The Sting. Kimberley Chambers

the police station I work at. Any problems, you call and ask for me, OK?’

      Tommy nodded. ‘Thank you.’

      ‘Right, let’s get you home. I thought we might stop at Mr Abbot’s on the way and buy you some sweets. What’s your favourite?’

      ‘Sherbet lemons.’

      PC Kendall smiled. ‘Sherbet lemons it is then.’

       CHAPTER FIVE

       So, that’s where it all began. Feels pretty good to get it off my chest, if I’m honest.

       It makes me smile to think I once confided in the Old Bill. Having said that, he was all right was PC Kendall. Not like some of the sharks I’ve since met.

       So many coppers are on the payroll of villains, you wouldn’t believe it. No integrity or conscience. Always on the take. I know because I’ve dealt with the unscrupulous bastards. They are worse than most of the gangsters I’ve mixed with. Reason being, they couldn’t give a shit who they trample on. Play ball or get nicked, that’s the option for many.

       I’m rambling now, so let’s go back to my story. From the day my mother died, my life wasn’t my own for a while. Saying it had its ups and downs wouldn’t just be an understatement. I’d liken it to a Boeing 747 hitting a hurricane.

       I was twelve, naïve, and honestly thought I had hit rock bottom. I hadn’t. There was far worse to come.

       You know the name: Tommy Boyle. Now read on and I’ll explain what happened next …

      *

      Tommy was walking along the canal looking for the stray dog he’d made friends with, when he was unexpectedly jumped on and bundled to the ground.

      ‘No. Give me that back. It’s mine,’ Tommy insisted as his duffel bag was ripped from his shoulder and the contents tipped on the grass.

      ‘Shut it, ya little squirt,’ said one of the lads, aiming a sharp kick at Tommy’s head.

      Another boy pinned Tommy to the ground.

      ‘Oi! Whaddya think you’re doing, Marshall? Leave him the fuck alone,’ bellowed a voice in the distance.

      When his attackers fled without his belongings, Tommy sat up and locked eyes with a dark-haired lad who looked slightly familiar. ‘You all right?’ the boy asked.

      ‘Yeah. Thanks for that.’

      ‘You’re the new boy at school, ain’t ya?’

      Tommy nodded and stood up. The boy was a lot taller than him. ‘You in my year?’

      ‘Yeah. I’m Danny. Danny Darling.’

      ‘I’m Tommy Boyle. Who were them boys, by the way? Do they go to our school?’

      ‘Nah. They live on the Walworth Road side. Us Bermondsey boys don’t like ’em. You won’t get no more grief from that lot. I already did three of ’em over.’

      Tommy’s eyes widened. ‘Are you a good fighter then?’

      Danny grinned. ‘Yeah. I’m a boxer. Gonna be a pro one day. You should try it, ya know. Look at my muscles,’ Danny bragged, taking off his jacket.

      Tommy felt Danny’s biceps. ‘Wow! I dunno if I’d be any good, mind. I’m too short.’

      ‘No, you’re not. A lot of the best boxers are short lads. There’s all different weights in boxing. Come on, I’ll show you the gym.’

      And just like that a friendship that would last a lifetime began.

      Lynn’s Boxing Club was off Albany Road, and as soon as Tommy walked inside he was filled with a sense of excitement.

      The smell, talk and general atmosphere was electric and Tommy couldn’t take his eyes off the lads sparring in the ring. Alexander had never been into boxing, therefore Tommy had little knowledge of it up until now.

      ‘See that lad in the photo on the wall – the one in the blue shorts holding a trophy?’

      ‘Yeah.’

      ‘That’s my elder brother, Ronnie. He’s turned semi-pro now, but my trainer reckons I’m far better than he was at the same age.’

      ‘Really! How old are you then? And how old’s Ronnie?’

      ‘I’m in your year at school, you numpty. Thirteen, I am. Ronnie’s eighteen, and I got a younger brother Eugene who’s ten. I also got a sister, Donna. She’s fifteen. You got brothers and sisters?’

      ‘Two sisters: Hazel and Linda. I don’t live with ’em no more, though. I got sent to live with my uncle.’

      ‘Why?’

      ‘’Cause my mum died in a car crash and I then found out my dad weren’t my real dad.’

      ‘That’s well shit. Bet you miss your mum.’

      ‘I do.’

      ‘I miss my dad too. He’s been in prison for the past ten years, but he’ll be out soon.’

      Tommy’s eyes widened. ‘Why has he been in prison?’

      ‘Because he murdered someone. He shot them with a gun.’

      ‘My sister Hazel murdered someone too, with a paving stone.’

      ‘Really?’

      ‘Yeah. The police took her away then sent her to a bad girl’s home.’

      ‘Wow! That’s mental. Shall we spar in the ring? I won’t hurt you, I promise. I wanna teach you how to protect yourself.’

      Tommy grinned. ‘Yeah, I’d like that.’

      ‘There we are. All tucked in. Would you like me to bring you up a mug of cocoa and a couple of chocolate digestives, Tommy?’ Uncle Ian asked.

      Tommy faked a yawn. ‘No, thank you. I’m very tired tonight.’

      Uncle Ian kissed Tommy on the forehead. ‘Night, night then. Don’t let the bed bugs bite,’ he grinned.

      When his uncle left the room, Tommy smiled as he thought about his magical day. It was seven weeks now since his mum had died, and this was the first time he’d felt truly happy since.

      Moving to South London hadn’t been easy. Uncle Ian and Auntie Sandra lived in a two-bedroom house off the Old Kent Road. Tommy’s mother’s house had been spotlessly clean, but Auntie Sandra’s wasn’t. It was shabby, dusty, smelled of cat’s piss and very often there were shit stains down the toilet for days on end. She didn’t even have a toilet brush and bought the most awful toilet paper. It wasn’t soft like his mother had used. It was like grease-paper, and Tommy struggled to clean his bottom properly with it.

      Auntie Sandra was a short, fat woman who ate like a horse. She rarely bathed and her hair was long, grey and greasy. She stank too, of sweat and another odour Tommy could not quite distinguish. She was all right towards him, but he could sense she didn’t really want him there.

      Uncle Ian, on the other hand, had been very welcoming and generous. He bought Tommy all his football magazines, and as many sweets as he wanted. He’d recently surprised him with the best kite Tommy had ever seen. It looked like a big multicoloured eagle. Uncle Ian had even promised to buy him a portable TV for his thirteenth birthday, which he could watch alone in his bedroom. Tommy was elated by this news, as the small TV downstairs was rarely switched on. Auntie Sandra and Uncle Ian only ever watched the news and Tommy felt awkward asking if he could watch Top of the Pops or The Big Match. He would also feel a bit silly watching