Tom All Alone 15

One night, as Tom was drifting into sleep, he heard a shout come from somewhere. He opened his eyes and sat up, listening. He could just make out the dark shape of his brother's bed across the room.

"Russell... did you hear that?"

Nothing. Russell was asleep.

He decided it must have been someone out in the street, so he laid back down.

Then the shout came again. This time Tom recognised it. It was coming from upstairs. He was sure it was dad.

He sat up again, just as something heavy banged on the floor upstairs.

"Mum!" he called out.

Russell stirred now.

"SHHH!" Russell hissed. "Keep quiet!"

"But I'm scared. What was that bang? Why did dad shout?"

"Because they're having an argument."

"Why?"

"Because they have arguments. Haven't you heard them before?"

"No."

"They're always having arguments."

Tom thought he'd heard noises sometimes when he was asleep, but thought it was in his dreams. Or people coming out of the Half Moon over the back.

"It sounded like something fell over, Russell. I'm scared."

Russell sighed heavily. "Just forget it and go back to sleep. It'll all be alright."

But Tom was disturbed now, and he couldn't sleep. He laid awake listening again. He heard something that sounded like crying, but couldn't be sure. Then he heard footsteps thumping across the ceiling. They came onto the top landing and down the stairs. He knew they must be dad's footsteps because they were so heavy. Tom wanted to call out, but was too afraid. The footsteps went past the bedroom door and along the hall. The front door opened, then was slammed shut. Tom held his breath. After a few moments, he heard nan come out of her bedroom and go upstairs. She went into the sitting room and Tom briefly caught the sound of the women's voices before the door was shut. Tom wanted to go up there to see what had happened, but was still too scared to move.

"He's gone to work," Russell said suddenly, from the darkness. "It's all over now, so go to sleep."

Tom settled again. He continued to listen, but there was nothing more.

He gradually drifted into troubled dreams.

 

Next morning, when mum woke him up, he could see that her eyes were red. She was sharper with him than usual.

"Come on, Tom," she said as he struggled to get out of his pyjamas. "I haven't got time to muck about. We're going to be late."

"What was that noise last night, mum?"

"What noise?" she said, straightening his vest down. "You should have been asleep."

"Something banged on the floor and woke me up."

"I dropped an ornament and broke it. That's all."

She helped him wriggle his arms into his shirt.

"Why was dad shouting?"

"He wasn't shouting. You must have heard the television."

"I heard him."

"No you didn't."

She began to do up the buttons - her eyes fixed on her fingers.

"Stop asking questions now. We need to get moving."

 

It was a strange day at school. Barry wasn't there that day because he had a cold, so there was no one to play with. But Tom was still disturbed by what had happened. He kept thinking about the noises and the shouting, and dad slamming the front door. And mum that morning, looking like she'd been crying.

Later, when he was watching the cartoons before dinner, he checked all the ornaments on the sideboard and the shelves to see if any were missing. The wooden elephants uncle Ted had brought back from India. The plastic pineapple for ice cubes. Dad's brass shell cases from the army, and his darts trophies from the pub. The little black china bull. The funny jug with a man's head wearing an eye patch and pirate hat, with a parrot for the handle. The vases and photograph frames. The clock on the mantlepiece, and the big oval mirror above it. He knew all of these things and couldn't see any gaps or anything broken.

Then he noticed that something wasn't right. It was the wooden-framed photograph of mum and dad's wedding day. The glass was gone. The frame was crooked, too - like it was sagging to one side. He picked it up and tried to straighten it, pushing against the sides, looking at those two beaming faces in the picture. Mum in her white dress with the big bouquet. Dad in his army uniform - his hair quiffed up like a wave. The two of them crouching to get in a black taxi, outside the church by Putney Bridge.

Those big smiles he loved to see...

The door opened suddenly and mum came in, making him jerk back in fright.

"What are you doing with that?" she glared. "Give it here."

She took it away from him and put it back on the sideboard, where it had been.

"What have I told you about touching those things?"

He dropped his head and started to whimper.

"I was trying to fix it. I'm sorry."

"Just leave it alone."

She switched the telly off and took his hand.

"Come on - it's dinner," she said, pulling him towards the door.

 

There started to be more and more times like it now. Times when he'd hear shouting at night again, and dad slamming out of the front door. Then came days when, if dad wasn't at work, he'd be in a bad mood and wouldn't talk to anyone. Or he might get angry with Tom over something small, and send him to his bedroom. Mum would be in a mood, too. Dad would go out a lot, and was often not there at dinner time or when they had the telly on in the evening - even when he wasn't working.

This might go on for a few days. But then it would settle down again and start to feel more like normal, with mum and dad being their old selves. Dad singing and whistling and making jokes, mum smiling and laughing again. The changes disturbed Tom, though, and made him anxious. He knew something wasn't right, and wanted to know what was happening. Russell wouldn't say anything, and was often out with his friends anyway. He tried asking mum, but she'd always pretend to be busy doing something - peeling potatoes at the sink in the scullery or cleaning with the vacuum. She'd tell him not to ask questions and go and play in his room.

On some days, when dad was in one of his bad moods, Russell would go out with his friends for longer, or would lock himself in the bedroom and read, or make one of his models. Even when dad was out, there was a tension at home that Tom had never felt before. Russell would talk to him less. Mum would look tired. Nan would come upstairs more often, or mum would go downstairs and sit with her. Some evenings they'd sit in nan's back room and talk quietly with the radio on. Tom would sit in a corner there with a toy or a book. He'd hear something in the tones of the women's voices. Sometimes mum would cry.

"What's the matter, mum? Why are you crying?"

"It's nothing, love. Don't worry. Mummy's got a headache, that's all. You go and play now."

Bobby had gotten more used to Tom now that Tom didn't bother him so much. Sometimes he'd even come and curl up on Tom's lap. He loved hearing Bobby purring, seeing the light glinting on his whiskers, feeling the softness of his fur - his fluffy body vibrating gently against Tom's legs.

 

One day, when Tom had just got home from school and was playing in the bedroom, Russell came home and rushed straight upstairs to mum, who was getting dinner ready. Tom went to the stairs and listened.

"I'm sure it was him," he heard Russell say, excitedly. "I saw him going in the betting shop by the bus garage."

Tom ducked back inside the bedroom door again as Russell came clumping down the stairs. Mum was just behind him, pulling on her coat. She looked upset.

Nan came out of her back room and followed them along the hallway.

"What's up, Cath?"

"Can you just keep an eye on Tom for a bit please, mum. I need to pop out."

"Is it Dan?"

Mum was already out on the step. Russell was waiting there for her.

"I sha'n't be long," was all she said.

Nan turned, pulling her cardigan together around her shoulders, and saw Tom standing in the bedroom doorway.

"Where's mum gone, nan?"

"Never you mind, love. Play with your toys and be good."

"Is it dad?"

"I don't know. It's none of your business, anyway. Play with your toys."

He found the box with his plastic cowboys and Indians and took them upstairs to the sitting room. He tipped the box out on the carpet and began to set the figures up - the cowboys on one side, the Indians on the other. Some were on horses. Some were standing, aiming rifles. Some just had guns or bows and arrows. He had a small metal cannon that fired matchsticks. There were some dead matches in the ashtray by the fireplace, so he used those. He loaded the cannon, then aimed it and fired at the cowboys first, then the Indians - swapping sides across the carpet, firing at them until they were all dead. He was setting them up for another game when he heard the front door open and Russell and mum coming up the stairs.

"We're back," he heard mum call to nan.

She came into the sitting room and Tom could smell the fresh air on her as she unbuttoned her coat. He just looked up at her.

"Don't make a mess on the carpet, Tom," she said. "Why don't you watch the telly until dinner."

He put the figures back in the box while she turned the telly on. Animal Magic was on. Johnny Morris was wearing his zoo-keeper's hat and coat. He was talking to a monkey, doing one of his funny voices.

"Where did you go, mum?"

"Just out, that's all."

"Were you looking for dad?"

"Dad's at work. Just watch your programme."

She went out and closed the door. He heard nan come up the stairs, so got up to look at the keyhole. Nan went into the scullery and they were talking. He couldn't hear what they were saying, so turned the telly down and listened again. He heard the mumblings of their voices, plates rattling sharply, the kettle being filled from the tap. Then mum stepped out to the landing and he could hear her clearly. She sounded like she was crying again.

"I can't stand this, mum," she said. "Never knowing one day to the next."

Then they both went into the back kitchen and closed the door.

 

Dad came in late again that evening, after they'd had dinner. He didn't say anything - just sat in the back kitchen with his own dinner from the oven, mum down there with him talking, while Tom, Russell and nan sat and watched Crossroads.

That night, things were quiet and Tom slept alright. It was the weekend, too.

On Saturday morning, for the first time in ages, dad took Tom to Jones's to get a new toy car. He chose a little green Mini.

On the Sunday, dad went to the pub at lunchtime as usual and came home with two brown paper bags, twisted at the corners. A bag each of winkles and shrimps for tea, like they always used to have.

Mum and dad both seemed happy again at last. Tom thought that whatever had been wrong was all over now. He hoped it was for good this time.

But the anxiety was still always there now. Like a tiny seed growing inside him.

(continued)