Don't Turn Around by Caroline Mitchell Read Free Book Online

I’m not sticking needles in my arm!’
    Touché, mother, Frank thought, although it was a shame, Gloria had gone downhill lately.
    ‘I’ve been clean for three weeks, I’ll have you know.’
    ‘Don’t give me that. Look, Frank is fine. We are both fine, now sod off. We don’t need you to tell us what to do.’
    Gloria replied something Frank could not make out. He crept downstairs, feeling six years old again as he peeped through a chink in the kitchen door at his mother, framed in a cloud of cigarette smoke.
    Her response to Gloria was sharp and to the point. ‘Now you listen to me. If you call social services we are finished. What’s more, I’ll make it that everyone knows you’re a grass. You get that?’
    ‘I’m just saying he needs to be with people who will look after him.’
    ‘What’s the social going to do for him? Only throw him in a home full of people he doesn’t know! You think he wants that? You ask him. You see if you’re doing him any favours.’
    ‘I’m fine, honest.’ Frank stood in the doorway, his long arms dangling from the shirtsleeves two sizes too small for him.
    His mother sat at the table, wearing the same old silk dressing gown, frayed at the edges. Gloria was standing over her, arms folded, with a scowl on her face. Smiles were rare in this house. Smiles had to be bought and paid for.
    ‘Aw sweetheart, your mother and I were just – having a talk. Nothing to worry about,’ Gloria said, pulling out a chair and sitting down.
    ‘Stop treating him like a baby. Frank, Glo wants to call the social. You want to go into a home?’
    Frank stood beside his mother and put his arm around her skinny shoulder. ‘No, I’m happy here with Mum.’
    His mother nodded her head, shifting in her chair to shrug off his embrace. ‘Is that good enough for you? Now have you got anything to drink, because I’m parched.’
    Gloria rolled her eyes and slipped a small bottle of whiskey from her bag. ‘C’mon then, you get the mugs.’ Viv stood in the small kitchen and, as if for the first time, noticed the delicate china teacups hanging on hooks from the shelf on the wall. She had hung them the day she moved in, displayed as a symbol of hope for the future. Viv took two of the rose-patterned cups and set them on the table, dissolving any remnants of hope in the honey coloured liquid that flowed within.
    Frank slid out of sight of the two women, who grew more cheerful with each swig.
    Gloria stubbed her cigarette into the saucer on the kitchen table. ‘You were right about what you said about the social. I’ve spent half my life in homes and I don’t want that for Frankie. What if I take him for the summer holidays, when I sort myself out? I’m getting too old for this game, I’m chucking it in.’
    Frank felt a flicker of hope as his mother mulled it over.
    Gloria continued. ‘It would give you a break, and you know I’d look after him – fatten him up with a few home cooked meals.’
    Frank bit his lip. Home cooked meals! He had stayed over at Gloria’s place once before, when his mother was in the hospital. Sleeping in crisp, clean sheets, waking up to hot buttered toast in the mornings. At night they read together, and when he left, Gloria had entrusted him with a hardcover poetry book. It was his most treasured possession. He held his breath now as he listened for Viv’s response to her offer. If he were too keen, she’d say no, just to watch the disappointment on his face.
    But half a bottle of whiskey had mellowed his mother and taken the shrillness from her voice. Frank smiled. Glo was a crafty cow; she must have planned this all along.
    ‘How are you gonna support Frank if you give up work? You don’t think I’m paying ya. I’ve barely got enough to support us as it is.’
    Support your booze habit, more like, Frank thought bitterly.
    ‘Well, you know Mr Wallace? He’s one of my best clients. He said he could get me a little job down the bingo halls in Lexton as a