Munching on a bag of chips dripping in vinegar, Tommy suddenly didn’t feel hungry any more. He felt embarrassed.
Uncle Ian was a short, dumpy man who wore thick-rimmed glasses and old-fashioned clothes. Tommy thought he looked like the comedian Benny Hill, but he was far less cool. At least Benny Hill was funny. ‘My mum was nothing like my uncle.’ Tommy squirmed. ‘Wanna see a photo of her?’ He carried one around with him; it made him feel she was still with him.
Danny nodded, then studied the image. ‘She is very pretty. She looks like Barbara Windsor. My brother Ronnie well fancies Barbara.’
Tommy handed Danny another photo. ‘That’s my sisters and my dog Rex.’
‘Are you keeping in touch with your sisters?’
‘No. I tried to, but the phone has been cut off where Linda is living and she hasn’t replied to my letters. I don’t even have an address for Hazel.’
‘Where’s your dog?’
‘Alexander found him a farm to live on in Essex.’
Danny felt sorry for Tommy. It had been tough for him over the years because his dad was inside, but at least he had his brothers, mum and sister. ‘Wanna come round mine for Sunday dinner? My mum cooks an ace roast.’
Tommy nodded. Auntie Sandra’s roast was the worst he’d ever tasted. ‘Yes, please. You sure that will be OK with your mum?’
‘Yeah, course. Don’t say where you’re going, though. My family have got a bit of a reputation round ’ere. Your aunt and uncle might try and stop us being pals,’ Danny warned.
‘I won’t. I promise.’
‘Cool. You wanna go to the boxing gym now?’
Tommy grinned. ‘Yeah. Race ya there.’
On the Saturday morning, Tommy was bored, so lay on his bed reading his football magazines. Danny wasn’t around today. His elder brother had recently bought a car, so he’d driven Danny up north to watch Millwall play away.
Tommy much preferred spending time alone in his room than downstairs. He had very little in common with his aunt or uncle, which made it a struggle to find subjects to talk to them about. He had a portable radio in his room, so would rather listen to his favourite stations, alone.
A tap on his bedroom door made Tommy jump. ‘Who is it?’
‘Uncle Ian. OK to come in?’
‘Yes. Of course.’
Tommy smiled as Uncle Ian sat on the edge of his bed. As usual, he was at a loss for what to say. If a person didn’t like pop music, TV, or football, Tommy had come to the conclusion it was difficult to have a conversation with them. Those were the main topics of conversation in his old house.
‘Sandra is going to visit her sister in the Isle of Sheppey today. She won’t be back until tomorrow. So, I thought you and I might do something nice.’
Tommy’s heart sank. Saturday afternoons were all about listening to the football results come in. ‘Like what?’
‘Well, the wind seems reasonably strong. How about we go to the park and fly your kite? I thought I would treat you too. I know how much you want a record player in your bedroom.’
Having missed his old record player almost as much as he missed Rex, Tommy flung his arms around his uncle’s plump shoulders. ‘Thank you. I would love that.’
Flying the kite was a bit of a let-down. The wind had dropped and the kite wouldn’t stay up in the air for long.
‘Cor, look at that, Uncle Ian!’ Tommy was transfixed by the red and orange plane some boy was flying.
‘Do you like aeroplanes, Tommy?’
‘Never been in a real one, but I like that. It’s ace.’
‘Let’s go and ask the boy’s dad where he bought it from then.’
‘Why?’
‘So we can get you one.’
‘No. You’ve been too kind to me already and I don’t expect you to keep buying me things.’
‘I can afford it. That’s why I go to work in the factory.’ Uncle Ian put an arm around Tommy’s shoulders. ‘I just want you to be happy.’
Tommy felt uncomfortable, but couldn’t put his finger on why. ‘I am happy. Thank you,’ he mumbled.
Tommy was thrilled with the record player from Dixons, then even more elated when Uncle Ian handed him a fiver and suggested they stop at a record shop. ‘You’re going to need some vinyl to play on it, aren’t you? Go on, take it,’ his uncle urged.
Tommy excitedly leapt out of the rusty Morris Minor. Slade were currently topping the charts with ‘Cum On Feel The Noize’ and he couldn’t wait to get his hands on that. ‘How much can I spend?’
‘All of it. Want me to come inside the shop with you?’
‘No,’ Tommy said, rather too abruptly. Record shops were for cool dudes and he would hate to be spotted inside one with his uncle. ‘I shall be a while. I’ll meet you back at home.’
Uncle Ian pointed towards a pub. ‘I’ll be in there. Just poke your head around the door when you’re ready. I thought we’d stop and get fish and chips on the way home for our tea.’
‘OK. See you soon.’
Tommy had never been inside a record shop in South London before and this one was buzzing. The Sweet’s ‘Blockbuster’ blasted out of two giant speakers and the bloke and lady serving behind the counter both wore tartan flares, high shiny red platform boots and black leather jackets. They looked like twins.
Tommy was in his element as he sorted through the vinyl. Seven-inch singles weren’t cheap any more, had gone up to fifty pence each, and this was the first time he’d ever had the luxury of buying ten all at once.
Tommy bought Slade, The Strawbs, The Faces, Gary Glitter plus six more, then left the store with a big smile on his face.
‘Did you enjoy today, Tommy?’ Uncle Ian asked, before stuffing a whole wally in his mouth.
‘Yes. Thank you.’
‘Best dish in the world this, you know.’
Tommy nodded in agreement. He’d already devoured his cod and chips.
‘Fancy a game of chess?’
‘I don’t know how to play chess,’ Tommy replied honestly.
Uncle Ian squeezed his nephew’s hand. ‘I will teach you.’
Tommy was dying to go upstairs and play his new records, but he didn’t want to seem ungrateful or unsociable. ‘OK, thank you.’
Uncle Ian set the board up. ‘Have you made some new friends at school now? I noticed you’ve been coming home later.’
‘Yes. I have actually. Is it all right if I go out with them tomorrow afternoon? We’ve organized a game of football over the park,’ Tommy lied.
‘Of course. You be good to me, Tommy, and I will be good to you, if you get my drift?’
Tommy didn’t understand, but smiled and nodded nevertheless.
Tommy stared at the TV in silence. It had been Uncle Ian’s idea they pack up the chessboard and watch Match of the Day together.
‘Who’s that who just scored?’ asked Uncle Ian.
‘Martin Chivers.’
‘What team does he play for?’
Tommy