I looked around casually to check that no one was watching me.

It was a busy market day and I was trying not to be seen–or rather noticed. Easy enough for thirteen-year-old boy who looked more like ten or eleven.

I liked to blend in. It meant that I could do what I had to, hopefully without being caught. It was summer and the pavement where I was sitting was hot. 1963 was a scorcher and that made everyone feel lethargic–I hoped. I was wearing grey school trousers, a shirt that used to be white but was now somewhat grubby; iffy socks and black shoes that were well scuffed and had seen better days. I didn’t have much in the way of clothes; not that it mattered, clothes were just clothes, what if they get worn more that once–or several times for that matter.

I had strolled through the market once or twice, eying up my ‘shopping’. It was a busy day and the place was crowded. The record stall was belting out Please Please Me on the turntable and the stallholders were spieling about their ‘bargains’.

In my hand was my mum’s old shopping bag and I hoped to fill it with food that would at least keep us going for a while longer. The problem was that I had no money to pay for anything.

Standing up, I wandered down the rows, avoiding being jostled and trampled on by larger people–that meant everybody–and stopping occasionally to inspect the merchandise.

I had to have eyes in the back of my head whenever I did this. The stall holder had to be busy with a customer and hopefully, no one would be looking at me, least of all policemen!

Luckily, PC Roberts, the local bobby and bane of my life was, I knew, over on the other side of the market, because I had been watching him. I had had more than one thick ear from that gentleman, not forgetting the kick up the backside when I cheeked him once. Then of course I would have to keep an eye out for Mr Percival Pointer as well–but more of him later.

Anyway, I was at one of the larger fruit and veg stalls and the two assistants were busy up the other end with some women who were either buying stuff or fingering the merchandise to see how fresh it was. Nobody was looking at me so I seized the moment.

In a flash, I had stuffed some potatoes, carrots, oranges, apples and a few bananas into mum’s bag and then I was away on my toes as my dad used to say, without anyone realising what I had done. I always got a bit of a thrill pinching things. I felt bad too, of course, as I was taking things from others, but it was the excitement of it all that got to me.

I repeated my informal shopping technique several times to include a bit of meat and fish and a few other things that we needed and some we didn’t. By the time I had finished, I was well and truly cream crackered. I wasn’t a big boy, quite scrawny really. At times I didn’t get much to eat and it was only what I could manage to nick that kept me and my mum alive. That and the other things I did to pay the rent and keep her happy.

After a bit of a breather, round the corner and away from the possibly prying eyes of Constable Roberts and Percy Pointer, the truancy officer – who hated me almost as much as I hated him and liked to prowl the market for kids playing hooky; I sat on the kerb for a moment thinking, of all things, my schooling–or lack of it.

I had been to school a few times the previous year but not many. The teachers all said that I was bright but that wasn’t much use as I was rarely there. I always looked forward to the school holidays when all the kids were out and someone like me wouldn’t stand out like a sore thumb. But now the schools were back from the summer holidays and Percy was on the prowl again.

Last time he caught me, I was dragged back to school and given six of the best with a cane; I couldn’t sit down for two days.

Anyway, I had got my breath back by now, so after quick squint round the corner and finding no sign of the authorities, I went down Market Street, around the back of the row of shops and up the steps that led to a row of flats above the shops; our flat being over the eel and pie shop. As I walked along, I noticed a couple of bottles of milk outside old Ma Dawlish’s flat, so I picked one up without stopping. Well, if she left them outside, what could she expect? I hated the old bat anyway; she shopped me to Percy once. I don’t forgive and forget that easily.

I let myself in through our battered front door and called out, ‘Mum, I’m home!’

‘No answer,’ came the stern reply–nothing unusual there–so I traipsed to the kitchenette and put my ill-gotten gains away. The kitchen was a mess, as usual, with dirty dishes in the sink and a general air of filth. I sighed, just hoping for once that mum got up off her backside and actually did some cleaning and washing-up for a change. I was the bread winner and couldn’t be expected to do everything.

I made a cup of tea for mum and one for me and then took the drinks into the living room. As usual, mum was on the sofa staring at the box but not really watching the rubbish on it. The ash tray was full of fag-ends and the place stank of drink and fags. As usual, she was wearing an old pink nylon nightie and stained housecoat. She didn’t often bother to get dressed nowadays.

‘Here you are, Mum, a nice cuppa tea.’

I put it on the table by the side of her but she didn’t seem to notice that I was there–she was drunk and she looked like she had been taking those pills again.

I shook her and she looked at me, a bit confused then her eyes seemed to focus on me.

‘Brian?’

‘Yes, Mum, have you been taking the Valium again?’

She looked at me as if I was a stranger. The empty gin bottle and the pills in the bottle on the table showed all I needed to know, not forgetting the bottle of cider that had been full when I went out earlier but was nearly empty now. She had started on Valium after the doctor prescribed them following my dad’s death a year ago. He had been a fork lift truck driver and some heavy machinery that he was lifting, toppled back on to him and killed him. Mum never got over it–neither did I, for that matter.

‘I need them, love.’ She said in that whiny voice that I had grown to hate.

‘I’ve got some food.’ I said, changing the subject.

‘I’m not hungry. Have I got any more gin?’ She asked, looking up hopefully at me.

‘No, that’s the last bottle.’

She sort of woke up a bit then.

‘I need it, Brian, you know I do.’

‘I don’t have any money for gin––’

‘–You can get some, you know you can.’

‘What about the rent–?’

‘I’ll go back to work next week and we can pay the landlord then. Please, Brian, get me some more to drink; even cider if we can’t afford gin.’

She grabbed my wrist in a surprisingly strong grip.

I looked at her and nearly cried. This had gone on for far too long. I couldn’t tell her about the letter from British Home Stores that told her that she had been fired. I couldn’t tell her that the landlord was going to chuck us out at the end of the month if we didn’t pay up. I didn’t tell her that I had been paying the rent by nicking things and passing them to Solomon Worth, the fence.

Mum couldn’t cope anymore and I was the bread winner now. I knew that I could have and should have asked for help, but I didn’t want to be put into care and I knew that would happen if mum was found to be like this; she would be put away somewhere and I would be sent to a home. I couldn’t split us up; we only had each other now. I just wished that she would pull herself together. The only time she ever sobered up was when she went to the doctors’ for a repeat prescription.

I knelt down again and took her sweaty hand in mine. She was already feeling sleepy again.

‘I will see what I can do a bit later, all right?’

She smiled that lazy smile of hers that in previous times had made her look so pretty. Now her face was just a shadow of what it had been. She wasn’t pretty any more, she looked ill, pale, blotchy and her eyes were full of the drugs that she had taken for far too long. I wanted to get her out of this, I needed to, but I had tried hiding the drink and the drugs, and she nearly wrecked the place before I caved in and gave them back to her.

She fell asleep then and I stood up. I wanted to cry but I was all cried out now. I went into the kitchen and boiled an egg; that was all I wanted. Mum never ate much and her stick-like figure was painful to see.

As soon as it was dark I went to tell mum that I was going out.

‘Mum,’ I said gently, touching her arm.

‘Mmm?’

‘Mum, I have to go out.’

‘Get me some drink, dear,’ she said without opening her eyes. ‘You’re a good boy.’

I put on my dark woolly pullover, let myself out and went down the back stairs that led out to the street.

All was quiet in the market now; the stalls were empty and deserted as everyone had left for home. I went diagonally across the market, negotiating my way through the empty stalls, flapping pigeons and the rubbish strewn everywhere. Looking up, I could see the stars but no moon. This was good, because the less I could be seen, the better.

I caught the bus in the High Street. I knew where I was going as I had seen the shop I needed only yesterday. It was on the other side of town and it was ideal for my purpose because no one knew me over there. Once again I clutched mum’s shopping bag as I paid the conductor tuppence for my fare and watched the streets go by, thinking of my dad–of all things.

I may not have been very old, but my dad had taught me more than a few things about thieving. Before getting a job as a forklift truck driver, he had been in and out of prison for years. He had passed on a lot of what he knew about what he called ‘the business’–without my mum knowing, obviously. I think that he wanted me to follow in his footsteps, my being young and impressionable, I absorbed the information like a sponge. He was quite good at it–robbery, thieving and anything else illegal he could think of. Well he had been good before he got sloppy and too big for his boots. He was caught trying to rob a post office and they put him away for two years. Then he came out of prison for the last time and the rehabilitation people found him a job and on the second day, the job killed him.

The night before he died, we had a ‘man to man’ talk and he told me that what had been doing was a mugs game that had kept him behind bars for most of his adult life. Then, just the next morning, a badly loaded fork lift killed him and he wasn’t alive to watch me grow up. Mum went to pieces and I had to do the job of being my dad. Going straight hadn’t helped my Dad. If he was stayed as a criminal, he would probably still have been alive today.

I wouldn’t cry, I couldn’t cry–crying was for girls. Men have to be strong and brave and do whatever has to be done. I was eleven then and now, at thirteen, I had to be the man of the house.

After my dad died, mum started drinking to forget and then the doctor started giving her pills to help calm her down and sleep. Now she was an alcoholic and dependent on drugs to keep her going. I wasn’t about to tell anyone about that as I would have been taken into care and Mum put into some soulless rehabilitation clinic–I couldn’t do that to her.

After about twenty minutes, we arrived at my stop. As the bus drew away, I wondered if I was doing the right thing. I had nicked things before: in broad daylight I had gone into shops and taken stuff that I could pass on to my dad’s old fence. He had laughed at first, but when Solly Worth saw the quality’s the gear, he stopped laughing and started paying.

Three times I had done this and it had kept the roof over our heads. This was the fourth and the biggest job that I had ever attempted. Goldstein the Pawnbroker was just off the main road. It had a small shop front and around the back was a low wall and backing a small garden. Dad’s tools of the trade were in my bag, including a small crowbar and a glass cutter. I had been in Goldstein’s the previous day and had pawned a couple of mum’s rings–not her engagement or wedding ones–but others that I had found in her jewellery box. I had cased the joint and felt sure I could get in all right. The security on the shop was laughable with masses of the goods were on display, ripe for the picking.

No more time for thought. I glanced around furtively–the place was deserted. I sneaked down the alley that led to the back of the row of shops including the one I wanted to burgle. It was quiet–almost too quiet–and I almost jumped out of my skin when a cat started making a noise.

I stopped for a minute–my heart in my mouth–but all was quiet again. Climbing over the wall and running across the overgrown garden was the work of a moment. I reached the window and looked in. It was a back office and the window was large enough for a puny lad like me to get in.

I carefully put mum’s sink plunger up against the glass and made sure that it was sucked tight. Then, using the glass cutter I carefully cut a hole in the glass near the catch on the sash window. I didn’t want to break the glass as that could have attracted attention. The glass came away quietly, still attached to the plunger. I’m sure the manufacturers never thought about this illegitimate use of their product, but it certainly helped me!

A few seconds later, I had pushed the window up and climbed in.

Immediately, I saw the safe and realised that the valuable stuff was probably in there. With a thumping heart, I moved through the office and out into the shop. I didn’t want to use a torch and I was lucky in that there was quite a good light coming in from the street lights outside, almost flooding the shop.

Behind the counter there were lots of things like clocks, china, portable wirelesses and stuff like that. The items I was after resided under the glass counter-top–mainly watches, jewellery and small silver items deemed too inexpensive to be put away in the safe. Opening the back of the counter, I just took everything I could lay hands on and put the goods in Mum’s shopping bag. Soon it was half full and I didn’t think I could take any more due to the weight, so I opened the till and took out the silver and copper that the shopkeeper had for some reason left and then made my way back out of the shop.

I had done it!

All was still quiet and I caught the bus at the top of the road that was heading back to my neck of the woods but I passed my stop and went a bit further. I had to see Solly Worth tonight.

He had a second hand shop on Market Square called Solid Worth and obviously, as the premises would be closed, I just knocked on the door by the side that led up to his flat.

The light came on and then a few seconds later I could hear the sounds of footsteps coming down the stairs. The door opened and I blinked in the strong light.

‘Is that you, Brian?’ Solly asked, his voice sounding a bit harsh.

‘Yes, sorry, I’m a bit late.’

‘Got some stuff for me?’

I nodded.

‘You’d best come in then,’ he said looking up and down the street and then standing to the side to let me through.

I went up the stairs and made my way into his sitting room, putting the shopping bag on the table but hanging on to the handles. He followed, puffing slightly. Solly Worth was, I suppose about fifty, balding, overweight and always had a cigarette dangling from his lower lip. Not a very salubrious character but there again, he wasn’t in a particularly salubrious trade.

‘Okay,’ he said rubbing his hands together, ‘let’s see what you’ve got for me, already?’

I took the swag out one piece at a time and put them on the green table. I was a bit surprised at the sheer volume and the table was virtually covered by the time the last items were put down.

‘Blimey, you’ve been busy. I won’t ask where you got this stuff. What I don’t know I can’t tell. Give us a minute and I’ll price the stuff up.’

He got his magnifying glass out and went over all the items, making notes on a pad all the time. He reminded me of a sort of fat Scrooge or even a Fagin as he poured over the items, mumbling to himself all the time. In the end he looked up at me.

‘No high value gear here, so I can’t pay you a fortune–thirty quid the lot.’

‘How much? I queried, shocked.

‘Thirty pounds; take it or leave it. It’s all obviously hot so I’ll have to hold it for a while.’

I looked at his greedy face and his mouth with its ever present cigarette hanging from it–ash falling gently to the lino floor as he spoke.

‘It’s a fair offer.’

‘Not fair enough,’ I said, remembering what my dad said-never take his first offer. ‘I’ll take the stuff to Arnold’s.’

‘Arnold’s-Schmarnolds! He’ll fleece you. He hasn’t got a heart, that man.’

‘I don’t want his heart, I want a fair price.’

I wondered afterwards how ridiculous I must have looked, knee-high to a grass hopper–just a very young kid, and trying to barter with a man who would sell his mother’s burial plot–if he hadn’t done so already.

I picked up the bag and started putting the watches and things back in it.

‘Hang on a minute, Brian, he said grabbing hold of my arm tightly, ‘my life, I have a soft spot for you, what with your dad, an’ all, God rest his soul. Look, I tell you what, I’ll give you thirty five: I can’t be fairer than that.’

‘No, Arnold will give me fifty…’

‘Fifty-schmifty Oy vey, you drive a hard bargain even, forty and that’s yer lot already.’

I looked at him and smiled.

‘Forty five in cash or I walk away.’

‘My life even, you’re worse than your dad–okay, forty-five, but I won’t make anything out of this.’

‘Yeah, I bet,’ I said as I held out a slightly grubby hand.

Sniffing, he pulled a greasy wallet from his hip pocket: it was full of banknotes. He peeled off nine fivers and, reluctantly, handed them to me.

‘Thanks, Solly, nice to do business with you.’

‘Oy vey,’ was all he had to say and with a cheery farewell, I left him and made my way back out to the street.

My work wasn’t done yet: I headed for the off-licence on the corner, the lights of the shop looking bright against the dark street. Before going in, I put forty pounds in my shoe, leaving me with a fiver in my hand.

The door pinged as I opened it. There were a few customers waiting to be served and I hung back until they were gone. Then I walked up to the counter.

‘Hello, Brian.’

‘Hello, Mister Davis. I’ve come for mum’s medicine.’

We both knew what I meant and he picked up a bottle of gin from the back shelf, put it in a brown paper bag and handed it to me. I paid him and smiled sadly.

‘I shouldn’t be doing this,’ he said, shaking his head, ‘but I know it’s not for you. One of these days, I’m going to get caught and then what will you do?’

‘I don’t know; anyway, thanks, Mister Davis.’

‘Be careful, Brian.’

‘I will; ’bye.’

Mr Davis was a nice man. I had done odd jobs for him sometimes and he knew the score about Mum. He was worried in case she got violent and hurt me or herself if she didn’t have her ‘medicine’. She wouldn’t hurt a fly, but who knows what she might do if she didn’t get her daily dose.

I let myself in and, as usual, received no reply to my hello. I was more cheerful for a change: I had enough money to pay the rent now and maybe even buy some food instead of nicking it. I would have to keep some back for gin, but at least we wouldn’t starve or get chucked out now.

Mum hadn’t moved. She was still on the sofa watching some mindless drivel on the telly–Opportunity Knocks with smarmy Hughie Green, I think. She looked up as I came in the room.

‘Got the drink? Good, be a love and pour me a drop.’

I took the bottle out of the paper bag and poured some into the dirty glass by the side of her. She took it eagerly and with shaking hands, she downed the lot in one go as if it was water.

‘Mum, slow down.’

‘I need it love, you know that. It helps take the pain away–’

I looked at her sadly. ‘I’m going to bed.’

She was away with the fairies again and didn’t even respond. Shaking my head sadly, I left her to her TV, gin and Valium and went to bed.

My bedroom was the neatest place in the whole flat. I liked to keep it tidy, so it was a bit like a refuge from all the bad things that had been happening since Dad died.

I normally read one of my Biggles books before going to sleep, but tonight I was really tired so I didn’t bother, and just got undressed, cleaned my teeth and then into bed, shutting my eyes almost straight away. At least when I was asleep my worries went away…

~ §~

I awoke the next morning and judging by the light streaming through the window, it was going to be another hot one.

After using the toilet and washing my face, I got dressed in the same clothes I had worn yesterday but I did put on clean underpants and socks. A boy has standards after all.

As usual mum hadn’t surfaced yet, but at least she had gone to bed, taking her bottles with her, I noticed.

I had some cornflakes and a cup of tea before waking mum. I was still tired after yesterday, but was pleased that I had the money safely tucked down my sock–well I didn’t want anyone to nick it! Later I would go and see the landlord: he was a hard man, but fair; if he hadn’t been, we would have been chucked out on the street months ago.

I drained my cup and then poured a fresh one for mum. As a treat, I toasted some bread on the grill and put the buttered toast and tea on a tray. Holding the tray in one hand, I knocked on her door. ‘Mum, time to wake up.’

I heard nothing so I let myself in. After one of her nights, she was bit hard to wake up, sometimes.

The room was dark, the heavy curtains having been pulled across. I wrinkled my nose, as I could smell unpleasant things in the room. It smelt like she had been sick and had also wet the bed again. More work for me later.

In the dim light, I put the tray down on the dressing table.

‘Mum, wake up, I have some tea and toast for you.’

I pulled the curtains back, blinking in the sudden strong sunlight. Looking down, I could see the stallholders getting ready for the mornings trade. I was glad that I didn’t have to take anything from there for a while.

‘Nice day outside Mum, you might want to go out for a breath of fresh air later.’

I turned around.

‘Mum?’

‘MUM!’

I approached the bed hesitantly, gazing at her face. She had been sick and her long hair looked sticky with it. The smell was worse as I got nearer to her. Her eyes were open, staring at the ceiling but not seeing anything. Her face was as white as a sheet and her lips were blue. I touched her cheek with a finger; it was ice-cold despite the warmth of the day.

My mother was dead.

I sat down at the end of the bed, gazing at her. I expected her to move, to smile at me, to stretch and then yawn and be my mum again. But she was dead and would never do those things again. My eyes travelled to the bedside table. She hadn’t overdosed as there were still pills in the bottle, not many, but some.

So it must have been the drink.

The drink that I had bought for her.

I had killed my mum––

I broke down and cried–heaving sobs that wracked my body. After what seemed a long while, my tears began to stop, to be replaced by fear, remorse, sorrow and a sense of loss. I had no one now. I was by myself.

I went to the bed, leaned over and kissed my mum’s cold forehead.

‘Bye, Mum,’ I said, my voice choking with emotion.

I still expected her to turn her eyes to me and smile, but of course she would never be able to do that again. I couldn’t just leave her like this. Hesitantly, as I had seen in a film once, I shut her eyes for her and then covered her over with a sheet. I stood there for a moment, full of indecision. My nose was runny and I wiped it with my sleeve. I couldn’t stay any longer, I had to go and do–something.

I made a decision and went out and closed the door quietly. Then without looking left or right, I went downstairs picked up the shopping bag for some reason and went out onto the street. On the corner was a phone box and I walked towards it. I think a few people said ‘hello’ to me, but I’m not sure. I opened the phone box, dialled 999 and waited.

‘Emergency, which service please?’

‘H—hello. C—c—can an ambulance go to 7a The Parade, Market Square. My mum’s dead.’

‘Pardon, sorry can you repeat that?’

‘M—my Mum, please send an ambulance to 7a The Parade, Market Square, she’s dead.’

‘Where are you, love?’

I put the phone down and left the phone box. I walked the streets for hours, not bothering about where I was or anything. After a while I found myself in the recreation ground and I sat on the bench and watched the little kids with their mums playing on the swings, see-saws and other things.

I envied them and their simple happy life and then started to get tearful again. Sniffing loudly, I pulled myself together. I had to do something, but what? Crying wasn’t going to help. I wasn’t going back to the flat yet, not if the ambulance and more than likely, the police was going to be there. I needed time to think–

Someone grabbed my shoulder from behind.

‘Gotcha!’

I recognised the voice– it was Percy Pointer, the truant officer. Looking up, I saw his unpleasant, leering face.

‘Leave me alone.’ I said quietly.

He pulled me to my feet and then looked at me.

‘Have you been crying?’

‘Yes.’

‘Someone stole your dinner money–’ang on, you don’t go to school much do you so it can’t be that; why aren’t you in school now?’

He was holding me tightly by the arm and I squirmed a bit, trying to get out of his grasp.

‘Well, answer me; what kind of excuse is it this time; dentist, doctors; got a cold?’

‘No, my mum’s dead!’ I blurted out, trying my hardest to pull away from his firm grasp.

‘Ha-ha, that’s a good one; wasn’t it your granny last month? Well, we will see what your headmaster has to say; a good dose of the cane will do you some good–’

I wasn’t going with him, I couldn’t. I did the only thing that I could think of. I kicked him hard–in the goolies–and then, as he let me go and then grabbed his nuts, I ran as if the hounds of hell were after me and didn’t stop running for ten minutes. I climbed a few walls, snagged my trousers on some barbed wire and then my shirt–not in good condition anyway–got greasy marks on it from a rusty old car left abandoned in a narrow lane.

I had no idea where I was running, only that I wanted to get as far away as possible from Percy Pointer. My chest was burning and my heart was hammering away. Eventually, I found myself in a graveyard of all places and after checking that I had lost the truant officer, I sat on a bench and waited to get my breath back.

One thing was sure, I wasn’t safe. Everyone in my area knew me and the police and social services, as well as that pestilential Percival Pointer would be on the lookout for me. I wondered if Mum would end up here, in this graveyard and that made me shiver and not want to stay there, but what could I do?

It was obvious to me that I needed clothes and badly. The way I was, I stuck out like a sore thumb. I had the money still in my sock, but if I spent that, people might ask where I got it from and where was my Mum? It wasn’t easy stealing clothes from shops and I discounted that idea straight away.

Washing lines, now that had possibilities! Suddenly, I had a plan of action and that was enough to cheer me up a bit. I left the churchyard and being careful not to be seen by anyone remotely official-looking, I carried on down the road. I recognised where I was now. I was close to the posh side of town where all the nice detached and semi-detached houses were.

I passed several houses before I came across a likely candidate. A detached house, where, through the trees and bushes, I saw a lot of clothing swaying in the breeze on the line. There didn’t seem to be anyone about. After a final, swift look about and as bold as brass, I walked up the path and knocked on the door. If anyone answered I would say that I had got lost and ask for directions to the High Street.

There was no answer so I quickly went around the back of the house and there was the washing line, full of clothes, but none that looked anything like my size–except––

–I stopped for a minute and had a think. It went against the grain; after all I was a boy–

–Mind you, what a disguise–

Looking up at the line again, I realised that I had to make a decision quickly, in case anyone returned. Behind the house, I was un-overlooked, but who knows who might see me if I tried somewhere else and anyway, it was a good idea.

I took a deep breath and went over to the washing line. There was a girl's checked dress, cardigan, undies and socks pegged on it. I pulled the girls clothes off the line, got out of my boys’ clothes and changed into the girl’s ones.

The navy-blue knickers felt strange to put on as there was no opening at the front and they felt softer and more comfy than my boys’ ones, but I had to wear them, because any stiffish breeze would display my boys pants straight away. I had some difficulty with the dress as it had a zip up the back and I had to do all sorts of contortions before it was done up correctly. It was pink check with a round neck and had sleeves. The hem came down nearly to my mid calves and sort of flared out a bit. Then hopping on one leg and then the other, I put on the ankle socks. I had no shoes–girls ones, that is–so I had to make do with my boy’s black ones and hope that they wouldn’t be noticed.

I put my money in my sock before putting the shoes on. It was a bit uncomfortable, but at least the money would be safe down there.

I stuffed my old clothes behind a bush. They were dirty and useless now and I was better off without them. Then looking at my reflection in the windows, I finger combed my longish blond hair and made it part in the middle. I needed a brush but I just had to make do. I suppose that it was lucky that I never had enough money to go to the barbers’ for a trim. Last time I went to school the headmaster threatened to do a basin cut on me!

Peering at my reflection in the window, I didn’t think that I looked too bad. I hated the idea of wearing those soppy clothes and felt a right nana because of it. I just hoped that I wouldn’t be caught and laughed at by people such as Percy Pointer or PC Plod!

After a quick glance around, I saw that the coast was clear; so, trying to look as casual as possible, I picked up the shopping bag and went out through the gate and then turned right and carried on down the road. I had no idea as to where I was going but had thought that I could hole up somewhere and think things through.

I felt a bit weird ambling along wearing a dress. It felt strange and flapped about somewhat against my bare legs–talk about distracting! My hair, now that I had parted it in the middle, seemed to get in my eyes more for some reason.

My first test came when I walked around the corner and bumped headlong into a lady.

‘Sorry!’ I said.

She stopped and looked at me.

‘That’s alright, dear, my fault, I wasn’t looking.’

She smiled, nodded and then proceeded on her way.

‘That’s a relief.’ I thought, ‘she didn’t scream “boy”, or laugh at me. Maybe I do look all right.’

Carrying on, I came up to a road with several shops. There were more people about now and I was still nervous about being found out–but no one took any notice of me– that’s not quite true, some of the ladies smiled and nodded to me, so I still must have looked all right.

I saw a shoe shop and on an impulse walked in. There were two customers being seen to by the staff and I took the opportunity to take off my shoes. I put the notes inside one of the shoes and then put both into Mum’s shopping bag, which for some unaccountable reason; I had carried all the time I had been out.

I saw some shiny black shoes about my size so I sat down and tried them on. They were too big though and I was just about to take them off when I sensed a presence. Looking up, I saw a lady looming over me.

‘Don’t they fit, young lady?’

‘N—no, erm; t—too big.’

‘Would you like to try the next size down?’ She asked, smiling.

‘Y—yes please.’

She pottered off and I nearly had a blue funk and almost ran off there and then, but for some reason I just sat and waited. In next to no time she came back with a white shoe box, removed the lid and took out the shoes.

‘Try these,’ she said handing them to me.

I put them on and they fitted just fine after doing up the fiddly buckles. I stood up and walked around a bit.

‘Can I have these please?’

‘Don’t you want to wait for your mother?’ She asked looking around expecting her to appear.

‘N—no, mum–my mum said that I should get some myself, to show how grown up I can be.’

‘Riiight, well if you say so. They cost three pounds six shillings.’

‘I have the money in my bag.’

‘Would you like me to put them back in the box?’

‘N…no I like them so much, can I wear them out?’

‘Of course, Miss. Would you like to come over to the till?’

‘Yes, all right.’

The woman went ahead and I fished out one of the five-pound notes and then, when she rang the sale up, I handed her the money. She kept looking around, I think expecting my mother to turn up. ‘Fat chance of that,’ I thought, my eyes suddenly stinging.

‘Are you all right, dear?’ The shop worker asked as she handed me my change.

‘Yes, thank you.’ I said, taking the money.

‘Well call again, won’t you?’ She said with a smile.

I nodded and then walked out, my heart was beating fast and I wondered why I had been so bold as to actually go into a shop like that. I was so lucky that she didn’t cotton on to who or what I was–

I groaned.

Ahead of me, about fifty yards away and coming towards me was a policeman. I didn’t recognise him which was good, kind of, but I had to pass him. He was talking to an old lady and he glanced up as I passed, trying to look all casual.

I felt a tap on my shoulder just after I passed him.

‘Excuse me but why aren’t you at school?’

I thought quickly.

‘Footh.’

‘Footh?’

‘Mmm, footh,’

I pointed at my cheek.

‘Been to the dentist have you?’

‘Mmm,’ I said and then grimaced.

‘Hate dentist’s meself, can’t stand needles, that’s me. Well cut along then and get home. Take aspirin and cloves, my wife swears by them.’

‘Ankoo,’

‘That’s all right, now off yer go, sweetie.’

I walked on and it took all of my will power not to break into a run. After a minute or two, I looked back and the policeman had disappeared. I breathed sigh of relief, although I didn’t like the idea of being called a “sweetie”, what boy would?

A few moments later, I could smell baking and realised that I was rather hungry. I went into the bakery and stood at the counter. I immediately saw a hot cabinet with pies and things in it. My mouth watered.

‘Yes, love?’

‘Can I have a steak and kidney pie please?’

‘Yes, love,’ she said, getting a paper bag, opening the cabinet and picking out a pie.

‘Six pence-ha'penny please.’

I handed her the money, said thank you and walked out.

Continuing down the road I was soon away from the shops and came across a small park with a pond in it. Sitting down on a bench, I ate my pie while it was still hot, blowing on it to stop it burning my mouth and trying hard not to get crumbs and gravy onto my frock.

I stared at a few ducks on the water as I ate. Every time I had the opportunity to stop and think, I thought about my mum and how I had effectively killed her. I munched mechanically as I wondered where she was now. Had they taken her to the hospital? Was she in some horrid box somewhere–at a funeral parlour or somewhere like that? I didn’t know, but I missed her so much. It wasn’t always like that, before the drinking and the drugs I mean. All right, dad had been away a lot in prison, but mum made the best of it and we had good times occasionally, especially when we had money coming in from mum’s work. All that stopped when dad died and she went on the Valium and the mother’s ruin.

Finishing the pie, I thought once again about what I should do. I needed somewhere to sleep tonight. I couldn’t go back to the flat dressed like this–I hadn’t thought things through, I realised; I was just muddling along.

Sighing, I rubbed my eyes that were still sore and gritty from the crying. Where I was sitting was fairly secluded as it was off the path, down by the pond and behind some bushes. I couldn’t stay here all day though. I shut my eyes for a moment and then jolted awake when the cold wet nose of a dog touched my bare arm.

I was then licked.

‘Josie, stop that, the girl doesn’t need washing!’

I smiled as the old man came up.

‘Sorry love, she’d lick you to death given the chance.’

‘That’s all right,’ I said. ‘Erm what’s the time?’

‘Four o’clock love.’

Four o’clock, I had been asleep for ages!

The man nodded to me and walked on with the dog sniffing along beside him and I stood up and stretched. I was still a bit fuzzy from my extended sleep and it took a moment for me to recall the full horror of what had happened earlier and why I was wearing these daft clothes. It was a miracle that I hadn’t been caught out yet.

‘I had better get going.’ I thought.

But where do I go?

I didn’t fancy sleeping under a bush in the park, or anywhere outdoors. Maybe I could find an abandoned house or at worse a shed in a garden, then decide what to do tomorrow?

The sun had gone in now, behind some clouds and I was feeling a bit chilly in my thin frock. I pulled out the white cardigan from my bag and put it on and that helped quite a bit. I only hoped that it wouldn’t rain.

I picked up my bag and made my way out of the park. I hadn’t realised it, but I was near the edge of town where the houses were larger and more spread out and I could see the fields and hills in the distance. As I said, I thought maybe I could try one of the houses and kip down in one of the outhouses, a garage or shed, if the way was clear. Things didn’t look good as all the houses that I passed seemed to have walls, gates and fences that looked pretty impenetrable.

Then I came across a lane with a sign by the side saying:

I looked wistfully at the sign, realising that the girls in that school didn’t have much to worry about. No worries about board and lodging there–

Not thinking much about it, I turned into the gates and strolled up the long, hedge-lined drive that meandered through the grounds. I turned a corner and immediately beat a hasty retreat as I nearly ran straight into a bunch of girls playing in the grounds. Hiding behind some bushes, I peeked out at them and smiled.

They were having a great time playing what I think was rounders in some sort of P.E. kit consisting of white blouses with navy knickers. There was a teacher–wearing a gym tunic–blowing a whistle every so often and there was plenty of giggling going on. I couldn’t help but smile, seeing how much fun they were all having.

Just then the teacher blew a long whistle and the girls picked up their things and made their way back up the hill to the school building, which I hadn’t paid much attention to yet.

It was an old brick-built building mainly and it looked like a large mansion with a bell tower in the middle. At either end more modern bits had been added, I supposed as the school had got bigger. It looked a nice place and I thought that it probably cost a fortune to go to a school like that. I remembered my school, Sir Isaac Newton Secondary School; the place was a dump, the teachers hated the kids and the kids hated the teachers. Bullying was rife and I was one of the unlucky ones who got bullied. That was one of the reasons why I bunked off so much; that and the fact that I had to look after Mum half the time.

Thinking of mum again started me off and I had a bit of a snivelly cry. I hated this; boys don’t cry or wear stupid dresses and pretend to be silly girls! What would my dad say looking at me like this in a pink checked frock, standing in the grounds of a girl’s school and feeling sorry for myself?

I stopped for a second. This was a girl’s school. I was pretending to be a girl. Doors would be open, except at night and a girl or even a boy dressed like a girl could come and go if s–he was careful.

I could sneak in, find somewhere to hide, pinch a uniform and just blend in. This was a big school with nearly eight hundred girls. It was a new term too, so there would be a lot of new faces. A boy like me was used to looking after himself, maybe I could stay here until the heat died down and then I could move on?

Looking around, although most of the kids I could see were wearing uniform, a few weren’t. I supposed that out of school time the girls were allowed to wear their own clothes.

I didn’t think about it, I just did it.

I got up, brushed myself off and walked across the grass towards the doors where most of the children and a few of the adults were passing in and out. I walked like I knew who I was and where I was going. I didn’t stop at the doors, but just walked in. I got a few curious glances and even the occasional smile, which I returned.

I walked up a marble staircase and then another smaller one and then a third. I wasn’t stopped or questioned and by the time I had reached the third floor it was quiet. I walked down a corridor and glanced through some open doorways. These, I noticed were dormitories. I went to the end of the corridor and there was a closed door. I quietly opened it and peaked around the doorway. There were stairs leading up. Looking around and making sure that there was no one about, I went through and closed the door behind me. Going up the wooden stairs, I had to be as quiet as possible because my shoes were noisy on the bare wood.

Reaching the top, there was another corridor with a number of rooms off it. Looking in the rooms I could see that they were unoccupied and looked like they were used for storage. I looked at several of the rooms and in one I found some old mattresses.

I stopped for a moment as I heard a bell go in the distance and the thunder of many feet. Then after a couple of minutes, all was quiet again. I remembered that one of the rooms was nearly empty, if a little dusty. I dragged a mattress out of the room and pulled it across to the empty one. Then I found a chair and a small table and did the same with them.

Having done that, I closed the door and locked it from the inside because a key had, conveniently, been left for me. I hadn’t noticed before that in the corner stood a closet. I opened it and it was empty. However on the inside of the door was a mirror and I drew my breath in as I looked at my reflection properly for the first time.

In that dress, with those socks and shoes and my hair parted in the middle, I looked like a girl–a real girl. There was no outward sign of Brian. Oh, the face was the same but the hair had sort of changed its shape, if you know what I mean. The clothes made my body look more girl-like all the way down to my short white socks and shiny black buckled shoes. I knew what this reflection reminded me of as I had seen photos in the old albums of mum when she was younger. I looked just like her. A strange uncomfortable feeling came over me, which I couldn’t pin down–

I slammed the door shut, not wanting to look any more. I hated being like this. I wasn’t a stupid girl; I was a strong, resourceful boy. I couldn’t wait for my voice to break and have hair on my face and grow big strong muscles like my dad–

It took a while to get over my black and guilty feelings. I was haunted by the face of my dad and then my mum. After a while, I lay down on the bed as the sun went down and it gradually got dark. In the distance I could hear the sounds of happy girls as they moved about, contented and sure of their future. I wished that I could feel the same. Then after a while, there was a bell ringing and everything gradually went quiet. After a while, I checked the door and then took off my dress, folding it neatly and putting it over the back of the chair. Just in my pants–knickers or whatever they are called–I padded back to the bed, covered myself with the scratchy blanket that I had found with the mattresses and after a while, fell asleep.

The next morning, I awoke to sunlight streaming through the window. The bell rang for a while and I could hear the stirrings of the school waking up. Somehow, I felt better. I still grieved for my mum and felt a guilt that was real, even though I knew in my heart of hearts that I wasn’t really to blame for my mother’s death. It was just one of those things. No, I had decided that I had to get on with my life and make the best of things as they were.

I got out of bed and looked out of the window. It was a bit misty and I could see a few rabbits gambolling about on the lawns and over in the distance, someone running around a lake that I had somehow missed from yesterday. The noises grew louder as the school woke up.

I smiled, realising that I would be able to make the most of things here. First though, I needed a uniform–so that I could get around downstairs, hopefully without being questioned–and a girl-name: I thought Bryony would be appropriate. I also needed as much knowledge as I could find out about the teachers, classes and everything that made the school tick. I would have to find someone who could be a friend, without, of course, giving myself or my secret away.

A lot to do, but first, when everyone had gone into breakfast, I would have to find a uniform that fitted me. It shouldn’t be too difficult–after all, I was an experienced thief.

To Be Continued...

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Please leave comments…thanks! ~Sue

My thanks go to the brilliant and lovely Gabi for editing, help with the plot-lines and pulling the story into shape.