Underdog Read Free Page B

to be alone. No-one shouting. No-one getting at him. He grabbed at the grass either side of him, the blades bending then breaking in his hands as he pulled the wet tufts from the ground. As the warmth of the sunshine dried the grass around him, he imagined Alison lying beside him, indulging himself in his usual fantasy: their hands and lips touching for the first time.
    ***
    The sound of swallows overhead made Tom sit up. He tracked them as they flew down towards the rooftops below, amazed at their speed and agility as they swooped expertly through the air, envying their freedom as they disappeared into the distance.
    Figuring his dad would be asleep, Tom wrapped his jacket around his waist and picked up his bike. Pushing it into motion with his foot, he jumped on. The handlebars rattled and shook wildly in his hands as he traversed the steeper part of the hill and picked up more and more speed. He raced his way through the jumble of trees and gaps in the bushes that made up the trail, slowing down only when he came to the footpath with its potholes and loose stones.
    The parking area was empty when he reached it: no cars, no-one out for a walk. He was disappointed that there were no dogs to look at, or pat, as he pedalled towards the exit. He stopped to look down the sloping tarmac road. The town that had seemed so small was about to engulf him once more.
    The rising heat made the rest of the journey home tiring. By the time he had sped across town and reached his street, Tom’s heart was thumping and he was out of breath, the strength sapped from his legs. He stepped off the bike and wheeled it round the back of the house.
    It was an unwelcome surprise to see his dad through the kitchen window, sitting at the table, and Tom immediately began to think of excuses to explain away his early return from school as he propped up his bike against the kitchen wall.
    ‘Hi, Dad.’
    Keith didn’t bother to look round as Tom came in. Instead he just reached for the half-empty bottle of vodka in front of him, filling his shot glass.
    ‘What are you doing back?’
    Tom’s heart sank when he noticed the booze, heard the hostile tone in his dad’s voice.
    ‘They let us go early. End of term and that.’
    Tom hung his jacket up on the kitchen door, wondering how much of the bottle had been drunk. His dad’s eyes looked vacant, staring blankly ahead of him. The whites were flecked red, the lids tired and puffed up, like he’d been crying.
    ‘Is everything alright, Dad?’
    Keith continued to stare straight ahead. An unnerving stillness and silence filled the little kitchen.
    ‘I’m celebrating, aren’t I?’ he said finally. ‘Making a toast.’
    He held the shot glass aloft, gesturing towards Tom. Putting it swiftly to his lips, he downed his drink, a grimace deepening the crow’s-feet around his eyes.
    ‘Celebrating what?’
    ‘“Celebrating what?”’ mocked Keith. ‘What a surprise. Forgotten, have you?’
    ‘What do you mean?’
    ‘Your mum.’ Keith’s words were slurred and his voice rose. ‘Remember her, don’t you? Well, it was a year ago. Today.’
    The look in his bloodshot eyes was bitter as he fixed Tom in his sights. He poured another glass.
    ‘Want one?’ he asked scornfully, offering the glass to Tom.
    The hairs on the back of Tom’s neck prickled and a shiver danced its way up his spine. He knew exactly what the date was; it was the only thing stopping him from challenging his dad’s unkindness. Instead, he turned and ran from the kitchen towards the stairs.
    ‘That’s it!’ shouted Keith after him. ‘Run away. Run away …’
    Tom rushed up the stairs and burst into his room, slamming the door shut and locking it behind him. The anger inside him built so quickly, it felt as though he was going to explode. His every muscle seemed to tighten, making it hard to breathe. He wanted to scream the house down, but remained silent. Reaching over to the bedside table, he opened the drawer, rooting