**A Special Bond**
Charlie was absolutely certain he was about to get the thrashing of his lifenot from the school bully, Baz, but from his own mum.
He strolled home, whistling casually, but his heart squeezed tight. Oh, he was in for it now.
Auntie Joyce, Mums best friend, had seen him with a cigarette. He couldve lied, of courseclaimed someone had just handed it to himbut Auntie Joyce had seen Charlie *smoking* it. What was he supposed to say? That someone had *forced* him to puff on it? Like that would fly.
Charlie pretended he hadnt spotted Auntie Joyce, and mercifully, she didnt screech or wallop himjust gave him a long, knowing look before carrying on with her day.
But Charlie wasnt fooled. He *knew* Auntie Joyce had already grassed him up, and now Mum was waiting inside, belt in hand. He was on his third lap around the block when he spotted Gran.
Ah. The heavy artillery. This was a banned move. Now Gran would start uptears, guilt, the whole performance about how she, a retired headmistress, had shaped hundreds of childrens lives, yet here was her *own* grandson, running wild.
How ashamed she was. How Grandad was turning in his grave (along with every other ancestor, apparently).
As a kid, Charlie had been terrified of this bitimagining the ground shifting as all those long-dead relatives rolled over in protest. Then one day, it hit him. The next time Gran started on about his ancestors doing somersaults in their graves, Charlie blurted out, *»Well, at least theyre getting exercise! Better than bedsores, like old Mrs. Jenkins down the road!»*
Gran clutched her chest. Mum howled with laughter, completely forgetting to tan his hidethough *she* got a tea towel flicked at her for it.
Now, Gran was hurrying towards him, eyes darting like *she* was the one whod been caught with a fag.
*»What are you doing out here? Why arent you home?»* she demanded. *»Had a row with your mum?»*
*»N-no… I havent even been in yet.»*
*»Havent been in? Whereve you been all this time?»*
*»School, then football practice, then… just walking.»*
*»Right.»* Charlie braced himself. Here it camethe *»Let me smell your breath,»* the interrogation. *»Whats this? Why are your hands so red? Where are your gloves?»*
*»Left em at home, Gran.»*
*»At home? And your mum didnt notice? Whats *wrong* with her? Let me see your ankles!»* She yanked up his trouser leg and gasped. *»Whats *this*? No thermals? And wheres your scarf?»*
Charlie burned with embarrassmentespecially when he spotted Baz lurking by the alley, his stupid red beanie just visible. Oh, brilliant. Thanks, Gran. Was she losing it? Shed *always* been sharp as a tackwas this… senility?
*»Gran… whats five times five?»*
*»Twenty-five?»* she said, baffled.
*»Whats the square of the hypotenuse?»*
*»The sum of the squares of the other two sides… Charlie, have you *not* done your homework? She didnt even *check*? Unbelievable. Come on, were going home.»*
Waitwas Gran *on his side*? Maybe hed dodged Mums lecture. Was this a parallel universe? Had robots taken over? Was this even his *real* gran?
*»Gran, which sides my appendicitis scar on?»*
*»You *dont* have onethey never took it out.»*
Okay, definitely Gran.
She marched him home at top speed, wheezing all the way.
Mum was in the kitchen, smelling of roast dinner, wearing her good dress, curls pinned up, new earringsand *heels*. Since when did she wear heels at home?
*»Charlie, love…»* She hugged him. *»Wash up, dinners nearly ready. Mum, you staying?»*
*»Why was this child wandering the streets? *Youve* driven him away, havent you? Where are his *gloves*? Where are his *thermals*? Its brass monkeys out there! But no, *you* dont care»*
*»Mum, *stop*.»*
*»No! Im *done* with this! Charlie, pack your thingsyoure coming to *my* house.»*
*»Why, Gran?»*
*»To *live*, sweetheart.»*
Charlie pictured Grans endless nagging. No thanks.
*»Mum, Charlies staying *here*,»* Mum said firmly.
*»Wheres his *home*? Youve thrown everything away for»*
*»If you dont stop, Ill»*
*»What? *What*? Throw your own mother out?»*
*»YES!»*
Gran screeched about betrayal, but Mum didnt let her finish. Before Charlie knew it, Mum had *hauled* Gran onto the landing and *slammed* the door.
Gran shrieked about calling the *police*, about Charlie being *hers*, about some prison officer
Mum dragged Charlie into the lounge, where… some *bloke* sat, eyeing him warily.
*»Charlie… no point lying. This is your dad.»*
Gran wailed outside. Mum stood frozen. The mantall, thin, with Charlies *eyes*stood up hesitantly.
*»Hello… son.»*
Charlie *flinched*. He backed into the door.
*»But… you said he *died*!»*
*»Tanya…»* The man looked at Mum, exhausted.
*»That wasnt *me*that was *Mum*. She told you that because she thought… itd be easier than knowing the truth.»*
Banging on the door. *»Policeopen up!»*
*»Tanya, maybe I should go…»*
*»No. No more hiding. Charlie, well explain everythingjust wait»*
Mum answered the door. In burst Gran, a constable, and nosy Mrs. Patel from next door.
*»We had reports of a disturbance»*
*»Nothings wrong. Just… family dinner. My husbands home from Aberdeen. Our son.»*
*»But your mother»*
*»Hes an *escaped convict*!»* Gran wailed. *»Arrest him! Charlie, come *here*did he hurt you?»*
*»Gran, *stop*,»* Mum snapped. *»This isnt a soap opera.»*
The constable checked Dads ID. No record. Just a rig worker up north for years.
Gran kept screeching about ruined lives until Mum *shoved* her out and locked the door.
A *dad*? Charlie had lived *eleven years* without one. He had Mum. Gran. And now… a *living* dad? But Gran had said he was a deadbeat thief, killed in a pub brawl.
*A lie.* His whole life*lies*.
*»Charlie»* Mum reached for him, but he *bolted*grabbed his coat, shoes, and *ran*.
Who could he trust? If even his *family* lied
*»CHARLIE!»* Mum shouted after him. He didnt stop.
*»Oi, kid!»* Baz caught his arm. *»Whats the rush? Whos chasing you?»*
*»No one. Piss off.»*
*»Its *freezing*. Youll catch your death. Come onmy place.»*
Bazs flat was… oddly tidy, but *lived-in*. Band postersOasis, The Clash, Queen. A *guitar*.
*»Tea?»*
Charlie nodded. His stomach growled.
*»Hungry? Fancy some pasta n sardines?»*
*»Whats that?»*
Baz smirked. *»Youll see.»*
Ten minutes later, Charlie was shovelling the weirdest, *tastiest* meal into his mouthpasta fried with onions and tinned fish. They drank tea from chipped mugs, sugar cubes rattling.
*»So… whats your real name?»*
Baz laughed. *»Barry. Barry Smith.»*
*»Why Baz?»*
*»Dunno. Just stuck.»* He strummed the guitar. *»Wanna hear summat?»*
They sang togetherbadly, loudly.
*»You should go home,»* Baz said eventually. *»Theyll have the coppers out soon.»*
Charlie scowled.
*»Dont be daft. A *dad*? Thats *brilliant*. I *wish* I had one.»*
*»Wheres yours?»*
*»Dunno. Mum says hes an astronaut.»* He rolled his eyes. *»Shes a flight attendant. Brought me back from a trip once. No grandparents, no unclesjust us. But she *kept* me, yknow? Dont mess this up, Charlie. Grown-ups mess up too.»*
*»Cheers, Baz.»*
*»For what?»*
*»Everything.»*
And thencompletely unpromptedCharlie *hugged* him.
Baz walked him home.
They *were* looking for himMum, Gran, half the street, even the constable. And… Dad.
Later, they explained. How Gran hadnt wanted Mum with Dad. How theyd split when Dad went for work. How Gran *faked* letters, told Dad Mum had remarried.
How Dad *had* moved onbrieflythen left when he realized he still loved Mum. How theyd reconnected years later.
*»Why?»* Charlie asked Gran.
*»I wanted… happiness. For you both.»*
*»What about *his*?»*
*»Im sorry.»*
On Charlies birthday, he invited Bazwho gave him a Queen poster. *Mum let him hang it.*
He forgave them. Gran. Mum. Dad.
*»Grown-up stuff,»* Baz had said.
Gran, horrified Baz lived alone, *adopted* himfeeding him pies, nagging him into passing maths.
Years later, theyd still meet at Dads cottagesinging *»We Will Rock You»* off-key, eating that weird sardine pasta like it was gourmet.
And Dad? Charlie loved him. He had half-siblings nowall got on.
But with Dad… it was different.
A *special bond*.
