with it, but the other day I asked him why he still hadn’t given me what he promised and he looked like he had forgotten all about it.
OK, so I know I said it was a secret but the special thing was a new house for me and Mum. When we first became friends and he told me I could have anything I wanted, I thought of asking for a new bike. I remember Mum was in my bedroom which was unusual and Ruen was the Old Man and he was standing over me with his arms behind his back as usual and his face in that tight fishy frown. I could see the bike I wanted in my head – it would be black and say ‘Killer’ on the side and the tyres would be thick and the seat would be a silver skull. Mum was scrubbing the windowsills with a liquid that smelled just like Ruen.
‘You could grow mushrooms on these sills,’ she said, and even though she was scrubbing hard enough to make her T-shirt all wet the black stuff wasn’t coming off. The windows always looked like liquid, even when it wasn’t raining.
‘The council sticks people like us in places like this and forgets about them,’ Mum said, and her voice rattled because she was now on her knees rubbing the metal brush up and down and I hated the sound. I drew a picture with my fingertip in the wet glass of the window. Mum stopped to press the towel closer to the bottom of the wall to catch the drips. ‘I mean, it’s not like I want Buckingham Palace. A place that’s not likely to kill us both from live wires might be nice.’ She wiped her forehead with the back of her hand. ‘Punishment, that’s what it is.’
‘Punishment for what?’
She tucked one of the long pink threads in her hair behind her ear. Some of the foam sat on the top of her ear like a cloud.
‘For not being a perfect citizen. For living off benefits. For reminding the establishment of how it failed.’
‘Who’s the establishment, Mum?’
She nodded at me. ‘Exactly.’ She bent down to drip the metal brush in the bucket, then wiped the other side of her face and another little cloud of foam sat on her other ear. I tried not to laugh.
‘That reminds me,’ she said. ‘I saw Fatty Matthews talking to you at the corner shop last night.’
I thought back to it. I didn’t even know who Fatty Matthews was. I’d been buying milk and some big bald fat bloke came up to me and starting asking about school.
‘… you tell me, OK?’ she was saying. ‘Because that powdery stuff isn’t talc. Not even if he offers you lots of money.’
I nodded and finished my drawing on the window. After a few minutes Mum leaned back and stared at it and her face looked confused.
‘What’s that, Alex?’
‘What’s what?’
She stood up and the metal brush splatted foam on the floor. ‘Your picture. What is it?’
I looked at it and thought, Crap, Mum doesn’t know who Ruen is , and then I tried to think of a lie but Mum was staring at me.
‘It’s a man.’
‘I can see that. Why did you draw it?’
I opened my mouth for a long time and said, ‘Because I was bored,’ but she was wiping her face now and knelt down in front of me.
‘Alex, is there something you want to talk to me about?’
I shook my head, then thought better of it. ‘I’m hungry.’
She tightened her hands on the tops of my arms. ‘You know, what Dad did – it wasn’t anything to do with you.’
I was thinking of asking Ruen for a burger now. Forget the bike. I’d seen someone eat a burger through the window of a shop in town: at first I thought it was like a totem pole or something, but no. It was a burger, with two fat round brown juicy slabs of burger meat and salad and a thick pink strip of bacon and cheese sliding on to the plate and it was so tall someone had stuck a flag in it like Mount Everest.
‘… with chips, too,’ I said, and Mum stopped whatever she was saying and looked at me with her eyes wide. She looked like me when she did that, because normally her eyes are small and puffy and sad.
‘Alex, did you hear
OK, so I know I said it was a secret but the special thing was a new house for me and Mum. When we first became friends and he told me I could have anything I wanted, I thought of asking for a new bike. I remember Mum was in my bedroom which was unusual and Ruen was the Old Man and he was standing over me with his arms behind his back as usual and his face in that tight fishy frown. I could see the bike I wanted in my head – it would be black and say ‘Killer’ on the side and the tyres would be thick and the seat would be a silver skull. Mum was scrubbing the windowsills with a liquid that smelled just like Ruen.
‘You could grow mushrooms on these sills,’ she said, and even though she was scrubbing hard enough to make her T-shirt all wet the black stuff wasn’t coming off. The windows always looked like liquid, even when it wasn’t raining.
‘The council sticks people like us in places like this and forgets about them,’ Mum said, and her voice rattled because she was now on her knees rubbing the metal brush up and down and I hated the sound. I drew a picture with my fingertip in the wet glass of the window. Mum stopped to press the towel closer to the bottom of the wall to catch the drips. ‘I mean, it’s not like I want Buckingham Palace. A place that’s not likely to kill us both from live wires might be nice.’ She wiped her forehead with the back of her hand. ‘Punishment, that’s what it is.’
‘Punishment for what?’
She tucked one of the long pink threads in her hair behind her ear. Some of the foam sat on the top of her ear like a cloud.
‘For not being a perfect citizen. For living off benefits. For reminding the establishment of how it failed.’
‘Who’s the establishment, Mum?’
She nodded at me. ‘Exactly.’ She bent down to drip the metal brush in the bucket, then wiped the other side of her face and another little cloud of foam sat on her other ear. I tried not to laugh.
‘That reminds me,’ she said. ‘I saw Fatty Matthews talking to you at the corner shop last night.’
I thought back to it. I didn’t even know who Fatty Matthews was. I’d been buying milk and some big bald fat bloke came up to me and starting asking about school.
‘… you tell me, OK?’ she was saying. ‘Because that powdery stuff isn’t talc. Not even if he offers you lots of money.’
I nodded and finished my drawing on the window. After a few minutes Mum leaned back and stared at it and her face looked confused.
‘What’s that, Alex?’
‘What’s what?’
She stood up and the metal brush splatted foam on the floor. ‘Your picture. What is it?’
I looked at it and thought, Crap, Mum doesn’t know who Ruen is , and then I tried to think of a lie but Mum was staring at me.
‘It’s a man.’
‘I can see that. Why did you draw it?’
I opened my mouth for a long time and said, ‘Because I was bored,’ but she was wiping her face now and knelt down in front of me.
‘Alex, is there something you want to talk to me about?’
I shook my head, then thought better of it. ‘I’m hungry.’
She tightened her hands on the tops of my arms. ‘You know, what Dad did – it wasn’t anything to do with you.’
I was thinking of asking Ruen for a burger now. Forget the bike. I’d seen someone eat a burger through the window of a shop in town: at first I thought it was like a totem pole or something, but no. It was a burger, with two fat round brown juicy slabs of burger meat and salad and a thick pink strip of bacon and cheese sliding on to the plate and it was so tall someone had stuck a flag in it like Mount Everest.
‘… with chips, too,’ I said, and Mum stopped whatever she was saying and looked at me with her eyes wide. She looked like me when she did that, because normally her eyes are small and puffy and sad.
‘Alex, did you hear
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