The Sting. Kimberley Chambers

you cancel seeing your friend? I thought you wanted one of those aeroplanes.’

      ‘No. Thank you for offering, but I’m not bothered about having one now.’

      Uncle Ian eyed Tommy suspiciously over his thick-rimmed glasses. ‘You’ve been going out an awful lot recently. Where exactly are you going today?’

      ‘Football. I’m going to watch Millwall.’

      ‘You will do no such thing, lad. I am not having you mixing with hooligans. You are my responsibility now.’

      ‘But I can’t let my friend down and we are going with an adult. My friend’s older brother is eighteen,’ Tommy protested.

      ‘Who is this friend of yours? Only you’ve been spending a lot of time with him recently. You’re hardly ever at home.’

      Fighting the urge to inform Uncle Ian that this wasn’t his home and never would be, Tommy bit his tongue. He felt like crying. ‘Johnny – he’s in my class at school,’ he lied. ‘Please let me go, Uncle Ian. I’ve always wanted to go to a proper football match. I promise I won’t be home late. We can spend the evening together and do whatever you want then. Please, I beg you.’

      Uncle Ian softened and handed Tommy a pound note. ‘Go on then. Enjoy yourself. But I want you home here by seven at the latest.’

      Feeling a sense of relief wash over him, Tommy took the money and smiled. ‘Thank you.’

      Uncle Ian stood up. ‘Your friend Johnny. What’s his surname?’

      There was a lad called Johnny in his class, so Tommy decided to play it safe. ‘Rodgers.’

      As he left the room, Uncle Ian frowned. He knew the Rodgerses and wasn’t aware Johnny had an older brother. Tommy had better not be lying to him. He hated liars.

      Tommy was buzzing as he walked towards Millwall’s ground. Fans were already singing at the top of their voices and the delicious smell of fried onions wafting from the burger and hotdog stalls made him feel a bit emotional. His mum had cooked lots of meals with onions and that smell reminded him of happier times. He was genuinely happy today though, and was sure his mum would approve of his new friend and Danny’s family. They were all very kind to him.

      ‘You hungry, Tommy?’ asked Ronnie Darling.

      ‘I am. Get us a burger,’ ordered Eugene.

      Ronnie grabbed his younger brother in a playful headlock. ‘Nobody asked you, ya little squirt. And you’ll get sod all until you say the word please,’ Ronnie chuckled.

      When a group of men collared Ronnie for a chat, he handed Danny a fiver and told him to get them some food.

      ‘Doesn’t your brother know a lot of people,’ Tommy said to his friend.

      Danny grinned proudly. ‘Yeah. My dad’s even more well known, ya know. My whole family are really. Nobody messes with us. That’s why them boys who picked on you ran off sharpish.’

      Not wanting to pry, Tommy changed the subject. ‘Isn’t your brother a biker all the time?’ Ronnie wasn’t wearing black leathers today. He was dressed in faded flared jeans, trainers, and a black bomber jacket. He looked no different to any other football fan.

      ‘Ronnie’s a biker when he wants to be a biker,’ Danny laughed. ‘He’s the master of disguise, my brother. The pigs hate him.’

      Not understanding what Danny meant, Tommy decided the best thing to do was smile politely.

      ‘Hello, Ian. How are you and Sandra keeping?’ asked Mr Patel the newsagent.

      ‘Yes, we’re fine, thank you. Could you make me up an extra-large bag of penny sweets, the kind that twelve-year-old boys like. And I’ll take a copy of every football magazine you have, please.’

      ‘Ah, is this for young Tommy who is staying with you?’

      ‘I’m actually Tommy’s guardian now. His mother unfortunately died in a car crash.’

      ‘Oh, I am very sorry to hear that. I see Tommy earlier with his friend, young Danny. They buy bubble gum to take to the match with them.’

      ‘Danny who?’

      Mr Patel handed Ian five magazines and a big bag of mixed sweets. ‘Danny Darling. Everybody knows young Danny around here,’ he chuckled.

      With a face like thunder, Ian threw the money on the counter, snatched the magazines and sweets out of Mr Patel’s hands and stormed out of the shop.

      Tommy Boyle joined in with all the fans chanting ‘We are Millwall, from the Den’ as he left the ground. Everyone was buoyant and the atmosphere was awesome. Millwall had scored a late winner, but the funniest part of the day had been when the peanut seller had asked Ronnie to look after a sackful. Ronnie had started chucking handfuls in the air, then everybody nearby joined in, including Tommy. The crowd then started singing, ‘We hate peanuts and we hate peanuts,’ which Tommy thought was hilarious. He’d felt part of something for once, a tribal feeling.

      ‘Wanna come back to ours?’ Danny asked, when they made it back to the Old Kent Road.

      Tommy’s heart suddenly lurched. ‘No. Erm … I better not.’

      ‘There’ll be lots of nice grub. Mum always lays out a big spread for us after we’ve been to football.’

      ‘I can’t. Uncle Ian said I got to be home by seven.’ The thought of spending another evening alone with his uncle without Auntie Sandra being around filled Tommy with dread. Say he insisted they share another bath together? Tommy had already made his mind up. No way was he doing that again. It made him feel dirty, not clean.

      ‘Right, I’m off to meet a bird, lads. Make sure you take Eugene straight home, Dan,’ ordered Ronnie Darling.

      ‘Thank you so much for taking me to the game today, Ronnie, and paying for me to get in,’ said Tommy.

      Ronnie ruffled the boy’s head. ‘You’re very welcome, pal. So, you still a Spurs fan? Or you gonna be a Millwall nutcase, like us?’

      Tommy grinned. ‘Millwall, definitely.’

      ‘You’re late,’ Uncle Ian snapped.

      Tommy stared at his feet. He’d literally salivated at the mouth when Danny informed him his mother was preparing chicken, ham, beef, pork pies, pickles and hot crusty bread, so had ended up having his tea at his pal’s house after all. ‘I’m sorry.’

      ‘So, where have you been?’

      ‘Erm, with Johnny,’ Tommy lied. ‘His mum invited me in and I didn’t want to come across as rude. I won’t be late again, I promise.’

      Uncle Ian forced a smile. ‘Come and say hello to our guest.’

      Tommy followed his uncle into the small dining room that was adjoined to the lounge. The chessboard was out and there was a bottle of brandy on the table. The man grinning at him was fat, bald and looked older than Uncle Ian. ‘Hello,’ Tommy said awkwardly.

      ‘This is my friend, PC Norman. He’s off duty tonight and wants to have a word with you. I’ll leave you to it,’ Uncle Ian said, shutting the door.

      Tommy eyed the policeman suspiciously. He looked nothing like PC Kendall or any of the other local bobbies in Barking. He wasn’t wearing a uniform and Tommy could not but wonder if one would even fit him.

      ‘Sit down, Tommy.’ Norman patted the seat next to him.

      Tommy did as he was told. ‘Have I done something wrong?’ he asked innocently.

      Norman smiled. ‘No. But you are knocking around with a bad crowd. I have said nothing to your uncle as I didn’t want to get you into trouble, but those Darlings are bad news. I know you have been to the Millwall game today with Danny. I also know you went back to Danny’s house. You must promise me you will have