Tom All Alone 14 (i)

The end of their holiday usually meant a return to normal. But not this time. Now, it was all about change.

A couple of weeks afterwards, dad started a new job as a bus driver - driving the red double-decker buses out of Putney Garage. Tom loved buses and was proud at the thought of his dad driving one. But it meant that dad worked at different times of day now, and was working for much longer. He'd often get home late, after Tom had gone to bed, and they all seemed to see much less of him. It was strange sitting around the telly in the evenings with dad's chair empty - though Bobby often used it, curling himself up to sleep. Dad worked at weekends now, too, and Tom missed the Saturday morning visits to Jones's toy shop around the corner, or the Sunday lunchtime trips to sit outside the pub - going home afterwards with a pint each of winkles and shrimps for tea, wrapped in brown paper bags Tom carried. He also missed the days out in the lorry, driving around London or down to the countryside, and the smells of hay and straw that dad would bring home with him after work. It seemed like a lot to get used to at once.

And then there was the biggest change of all to contend with. The months had turned to weeks, then days, until finally it was the night before Tom started school. The anxiety was like a living thing inside him. Mum had bought him the clothes he needed. Some grey shorts and knee-length socks. A white shirt. And a tie, which the boys were supposed to wear. He had to try them all on and show everyone.

"You look very smart," said nan. "Very grown up."

The clothes felt stiff and itchy, though - and he'd never worn a tie before. It felt tight at his neck.

"I don't like it."

"But your dad wears a tie," mum said. "And Russell does. And look at uncle Len, too. All smart men wear ties."

He liked the idea of its making him feel grown up, but that was all. It still felt uncomfortable. He was glad to get the clothes off again and change back into his normal things.

That evening, he tried to make himself small and insignificant as they sat watching the telly. He didn't know what the programme was, and he wasn't really watching it. He just tried to stay quiet and hope no one would notice him. But as soon as the end music came on, mum got up and went to him.

"Come on now, Tommy. Bed. School in the morning."

He got up slowly and kissed nan goodnight. Then they went to the scullery for teeth-brushing. And then it was downstairs.

After mum had tucked him in, and he'd satisfied himself with his usual pillow checks, she stood at the door before switching off the light.

"You get to sleep now. And don't worry - you won't be alone tomorrow. Lots of other boys and girls will be going for the first time, too."

It was only slight reassurance, knowing that. What about all the others that would be there? All those strangers. He always felt shy around new people, anyway - but lots of them all at once?

"Alright," he said.

She switched the light off and closed the door, and he was left alone at last with his thoughts. It was still quite early, and he could see light at the edges of the curtains. A man was singing in The Half Moon, but Tom didn't know the song. He lay there, listening to the singing, the sounds of cars driving down the road at the back, the occasional roar of a plane going over, voices shouting somewhere - familiar sounds, but which suddenly seemed loud and distracting, like they were invading the room. His mind gradually slowing down and drifting...

...and then suddenly he was awake again, and saw daylight through the window, and Russell was shaking him.

"School today!" Russell yelled in this face, relishing it. "Who's got to go to school?"

And then mum was there, walking in the door, breaking it up, telling Russell to go and have his breakfast.

"Come along, Tommy. Your big day. Let's get you washed and dressed."

He pulled the covers up over his head again.

"No! I don't want to!"

"Yes," she said, firmly, pulling them back again and grabbing his hands. She led him upstairs to the scullery, where she had some water ready in a bowl. She took off his pyjama top and wiped his face and body over with the flannel - the soap going in his eyes and stinging as he struggled against her. When she'd dried him off, she wrapped him in the towel and they went back down to the bedroom. On went the pants, vest, socks, shorts, shirt and jumper - each one accompanied by a vain kick or wriggle - dragging and stretching and straightening things as she went with her rapid-moving and firm hands.

"I don't want to go!"

"Well, you're going, and that's all there is to it!"

The tears were coming to her own eyes, too. He could see them.

"There," she said at last. "You'll do."

He stopped struggling long enough to catch a breath. She crouched there, holding him firmly by the arms, eyes level with his.

"Now, listen. What have I told you? You won't be the only one. Everyone has to do it. And I'll be there to meet you at lunchtime. So we'll have no more of this."

At last, he was done and upstairs - tie on, hair combed, face wiped of tears, sitting at the table in the kitchen while mum went to fill his cereal bowl, wiping her eyes as she did so.

When they finally arrived at the school gate, Tom stood behind her, peeking shyly at the strange, gawping, giggling faces crowding around him, looking for the smallest shred of familiarity. Someone he knew, perhaps - a brother or sister of a friend. Someone with a kind eye or a sad smile. Or just simply someone who looked as lost and scared as he felt. Instead, though, they all seemed chatty and excited - standing there with their own mums or dads, waiting for the gate to be opened so they could go in. Most of the boys looked bigger than he was. Some already knew each other. A couple looked at him quickly, but most ignored him. He didn't see anyone else crying, so he did his best to hold his own tears back.

"Don't forget," mum said, bending to wipe his face again. "I'll be here to meet you at lunchtime, alright? It won't be very long."

"Alright."

He still felt a sense of betrayal at her hands, though. Here she was, the person he trusted the most in the world, making him do something he didn't want to do. Leaving him. Deserting him.

She straightened his tie, then took a comb from her purse and tidied his hair one more time.

"You'll be alright once you get settled in class with the others. First day is always the worst day."

And then the gate opened, and suddenly everyone was moving, heading in. He held on to her hand until they got there, squeezing tighter and tighter as the sense of panic rose. He felt her hand pulling at his, then gradually releasing from his grip as he went with the flow of bodies. He looked back and caught a glimpse of her face as he went through the gate. Then he was just moving and jostling along with the others, down the yard to the playground, where the teachers were marshalling everyone, getting them into lines. He felt someone's hand push him lightly along, then another hand on his shoulder, which made him stop - standing between two other boys facing towards the school building. There was a flagpole there, beside which the teachers stood in a row in their coats and jackets - looking out over the children's heads, smiling and chatting quietly. Tom was in the first line and could see back up the yard to the gate. He saw her standing there with the other mums and dads, waving down. He wanted to run back, but was afraid to move. So he stood there solemnly with the others all around him, shifting their feet, looking at each other, sniggering nervously. A couple of girls in the line next to him giggled loudly. He heard someone sniffing like they were crying. His face was aching where he was clenching his teeth.

One of the teachers at the front spoke, but he couldn't hear what was said. He looked towards where the voice came from and saw a man teacher holding a large brass bell. Then he started to ring it. The ringing carried on as the lines of children began to move, one by one, through an archway and into a smaller yard, where a door led into the school building. He glanced back up the yard again quickly and saw mum still standing there - her smiling face, her bright red lipstick, her hair tufts poking out at the edges of her headscarf.

And then he was through the archway, and she was gone.

(continued) https://www.abctales.com/story/harryc/tom-all-alone-14-ii