“

“Look at those you’ve ruined them” Andy’s mum scolded whacking him over the head with the back of her hand. Andy looked down at his muddy , scuffed school shoes which he’d played chap door run in and then looked up at his mother with innocent eyes. “They’ll think we’re a family of tinks and look at the state of your face it’s black” she pushed him out of the door way into the small living room.

“I’m hungry” Andy moaned. “The teas still cooking “ his mother snapped “now get those shoes off your getting dirt all over the carpet” She shuffled back into the kitchen and Andy kicked off his shoes and grabbed the TV remote settling himself down on the couch and flicking through the Netflix choices. He settled on Wallace and Gromit watching the colourful characters on the screen as they acted out a performance.

The house was small the curtains and second hand corner couch gave the place a musty smell. the bare floor boards were covered with a cheap rug from B&M that was already turning bobbly.

Andy could smell his dinner cooking in the oven it made his stomach rumbled. He only had a pollo shirt on which had dribbles of gravy down it from his free school meal. His arms had erupted in goose bumps from a draft that blew in from the open back door where his mother was standing puffing on a cigarette. His school bag still lay in the hall where he’d dumped it containing his undone spelling homework.

His dinner consisted of a sausage roll , oven chips and beans. A council classic. His mum bought most of her food cheap from the local farm foods in the dying town centre. She’d bought his shoes second hand for a measly four pound from cancer research and had tried to tidy them up with some black shoe polish. They were already falling apart before he had worn them but he knew better than to protest that to his mother.

Andy sat next to his mum on the mouldy couch watching the chase. His dinner was balancing precariously on his lap. He glanced at his mother. she sat staring intensely at the screen her whole body tensed. 1914 she yelled at the telly the First World War started in 1914 you bloody idiot! Andy spooned a mouthful of beans into his mouth the taste was sickly and too familiar. The person on the screen chose 1912 which was of course the wrong answer. His mother amazed him. She’d been brought up on a sink estate and left school at fifteen. Claimed sick benefits most of her life only doing cleaning jobs and bar work here and there and spoke dirty words and slang like they might go out of fashion. However despite this she was a very sharp woman.

“Is dad taking me to the footie this weekend ?” Andy asked eagerly. His dad was a firm Hearts fan and he used to take him to games every Saturday. They’d buy scotch pies and hot sweet tea and stand with hats pulled over their ears their cheeks red from the cold cheering on the boys (and sometimes swearing at them but he’d never tell his mother that)

“I wouldn’t count on it “ she said with a scoff. This made Andy angry. “Why not” he shouted slamming his plate down on the floor so the beans erupted onto the rug. “You little bugger and I suppose I’ve to tidy that up have I “ she yelled. Andy stomped from the room slamming the living room door.