Read Tom Houghton for Free Online Page B

morning?’
    â€˜Yeah,’ I said, relieved that her change in tone made everything all right. ‘He farted himself awake.’
    â€˜Thomas Houghton!’
    â€˜Well he did, Mum, I was there. It made me throw cake in the air.’
    â€˜ And you had cake for breakfast? Tommy, honestly, what am I going to do with you? You didn’t . . . well . . . you didn’t scare him off, did you?’ She was standing in my doorway wearing her work uniform which made her look, in that moment, like a teenager. A pencil was still stuck behind her left ear and it held back the hair from that side of her face.
    â€˜So you do like him then?’
    â€˜He seems nice enough. Still early days, but.’
    â€˜Is he coming around for dinner?’
    â€˜Ease up, mate! Give me a chance.’
    â€˜I just thought –’
    â€˜You and your Hollywood head, Tom. Honestly. Get out of your pyjamas and come and help me prepare dinner. Pa will be hungry. My shift at the pub starts in under an hour.’
    We pottered around the kitchen pulling together the ingredients for chilli con carne. Though it was hot outside and we’d usually have salad, chilli was Pa’s favourite and we made it for him at least once a week. The one time Mum tried to skip it, she’d heard about it for months.
    Pa came down from the garage, smelling of grease and oil, his hands and arms thick with muck. He made his way into the laundry and scrubbed away at his flesh with a cake of Solvol. The medicinal scent worked hard to overpower the cooking smells.
    â€˜How was work?’ he said to Mum.
    â€˜You know how it is, Pa, you’ve bagged one steak, you’ve bagged them all.’
    â€˜Still don’t know how you do it,’ he muttered. ‘At least you’re making an honest living and not afraid of a bit of hard work. In my day, hard work was the yardstick everyone was measured by. None of this fancy car rubbish to measure a man’s worth.’
    â€˜I try my best,’ she said, distracted by the cooking.
    â€˜And how was school, Tommy?’ He knew I had wagged it and this was just his way of getting the facts out on the table. He’d lecture me, as usual, and give my mum looks of disapproval, making her promise not to let it happen again, which she would inevitably renege on.
    I looked at my mother and squirmed. ‘Mum?’
    â€˜Don’t look at me, buddy, you made your choice.’
    â€˜Not again? Lana, the boy has to go to school, it’s the law. Tom. Tom, listen to me. It’s not natural for you to be inside all day, you need to be out with kids your own age.’
    â€˜Well, you know what Rosie said to Captain Allnut about nature, Pa!’
    My mother tried to stifle a laugh but Pa was having none of it.
    â€˜Tom! Your fancy lines don’t work on me. All nonsense. Everything spoken in code is going to drive us all insane. You’re under my roof, boy-o, remember that. As you are, Lana. A man should be able to make some rules in his own home and expect his child and grandchild to follow them. Is that too much to ask?’
    â€˜No,’ Mum and I said in unison, barely audibly.
    â€˜Promise me you’ll go to school.’ It was not a question.
    â€˜I do go to school, Pa. It was just one day.’
    Pa shook his head and walked slowly from the room. Over his left shoulder he said: ‘See to it, Lana. For god’s sake, just see to it.’
    Mum and I looked at each other and both raised our eyebrows.
    â€˜Make sure you wash your hands after chopping that chilli,’ she said. ‘Tom?’
    I stopped what I was doing and turned to look at her, apprehensive about what was to follow.
    â€˜There’s nothing wrong at school, is there? Something you’re not telling me?’
    There was a lot wrong at school but I didn’t want her to be sad or worried, so I’d made a pact with myself never to tell. At night I lay in bed