Childhood, Boyhood, Youth

Wednesday.

She must be the woman from the Social. No-one round here dresses like this. Matching knitted skirt and top. The sort with bobbles in it. Mam will know what it’s called. Pale blue; show the dirt in a minute. Bet she doesn’t bother using the bus, scuffing her bum on the same seats as the likes of us. Runs around in a motor. Proper leather shoes, all shone up. ‘Sensible’ shoes, not Saturday night shoes with matchstick heels or the waterproofs the lasses from the factory wear. And a hat. Not a scarf like Mam puts on when she’s had her hair washed and waved but a funny pill box thing. In matching blue, of course.

I suppose she’s quite old, nearly thirty probably. A light pink lipstick, so soft it’s only because I’m looking close I can see it at all. Nothing on her eyes, which are dark brown with no wrinkles round them. Mam’s mascara gets clogged in hers when she doesn’t take it off properly. Black hair wrapped round her head like a helmet. Not sparing on the hairspray, this one.

She smiles. Obediently, I smile back.

‘Is your mother or father in?’ she asks.

‘Mam’s here, miss. I’ll just get her for you.’ She hesitates, probably expecting I’d let her straight in. Mam wouldn’t like that. Only police get away with pushing their way in. Doorstep for everybody else.

Dad is out, down the bookies or off drinking with his mates. Looking for a job, we’ll tell the woman from the Social. Always let them know you are trying so they don’t stop your dole. Mam is the same. The kitchen is bare, no dirty leftover dishes here. The parlour, too, is ready, cleared of ash trays and teacups. ‘Creating a good impression,’ Mam calls it. ‘Always create a good impression,’ she says. ‘Keeps the bastards off your back. Don’t let them know what you’re thinking or what you’re doing. Keep your business to yourself; the busy bodies will try and get it out of you. What they don’t know won’t harm them; what they do know can cause you no end of trouble.’

Mam comes downstairs in full rig: dedicated housekeeper dress and slippers, slightly stained pinnie. ‘I’m sorry,’ she says, ‘just cleaning the toilet upstairs. How might I be of assistance?’ This in her telephone voice, where she puts on the posh, uses phrases she has heard on the radio, never drops her aitches.

The lady shows a cardboard slip with the Council’s insignia at the top, identifying her as Miss Smith or something from the Social Services department. ‘May I come in a minute?’ she asks.

‘If you must,’ says Mam. Takes her into the parlour, to my surprise. Even the police get no further than the kitchen. Sits her in the best chair, the one with all the springs intact, plonks me on the sofa, sits herself down next to me. ‘How may I help you?’ she asks.

At school they say I’m not very clever. Sums and spelling wash over me as I daydream on the back row. But I’m sharp; you just ask Dad or Mam. I know when something’s out of the ordinary. Mam is giving this woman the full treatment and not because of her smart blue suit. She’s a danger. Mam is protecting us, or herself. She twists her hands around the edge of her pinnie, gazes past the woman’s head and out the window. I know what she’s thinking: ‘Should have opened the curtains, but the windows are so dirty.’

Miss Blue Suit wrinkles her nose. The air is stuffy in here, never clear of the odour of tobacco smoke and dirty socks. Bravely, she forces out another smile, pushes on in her determined best council official manner. ‘I would like to talk to your son, if you don’t mind?’ she says.

‘Only when I’m here with him,’ says Mam. She knows the score. Children cannot be questioned by police or officials without the presence of a parent. Well, that’s what she says and none of them have ever queried it. This one has been briefed, knows what to expect. Nods her agreement.

‘How are you, Daniel?’ she begins.

‘I’m not Daniel, I’m Danny,’ I say. ‘Everyone calls me Danny.’

‘Fine, Danny. I’m Miss Harris. We haven’t met before. I’m your new welfare officer. Do you know what a welfare officer is, Danny?’

I nod. It means another busy body trying to take me away. ‘Hello,’ I say.

‘How are you, Danny. Getting enough to eat, sleeping well? Settling back in with your family?’

‘I’ve been back here over a year, miss. It’s wonderful. Far better than the children’s home. Dad can be bossy when he’s in a bad mood, like when he’s spent all day looking for work and not found anything. Our Harry snores and keeps me awake sometimes. If I push him, he stops. Then there are the other kids in the street to play with. We get out and kick a ball about between the flats sometimes. Gerry Pettit, he kicked the ball so hard last week it went right through Mrs. Thompson’s window. And…’

Yes, I know I said not to let on our business. I’m not talking business; I’m talking wet flannel. None of it takes her where she wants to go. Some excitable, polite kid rattling away, not a care in the world. Why would she want to take such a happy boy away from his loving family?

‘Why are you not at school today, Danny?’

‘I’ve not been well,’ I say. ‘Mam sent the school a note. Something I ate, maybe. Harry had a bit of it as well, though not as bad as me. Did you get it, miss? I had the runs for days.’

‘Do you like school, Danny?’

‘Not much. But I leave there in September. Then I won’t have to wear that horrible school blazer.’

‘Yes, I’m sorry about that,’ says Mam. ‘It’s really too small for him but I can’t afford another with only a few months to go. Harry can have it once Danny moves up.’

A long silence. Miss Harris is writing on a form attached to a clip board. While she does so I reflect on my clothes. Mam keeps them clean but they’re either two sizes too large (‘you will grow into them’) or two sizes too small (‘Harry can have them when I can afford a replacement’). Harry complains he never has any new clothes, only my old cast offs. Not that any of our clothes are new, all bought from a second hand stall on the market. Mam’s the only one who has new clothes. ‘A business expense,’ she says. Great one for business is Mam.

‘Do you get many visitors here?’ Miss Harris asks.

I know what she’s after. Mam continues staring out the window. ‘Mrs. Thompson came round the other day,’ I say. ‘Thought it were me what kicked the ball through her window. Told her it were Gerry Pettit. She went on something rotten, claimed Gerry had said it were me. Ask anyone, I said to her, all the lads will tell you.’ Anyway, Gerry would never split on me. Wouldn’t dare.

She sighs. ‘I mean grown-ups, of an evening, or at weekends,’ she says.

‘Not while we are up,’ I say. ‘Harry and me, we’re in bed by eight at the latest. Never hear a thing.’

Mam shifts a trifle closer, puts a hand on my arm. ‘I’m sure Miss Harris doesn’t want to hear all the details of your doings, Danny. She wants to make sure you and Harry are comfortable, properly fed. Tell her what you had for breakfast this morning.’

‘Toast and strawberry jam!’ I say with enthusiasm. The first proper breakfast in three days. ‘And milk,’ I say. Milk which wasn’t on the turn, either. Maybe Mam had known Miss Blue Suit was coming. ‘Was I naughty having the jam?’ I ask. ‘Mam says I should only have dry bread today, settle my stomach.’ I jiffle to imply that matters might be stirring once again down below.

‘I’ve got some nice cod in for supper,’ Mam breaks in. ‘We may have to leave it until tomorrow, if it doesn’t go off.’

‘I shouldn’t worry, Mrs. Morley. Some boiled fish is excellent for invalids.’

Normally Mam would give her hell for taking the piss like that. Today she smiles an executioner’s smile, takes a firm hold on her pinnie. ‘Very kind of you to say so,’ she says. ‘I trust you are happy as to how you have found us? As you can see, Danny is well fed and well clothed as well as being properly brought up. Not in any physical or moral danger, as you can see. No reason for him and Harry not to stay here where they are loved and looked after. I’d like our Salanne back as well.’

‘Returning your daughter doesn’t depend upon me, I’m afraid. As long as the police continue their objections our hands are tied, as I’m sure you know. They don’t regard this house as a safe environment for a young woman.’ Mam sniffs. ‘However, I can reassure you there are no obvious grounds for taking the boys into care again. Danny shows no sign of deprivation, apart from being a little small for his age.’

‘I’ve lost a lot of weight while I’ve had the...’

‘That’s enough, Daniel.’ I know it is time to shut up once Mam starts calling me Daniel. ‘Closing the deal’ she calls this. You’d think she has been on a college course with all the jargon she uses. Used to sell cars before she married Dad and had us kids. Couldn’t go back. No-one buys British cars any more, all Japanese now.

‘As I say, a little small for his age, though bright and attentive enough. The case conference is next week and I will certainly recommend the status quo continues.’ She certainly has been to college, foreign words and all. ‘Moreover, I don’t believe a monthly visit is strictly necessary any longer. Quarterly will be quite sufficient.’

‘If you could give me a little notice next time,’ says Mam, ‘so I can get the house ship shape for you, not the mess it is this time.’ Bollocks. Our house has never been this clean since they brought me and Harry back. One of her mates had dropped her the word, which explains the strawberry jam and the spotless kitchen.

Miss Blue Suit smiles agreement, considerably more relaxed than when she arrived. Offers to shake Mam’s hand. Mam refuses, rubs her hands together. ‘As I say, I’ve been cleaning the upstairs toilet. Had a good wash before I came down, but you never know.’ Puts on her best downtrodden housewife look, grabs at here pinnie once again.

She shows the woman from the Social to the door. ‘A pleasure to meet you,’ she says.

‘Thank you very much for your time. And thank you, too Danny.’ Away she trots, her neat little car parked up the road. Walks round it to check the bodywork. Not completely wet behind the ears.

‘Off to see the Moffatts,’ observes Mam. ‘Won’t have such an easy time there. Didi will feed her tea out of cracked cups she hasn’t bothered to wash up. No blue suit’s going to stand up to Didi’s kitchen. On good days she might say ‘yes’ and ‘no’. More like it’ll be ‘effing this’ and ‘effing that’, all in the heavy Glasgow she puts on when she’s in a bad mood. Young Gary will be a cheeky little sod, like always.’

‘That’s why he’s excluded, Mam,’ I say. ‘Swore at the headmaster something rotten and pulled the hair of one of the dinner ladies. We all laughed, it was such fun. Why do we have to be so nice? Can’t we have fun like Gary, give the snooty woman from the Social the what for?’

‘A bad return on the investment,’ says Mam. ‘Not worth the candle. Exactly what Dad did when they took you away. Got their backs up something terrible. Smarm them is the way, make them think you know your place. Take her. She thinks you are a polite and charming boy, not the rotten little sod you are really. Even thinks you’re off school because of your stomach instead of twagging it because you can’t be bothered to go. Give her a mouthful and you’ll have the truancy over here in a shot. You don’t want to go back to the Home, do you?’

A difficult question. The Home had its good points. Plenty of food, and regular. Warm clothes in winter. No drunks, no fights, no noisy parties at weekends. What more could I want? Then there was the staff. Good, most of them, except for that vicious bastard, Bradley, always ready with a fist or a cane. And the other boys. Get three or four together and they were on the lookout for someone small like me to take it out on. Me, I took no shit, nearly bit one’s hand off. Took a beating but they didn’t bother me after that. One of the staff talked about hanging a sign around my neck: ‘This boy bites.’ He thought it was funny; I never understood why.

No time to think. I was always looking after Harry. Three years younger than me, even smaller built. Crying out for a hard nut to have a go at him. Couple of them got him round the back of the gardener’s hut one time. Stubbed out their cigarettes on the back of his neck until he looked like a scabby dog. Told him he shouldn’t tell anyone or he’d get the same treatment again; over his bare arse this time. Harry never told no-one. Except his big brother, that is. Tell big brother everything. Apple crumble and hot custard for supper next day. Very wobbly the dining room floor. Tripped on it, lobbed the lot down chief thug’s neck. ‘Not my fault, sir. See the lino’s ripped up there. I didn’t see it. Of course I’ll apologise to him, promise it won’t happen again.’ Funny, he ended with the same bandage around his neck as Harry had around his.

Then there was school every day without fail. No excuses, no sick leave. Compulsory baths on Sundays, church once a month. Busy bodies all the time. ‘What do you feel about this? Are you adjusting to your new home? Do you love your father? How do you feel about going home?’ At first I’d say ‘don’t know’ or ‘don’t care’ until Mam started coming over to see us again, began my education, taught me to be polite. Got me and Harry out of prison. Now I can go where I like, stay off school, throw stones at the police, as long as I don’t get caught.

That’s what pisses Mam off, us getting caught. She went proper barmy over the bike. Some kid had left it chained to the bike sheds at the back of the big school. Or thought he had chained it up. The chain was there and it was certainly locked, only it didn’t pass round the iron work of the shed. Careless of him. ‘Nice bike,’ I thought. ‘Too good to be hanging around here to be knocked off.’ So, I took it. Went for a ride round the estate. Lovely bike. Took some time to understand how the gears worked but she flew like a bird once I’d sorted them out. Rode off as far as the park, zooming round the tarmac walkways. Nearly ran over the parkie who was trying to stop me.

I know now what I should’ve done. Should’ve dumped it in the bushes and walked home, innocence all over my face. Not what I actually did, took it home and left it in the back garden. Police at the door within a couple of hours. ‘I thought it were dumped, officer. It were there in the park, not locked up or nothing. I need a bike, so I brought it home.’ Not worth their while to push it further, taking a ten-year-old to court doesn’t look good, but they gave me hell and shouted at Mam and Dad into the bargain.

‘Stupid little prat, bringing the cops round here,’ shouted Mam when they had left. Gave me a good hiding. No supper or nothing else for a couple of days. Had the scars on me back for weeks. A lesson learned: don’t get caught. Not like the feller across the road, but I’ll tell you about him later.

“You stop daydreaming and get out from under my feet. Get the dogs fed, then bugger off. Your father will be home soon. I don’t want him to see you until after school time. And it’s school for you tomorrow, young man. It’s Thursday; you know Thursday’s a busy day.’

So it is. I quite like Thursdays, love the hustle and bustle, Mam all dressed up, Dad in a good mood for a change. A quiet night, no fuss and nonsense afterwards. For now, I have to feed the dogs. I hate those bloody dogs. Noisy, smelly, neither use nor ornament. Scabby old things, tongues hanging out, teeth long and yellow, always looking to have your hand off while you’re not paying attention. Nearly got our Harry one time, started throwing him about like a rag doll until Dad set about them with his baseball bat. They’ve not done nothing like it since but I know they’re always on the lookout; I can see it in their eyes. As long as I give them food I’m their best friend. One day I’ll forget or have none to give and they’ll be on me. Dad keeps them to scare the punters. ‘No trouble while the wolves are loose,’ he says.

The yard smells of piss and shit. Dad’s supposed to clear it up and hose it down at the weekend. Usually he forgets or can’t be bothered so it sits under a covering of flies until he stirs himself at last or gets me and Harry to do it. I’m not washing down today. Fill up the feeding bowls with scraps, splash water into the bucket. Then I’m off to see if Gerry is back from school yet.

‘What did you say to that woman from the social?’ I ask him when he appears, one lapel ripped from his blazer after a game of British Bulldog in the playground.

‘Didn’t tell her nothing. If she got it from anywhere it was that old bag Ma Thompson. You know I wouldn’t tell on you.’

‘Not if you know what’s good for you,’ I think, putting an arm round his shoulders. Quite a difficult feat, since he’s about six inches taller than me. No heavier; built like a stick insect. Superb for the school football team. Stick the ball in the air and Gerry will head it in. Forget his feet. He’s totally uncoordinated, can’t kick a ball for toffee. The pair of us annoy the hell out of the headmaster. The head thinks I’m too small to play in the team but he has to include me because I can lob over the ball at the height Gerry likes it. Goal every time. Play the ball on the ground into the box and Gerry makes a right pig’s ear of it, just like he did when he broke Ma Thompson’s window. He either picks both of us or neither. If he does that he loses his entire strike force.

‘What did the Social want, anyway?’ he asks. ‘You’ve not been nicking bikes again, have you?’

‘Nothing. Checking up on Mam. Looking for an excuse to send us back off to the home. Mam put on her telephone voice and sent her packing. Got any sweets?’

‘Nar, old man’s on the club again. Bread and dripping all week.’

‘We could go shopping.’

‘Not local. They know us there, never let us out of sight. How about nipping over to Barnswood? There’s new people in the shop there. You look smart enough and I can carry my blazer. They’ll think we’re from Barnswood Junior, take no notice of us.’

‘What if we get caught?’

“We won’t. You know the drill. Leg it out the shop. You go left, I go right. By the time they decide which one of us to chase we’ll be long gone. That always works.’

‘Nearly didn’t last time.’

‘That’s because it was local. They was watching us like hawks. Come on.’

Barnswood is an estate like ours but the people there are different. ‘Aspiring,’ says Mam. That means they are trying to be posh. Nearly all of them have jobs: working as builders or decorators with the Council; looking after the old folk in the care home; cleaning at the hospital. Working in offices, some of them, too proud to get their hands dirty.