**A Special Bond**
I was sure I was in for a right bollockingnot from the school bully, Gaz, but from my own mum.
I walked home, whistling, but my chest was tight. I was done for.
Auntie Marge, Mums best mate, had seen me with a fag. I couldve lied, said someone handed it to me, butno chance. Auntie Marge had seen me *smoking* it. What was I supposed to tell Mum? That someone shoved it in my mouth? «Here, have a puff?»
I pretended I hadnt spotted her, and thank God she didnt screech or wallop mejust gave me a long stare and walked off.
But I wasnt fooled. I *knew* shed already grassed me up, and Mum would be waiting with the belt. I was on my third lap around the block when I spotted Gran.
Oh, brilliant. The heavy artillery. This was off-limitsnow Gran would go off on one, blubbering about how shed raised half the kids in town as a headmistress, but her own grandson? A disgrace. How her late husband, and his father, and every ancestor in the family plot must be *turning in their graves*.
When I was little, that bit terrified me. Id imagine the earth shifting, ghosts groaning. Then one day, I snapped. «Good thing theyre turning, innit?» Id said. «Stops bedsores. Like old Mrs. Jenkins down the road got.»
Gran clutched her chest. Mum howled with laughter, forgetting the beltthen Gran whacked *her* with a tea towel.
Now Gran was marching toward me.
«Whatre you doing out here?» she demanded, eyes darting like *she* was the one caught smoking. «Fallen out with your mum?»
«N-no I aint even been home yet.»
«*What?* Whereve you been, then?»
«School, then footie practice, then walking.»
«Hold up.» Here we go, I thought. Any second, shed make me breathe on her. «Whats this? Your handswhyre they red? Wherere your gloves?»
«Left em at home, Gran.»
«*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*?»
«Wh-what?» I panicked.
«Whyre your ankles red? Wheres your vest? And your scarf?»
Mortified, I spotted Gaz lurking by the alley, his stupid red beanie poking out. *Thanks, Gran.* Was she losing it? Shed always been sharpnow she was off her rocker.
«Gran five times five?»
«Twenty-five,» she said, puzzled.
«Whats the square of the hypotenuse?»
«Sum of the squares of the other two sides Victor? Have you *not done your homework?* She didnt even *check*? Oh, I *wont* stand for this. Look at the state of you!»
Waitwas Gran on *my* side? Had I slipped into some bizarro world? Was Gran even Gran?
«Gran, which sides my appendix scar on?»
«*Right.* Youve never had your appendix out.»
Okay, still Gran.
She dragged me home, huffing. Mum was in the kitchensmelled like shepherds pie. She was dolled up: curls, new earrings, even *heels* indoors. What was going on?
«Vic, love,» she hugged me. «Wash up, dinners ready. Mum, you joining us?»
«Whys my grandson roaming the streets? Doesnt *want* to come home, does he? *This* is what youve done. Wherere his gloves? His vest? Its *freezing.* Of courseyou dont *care*»
«Mum, *stop.* Are you eating with us or not?»
«No! Im *done* here. Vic, lovepack your things. Youre coming with me.»
«*What?* No, Gran»
«Vic stays *here,*» Mum snapped.
«*Wheres* here? Youve thrown it all away for»
«Mum, if you dont stop, Ill»
«*What?* Kick your own mother out?»
«*YES!*»
Gran screeched. Mum grabbed her, shoved her onto the landing, and *slammed* the door. Gran wailed about calling the police, about some convict
Mum yanked me into the lounge. A bloke sat there, tense.
«Vic no lies. This is your dad.»
Gran pounded the door. Mum stood frozen. The man stoodtall, thin, *my* eyes. He held out a shaky hand.
«Hello son.»
I *jumped* back. «*Dead.* You said he was *dead*»
«*Annie*» He looked gutted.
«Not me, *her.* She told youfor your own good»
The door burst openGran, a copper, nosy neighbors.
«Disturbance reported»
«*Nothings* happening,» Mum said. «My husbands home. Thats all.»
«Hes a *felon!* Arrest him! Vic, *come here*»
«Mum, *enough.*»
The copper checked Dads ID. «Any record?»
«None. Worked up North since school.»
Gran spat lies. Mum shut the door.
*Dad?* Eleven years without him. Grans «secret»: he was a jailed thief, *killed* in a pub brawl. A *shame.* Buthe was *here.*
They explainedGran didnt want Mum tied to him. Hed left for work; Gran *forged* letters, said Mum remarried. Hed moved on, thencouldnt lie. Theyd reconnected years ago.
«Why?» I asked Gran.
«I wanted happiness.»
«*For who?*»
That birthday, I invited Gazmy best mate. He gave me a Kurt Cobain poster. Mum *let* me hang it.
I forgave them all. «Grown-up stuff,» Gaz said.
Gran took Gaz under her wingfed him roast dinners, helped with maths. Were brothers now.
At my dads, we strum guitars, eat Pot Noodles like its gourmet. Hes got other kidsbut with me?
A special bond.
(Learned: Lies rot families. Truths messybut it heals. We dont talk about the lies much anymore. They hang in the air sometimes, quiet and tired, like old smoke. But Dads here nowreally hereand Gran, for all her meddling, cries at every school concert, front row, clapping the loudest. Mum still wears those heels on Fridays, just because. Gaz calls Dad Sir as a joke, then salutes with a crisp. I roll my eyes, but Im smiling. Its not perfect. But its ours.
