Tom All Alone (11)

The summer arrived with its long days and balmy, sometimes sticky evenings and nights. Things seemed more settled and relaxed in the summer. No need for fires or heaters or lights indoors. The upstairs living room faced east, so in the evenings - before the telly went on - they'd often sit up there after dinner, with the windows open, and enjoy the cool breeze coming up off the river. Dad liked to sit on a bar stool in the bay window - Tom's fighter plane cockpit or battleship bridge - with his cigarettes and a couple of bottles of beer, shirt sleeves rolled up and collar loosened, and look out over the street. Tom would often sit with him, too - or maybe at the other window, where he could feel more by himself, and away from dad's smoke which always made his eyes sting. A few of the other neighbours did the same, and they would wave to one another, or sometimes call out a quick few words of conversation.

"Warm one again."

"Shocking, innit."

"Mustn't complain. Winter comes soon enough."

"Don't wish it on us yet."

Sometimes people would come out and sit on chairs in the front areas, or on the walls, with trays of tea on the window sills. Usually the older folk, sitting there in shirts and braces, trousers rolled up, the women with bare legs, feet pushed into carpet slippers, a scarf draped over bare shoulders. Low voices chatting, watching an occasional car go by, catching the paper man when he came along with his huge bag hanging from a shoulder strap, his fingers black with the print and the coins he took.

"Standard or the News... Evening..."

Dad used to always get the Evening News, tossing down his coins and catching the folded missile as it came flying up. He'd then sit and read it for a while, before mum took it, when Tom could sit with her to do the Picture Crossword, or try to solve the Anagrin cartoon puzzle.

"Why is it called that, mum?"

"It's a play on words, love. It should say 'anagram', but they change it to 'grin' because it's a cartoon and a puzzle as well. That's what an anagram is. You have to take all the words in the caption and mix all the letters up to make different words, and the cartoon is the clue to what the different words should be."

It sounded very complicated. But once they'd done it a few times, Tom got the hang of it and was fascinated by it - the way you could mix words up to make different words. And by the way that words could have different meanings, which is what had always confused him before. Like Minnie the Minx was a naughty girl, but a Hillman Minx was a car.

Sometimes there'd be nudges and murmured words if a young woman walked along in a mini-skirt, or a Teddy Boy passed with his wet-looking slicked-back hair, bright-coloured coat and thick-soled shoes. They were like strange, exotic creatures who came along and broke up the gently-flowing stream of daily ordinariness. Mick, the older son of some people at the end of the road, was a Teddy Boy. Tom always thought he looked very smart. He always had a cigarette on. Tom thought he looked a bit like a picture he'd seen of Elvis Presley on one of Russell's records. He thought he might like to be a Teddy Boy one day and look smart like that.

"They're always getting into trouble, love," nan said. "You don't want anything to do with them."

"Why are they always getting into trouble?"

"Because they've got nothing better to do. If you go about looking like that, you'll have the police after you."

He thought it probably wasn't a good idea to be one of them after all. The police still scared him, in spite of the kind policemen who'd come to see him after the fair, and who hadn't taken him away after all.

Some summer afternoons, especially at the weekends, mum would take the boys for a walk down to the river and along the tow path towards Barnes - or perhaps over the bridge to Fulham, where they'd go to Bishop's Park, feeding the birds, playing on the swings, sitting in the flower gardens. Russell's school was near Bishop's Park, and he'd point it out when they passed it. Tom could see why it was called the big school, because it was much bigger than St Mary's, where he was supposed to be going.

"How much longer is it before I go to school, mum?"

"Just a few months now. It won't be long."

He still was dreading the day. But there was part of him now that was getting more used to the idea - especially as Matthew and Salvatori were already at school and said they were enjoying it. It was mainly the thought of not being home any more that bothered him. He liked staying at home. He liked days when he could go out with mum shopping, or have nan look after him while he played with his toys or looked out at the street. Like he did on those summer evenings.

He loved having Bobby, who he liked to think of as his cat. He'd always loved cats - like Whisky next door, Mr and Mrs Holt's black-and-white cat who would sometimes walk along the back fence like a tightrope walker, then huddle up on the wall.

He loved the feel of Bobby's fur and wanted to stroke him all the time. Bobby didn't seem to like it, though, and would spit at Tom, or scratch his arms with his claws. Tom had scratches all over his arms.

"Leave that cat alone," mum would say. "He doesn't like a lot of fuss."

"But I like playing with him."

"But he doesn't always want to play. That's why he scratches you."

If Bobby was curled up sleeping on a chair, Tom would try to pick him up so that he could put him on his lap. Bobby hated that the most, and would eventually go and hide somewhere, or go out where he could be left alone. He seemed to like Whisky, and they would sometimes huddle together on a windowsill high up, or on the roof of nan's outside toilet, where Tom couldn't get to. But then Tom would get him down by tapping a spoon against his dish, which mum always did when she was calling Bobby for his food. So he would come running, and then get there and find he'd been cheated, and struggle and scratch as Tom tried to grab him.

"I've told you to leave that cat alone," mum would always scold.

It upset Tom that Bobby didn't like to be fussed. He loved Bobby and didn't know why Bobby couldn't understand that.

"You can show you love him by letting him be," mum said. "He'll come to you when he wants some fuss."

But he never did. It didn't stop Tom loving him, though.

(continued)