**A Special Bond**
I was sure I was in for a right telling-offnot from the local troublemaker, Gaz, but from my own mum.
I whistled as I walked home, but my stomach twisted. I was in for it now. Auntie Rose, Mums best mate, had seen me with a cig in my gob. I couldve lied, said someone just handed it to me, but noshed seen me puffing away. What was I supposed to tell Mum? That someone forced it between my lips? Like thatd fly.
I pretended not to spot Auntie Rose, and thank goodness she didnt yell or clip me round the earjust gave me a long look and carried on. But I knew better. Shed already rung Mum, whod be waiting with the slipper in hand. I was on my third lap around the block when I spotted Nan.
Oh, brilliant. Heavy artillery. This was a dirty trickNan would start wailing about how she was a retired schoolteacher, raised hundreds of kids, but her own grandson? A lost cause. How shameful. How Grandad and all our ancestors must be spinning in their graves.
When I was little, that bit terrified me. Id picture the earth shifting as they tossed and turned down there. Then one day, when Nan started on about it again, I said, «Good. At least they wont get bedsores like Gazs nan.»
Nan clutched her chest. Mum howled laughing, forgetting to wallop meearning herself a smack with the tea towel from Nan.
Now, Nan hurried over, eyes darting like *she* was the one caught smoking. «Whatre you doing out here? Why arent you home?»
«Dunno havent been yet.»
«Havent? Whereve you been all this time?»
«School, then footie, then walking.»
«Right.» Here it comes, I thought. The interrogation. «Whats this then? Your handswhyre they red? Wherere your gloves?»
«Left em at home.»
«At *home*? And your mum didnt notice? Whats wrong with her? Show me your ankles.»
She yanked up my trouser leg and gasped.
«Whats *this*?»
«What, Nan?» I panicked.
«Whyre your ankles red? Wherere your thermals? And your scarf?»
Mortified, I spotted Gaz lurking by the alley, his stupid red cap peeking out. Cheers, Nan. Who asked you? Was she losing it? Shed always been sharp, but now
«Nan whats five times five?»
«Twenty-five,» she frowned.
«Whats the square of the hypotenuse?»
«Sum of the squares of the other two sides Victor? Whats got into you? Did you not do your homework? She didnt even check? I wont stand for this. Look at the state of you!»
Waitwas Nan on *my* side? Could I dodge Mums lecture? Had I slipped into some parallel world? Was Nan even *Nan*?
«Nan, which sides my appendix scar on?»
«Right. What scar? You never had it out.»
Okay, definitely her.
She dragged me home, huffing. Mum was in the kitchen, smelling of roast, dressed up in her good frock, curls done, new earringsand *heels*? At home?
«Vic, love.» She pulled me close. «Wash up, dinners ready. Mum, joining us?»
«Whys the boy wandering the streets? Too scared to come home? Well done, well done. Trading your own child forWherere his gloves? His thermals? Its freezing! Of course *you* wouldnt care»
«Mum, *stop*. Are you eating with us or not?»
«No! Im done here. And yknow what?» She turned to me. «Pack your things, love. Youre coming with me.»
«Why, Nan?»
«To *live*, Victor. With me.»
«No thanks.» The thought of Nans nagging? No chance.
«Vics staying *here*,» Mum snapped. «With his family.»
«*Where*? Youve thrown everything away»
«Mum, if you dont stop, IllIll have to»
«What? *What*? Kick your own mother out?»
«Yes!»
«You ungratefulafter all Ive»
Mum didnt let her finish. She grabbed Nan and shoved her onto the landing, slamming the door. Nan screeched about calling the police, demanding I be handed over, ranting about some prison officer.
Mum yanked me into the lounge where some bloke sat stifflyeyes just like mine.
«Vic no lies. This is your dad.»
Nan wailed outside. Mum stood frozen. The man stoodtall, thinand held out a shaky hand.
«Hello son.»
I recoiled. «Youyou said he was *dead*.»
«Toni» He looked at Mum, pained.
«Not me, Rob. *Her*. Said itd be easier than you knowing he»
The doorbell rang. Pounding.
«Police! Open up!»
«Toni, maybe I should go»
«No. No more hiding. Vic, well explain»
Mum opened the door. In barged Nan, a copper, and nosy Mrs. Patel from next door.
«Disturbance reported»
«Nothings wrong. Family dinner. My husbands home from Aberdeen. Our son.»
«But your mother»
«Hes a *convict*! Arrest him! Victor, come *here*»
«Mum, *enough*!»
«ID, sir?»
«Course.»
«Any record?»
«No. Worked offshore since school.»
«Apologies, maam.»
«Arrest him! He ruined my daughters life»
Mum shut the door.
A *dad*? Eleven years without onewhy now? I had Mum. Nan. A *living* dad, though Nan swore hed died in a drunken brawl. A «secret,» shed said. Shameful.
Turns out theyd *all* lied.
Mum knew what Id do. She moved too late. I snatched my coat, bolted barefoot into the night, choking on tears. Who could I trust?
«Vic!» Mum shouted. I didnt stop.
«Oi, kid» Gaz. I ignored him.
«Hold up! Whos chasing you?» He grabbed my arm.
«No one. Piss off.»
«Youll catch your death. I was hospitalised last yearate like a king, but you? Youre soft.»
«And youre what? Feral?»
«Suppose. Cmon, mines close. Mas on shifttrain attendant.»
«Wait you live *alone*?»
«Yep.»
His flat was clean but sparse. Posters covered his roomBowie, Queen, Oasis. Mum never let me stick posters up. Just one of the Queen and a Spice Girls swap from Tommy for six holographic bookmarks.
A *guitar*.
«Yours?»
«Yeh. Tea?»
I nodded, stomach growling. Shouldve eaten first.
«Fancy some grub? Pasta n sardines?»
I shrugged.
«Trust me.»
He boiled pasta, fried onions, dumped in tinned sardines. Mixed it all. Never tasted anything so good.
We drank tea from mismatched mugs, sugar cubes pinched from the café where Gaz worked weekends.
«Cheers. Erm your real name?»
He laughed. «Gary. Gary Smith.»
«Then why?»
«‘Gaz’? Dunno. Stuck.» He strummed the guitar. «Wanna hear summat?»
«Go on.»
And he played. *Properly*.
«Youre brilliant. Whos that?»
«Queen. Oasis. Thats The Clash.»
«Clowns?»
«Piss off! Legends.»
«Not British?»
«Some. Know any Bowie?»
I sang *Heroes*; Gaz joined in.
«Your lotll be frantic,» he said after.
I scowled.
«Look a dads *massive*. Mines a ghost. Ma says hes an astronaut.»
«Wow.»
«Bollocks. Shes a train kid. No family. Just me. Dont be daft, Vic. Sort it. Their mess, not yours.»
«Ta, Gaz.»
«For what?»
«Everything.» I hugged him.
Gaz walked me back. They *were* searchingMum, Nan, neighbors, even the copper. And him. My *dad*.
They explained. How Mum fell pregnant. How Nan opposed it. How Dad went north for work. How Nan *faked* letters saying Mum remarried. Dads furious reply. His two-year fling. Mums divorce. Their reconnection.
«Why?» I asked Nan.
«I wanted happiness. For you both.»
«And Dad?»
«Forgive me.»
On my next birthday, Gaz came. Gave me a Bowie poster. Mum let me hang it.
I forgave them. Like Gaz saidgrown-up rubbish.
Nan adopted Gazfed him pies, helped him ace maths.
Were still mates. Still sing *Heroes* at barbecues. Still eat sardine pasta like its gourmet.
Dad and me? Weve got our own thing. A special bond.
**Lesson learned:** Familys messy. But sometimes, the ones who *choose* you matter just as much.
