the doorway, wearing only an ‘I hate mornings’ long T-shirt and scratching her head. “I want you boys out of my hair today.” Ben noticed her mousy hair, which looked matted and crispy, and wanted to agree.
    “I’ve got a headache so I’m going back to bed. Just be quiet. Okay?”
    Both boys knew better than to argue but Adam’s anger was still driving him. “You need to give us some brass so we can get us some grub.”
    Their mother looked shocked, then angry. “You mardy fucker! I just said I’m ill. Now get that miserable look off your face and leg it. When I was your age I was out all the time, not laying on my bed sulking. Get some bloody clothes on!”
    And then she