walls were lined with framed pictures of smiling faces, creating an instant impression of warmth and family. Tom noticed the richness of the spotless wooden floor and worried about his dirty shoes. His mind began to fire on all cylinders as the door shut behind him. He suddenly felt uncomfortable, spectacularly aware of how stoned he was.
‘Mum!’ shouted Stevo again. ‘You there?’
‘In the kitchen.’
‘Let’s get something to drink.’
‘Should I take them off?’ Tom pointed down at his trainers.
‘I’d chuck them, mate,’ joked Stevo. ‘Just leave them by the door.’
He kicked off his own shoes and led Tom through the hallway into the kitchen. It was a large, open space, gleaming white and cool, the cupboards and units all matching. Tom caught sight of the huge fridge standing in the corner, its shiny metallic doors reminding him of the coldroom at work. A large wooden table stood in the centre of the kitchen, surrounded by several high-backed chairs.
Stevo’s mum was sitting at the table with her back to them. She was hunched over a glossy gossip magazine, a cigarette smoking in the ashtray next to her. Sunlight flooded in through the huge kitchen window, which looked out onto a stone patio and a strip of well-tended lawn.
Stevo put the bags down on the table, then headed straight for the fridge, swinging the door open. Every piece of available space was filled. Tom had never seen so much food.
‘This is Tom, Mum,’ said Stevo, his back to her as he pulled out a bottle of lemonade.
Unaware she had a guest, Stevo’s mother swivelled in her chair. Closing her magazine, she stubbed out her cigarette and ran her hands through her bleached blond hair, her long red nails as efficient as any comb.
‘Hello there, Tom,’ she said as she stood up. Her friendly smile displayed a set of perfect, but overly white teeth. ‘Sorry, I was miles away.’
She was a short, buxom woman, her curves gripped by a tight yellow T-shirt and denim jeans. The heavy make-up lining her eyes and coating her lips made her look prettier than she probably was.
‘What happened to you, then?’ she said, spotting the redness around Tom’s eye and the spots of dried blood under his nose.
‘It’s nothing.’
‘I rescued him at the bus stop. He was getting a kicking.’
‘Yeah, Stevo helped me out,’ mumbled Tom.
‘You boys,’ said Stevo’s mum, her casual tone suggesting she had seen it all before. ‘Always fighting about something. What was it this time?’
‘He fancies this other kid’s girlfriend. They were fighting over her.’
‘It wasn’t like that …’
‘It’s always like that,’ said Stevo’s mum knowingly.
Tom suddenly felt embarrassed. He was sure she must know he was stoned. His hand was shaky as he took the glass Stevo poured for him. He put it to his dry lips, drinking the lemonade down thirstily.
‘Looks like you needed that. Want some more?’
‘I’m fine, thanks, Mrs …’
‘Call me Sandra. Expect you’re both hungry?’
‘Starving,’ said Stevo, looking around him. ‘Is he about?’
‘Not back yet.’ Sandra brushed her hands over her T-shirt, straightening it. ‘Did you get to Sam’s for him?’
‘Yeah, he had some good stuff. It’s in the bags. Tom works there.’
‘Good for you, Tom. I’ve been trying to get Stephen to find himself something, but he’s always too busy running errands for his dad. Ain’t that right?’ Sandra raised her eyebrows as she looked over at her son. ‘Take them out to the dogs, love. I’ll get you both a sandwich. Your dad said to do the kennels and then get Roland and Lucas out. Before he gets back.’
‘Come on, Tom. Come and have a look at what’s outside.’
As soon as Stevo began to turn the back-door handle, the barking started. Stepping into the garden, Tom was amazed at the sight that greeted him. Running the length of the garden fence stood a line of purpose-built concrete kennels, all housed within a huge
‘Mum!’ shouted Stevo again. ‘You there?’
‘In the kitchen.’
‘Let’s get something to drink.’
‘Should I take them off?’ Tom pointed down at his trainers.
‘I’d chuck them, mate,’ joked Stevo. ‘Just leave them by the door.’
He kicked off his own shoes and led Tom through the hallway into the kitchen. It was a large, open space, gleaming white and cool, the cupboards and units all matching. Tom caught sight of the huge fridge standing in the corner, its shiny metallic doors reminding him of the coldroom at work. A large wooden table stood in the centre of the kitchen, surrounded by several high-backed chairs.
Stevo’s mum was sitting at the table with her back to them. She was hunched over a glossy gossip magazine, a cigarette smoking in the ashtray next to her. Sunlight flooded in through the huge kitchen window, which looked out onto a stone patio and a strip of well-tended lawn.
Stevo put the bags down on the table, then headed straight for the fridge, swinging the door open. Every piece of available space was filled. Tom had never seen so much food.
‘This is Tom, Mum,’ said Stevo, his back to her as he pulled out a bottle of lemonade.
Unaware she had a guest, Stevo’s mother swivelled in her chair. Closing her magazine, she stubbed out her cigarette and ran her hands through her bleached blond hair, her long red nails as efficient as any comb.
‘Hello there, Tom,’ she said as she stood up. Her friendly smile displayed a set of perfect, but overly white teeth. ‘Sorry, I was miles away.’
She was a short, buxom woman, her curves gripped by a tight yellow T-shirt and denim jeans. The heavy make-up lining her eyes and coating her lips made her look prettier than she probably was.
‘What happened to you, then?’ she said, spotting the redness around Tom’s eye and the spots of dried blood under his nose.
‘It’s nothing.’
‘I rescued him at the bus stop. He was getting a kicking.’
‘Yeah, Stevo helped me out,’ mumbled Tom.
‘You boys,’ said Stevo’s mum, her casual tone suggesting she had seen it all before. ‘Always fighting about something. What was it this time?’
‘He fancies this other kid’s girlfriend. They were fighting over her.’
‘It wasn’t like that …’
‘It’s always like that,’ said Stevo’s mum knowingly.
Tom suddenly felt embarrassed. He was sure she must know he was stoned. His hand was shaky as he took the glass Stevo poured for him. He put it to his dry lips, drinking the lemonade down thirstily.
‘Looks like you needed that. Want some more?’
‘I’m fine, thanks, Mrs …’
‘Call me Sandra. Expect you’re both hungry?’
‘Starving,’ said Stevo, looking around him. ‘Is he about?’
‘Not back yet.’ Sandra brushed her hands over her T-shirt, straightening it. ‘Did you get to Sam’s for him?’
‘Yeah, he had some good stuff. It’s in the bags. Tom works there.’
‘Good for you, Tom. I’ve been trying to get Stephen to find himself something, but he’s always too busy running errands for his dad. Ain’t that right?’ Sandra raised her eyebrows as she looked over at her son. ‘Take them out to the dogs, love. I’ll get you both a sandwich. Your dad said to do the kennels and then get Roland and Lucas out. Before he gets back.’
‘Come on, Tom. Come and have a look at what’s outside.’
As soon as Stevo began to turn the back-door handle, the barking started. Stepping into the garden, Tom was amazed at the sight that greeted him. Running the length of the garden fence stood a line of purpose-built concrete kennels, all housed within a huge
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