Buddy stole the money from his mother’s purse just before he left for school. His mother was in the kitchen clearing up the breakfast things and his father was still in bed.
He tiptoed into the front room and slipped the purse out of her handbag. He clicked it open and took out a £5 note. A wave of disgust swept through him. Only two weeks ago he’d vowed to himself that he was going to stop shop-lifting and here he was stealing from his own mother. He hadn’t done that since he was a little kid and had sometimes nicked the odd tenpence. He was turning into a real thief. There must be something the matter with him. First, the shop-lifting. He’d done it a couple of times with some other boys from school. They had stopped but he’d gone on doing it alone. And now, this.
He heard his mum come out of the kitchen and, in a moment of panic, he fumbled with the catch on the purse. It wouldn’t close properly so he just chucked it back in the bag still open. He put the handbag back on the sofa, crumpled the note into his pocket, and went out of the room. His mum was in the hall putting on her coat.
‘Hurry up, you’re late,’ she said and then called up the stairs. ‘Terry!’
There was no answer from his dad. His mum called out again and then started up the stairs.
Buddy put on his shoes and while he was tying up the laces he heard angry voices coming from upstairs. Another row. Recently, there’d been more rows than anything else. He hated to hear his mum and dad shouting like that.
‘I’m going,’ he called. There was no reply so he went out of the front door, slamming it behind him.
The morning at school was terrible. The money for the class trip didn’t have to be handed in until lunchtime so he knew he could still change his mind. He went through the arguments again and again. He could take the money back. His mum was bound to have noticed it had gone – money was precious since the factory had closed and his dad had lost his job. He could always leave it lying on the floor, as if it had fallen out of her bag.
He didn’t even want to go on the trip – £4 to see some stupid castle and safari park. On the other hand, he didn’t want to stay behind again. It would be the third thing he’d missed this term alone. The other times – the visit to the theatre and the trip to the Three Counties Agricultural Show – he’d been the only one not going from 3E. He’d had to join another class for the day and it had been awful.
This time he hadn’t even bothered to ask for the money. He knew what his parents would say: ‘We can’t afford it.’ Well, it was all right for them. They still had the things they wanted. They both smoked; that cost a fortune nowadays and it was bad for them. And his dad had started going out to the pub in the evenings. His mum moaned about that, saying it was a waste of money and he was mixing with the wrong crowd again, but it didn’t stop him doing it.
The more Buddy thought about it, the more it seemed that he had right on his side. If his mum and dad had to give up smoking and drinking for a couple of days – so much the better. It would be good for them.
Still, he hesitated a moment when Mr Normington said, ‘Right, 3E, hands up the people who brought the money for the trip to Newton Castle.’ Buddy looked round and saw everybody’s hand go up. Then he raised his, too.
His dad was out when Buddy got home and his mum wouldn’t be back from work for nearly an hour. He went to his room and got on with his homework. He was just finishing some French when the front door banged.
‘Buddy!’
His heart lurched. His mother’s voice sounded sharp and angry. He heard her running up the stairs. Then his door opened.
‘Where is it?’ she asked.
‘What?’
‘Don’t play innocent with me – the £5 you took from my purse this morning.’
Buddy denied it a couple of times. He even suggested that perhaps it had been stolen by someone at her office. Then, suddenly, he couldn’t hold out any longer. He admitted he’d done it and started to explain why.
He’d expected her to be furious but what happened was worse. She began to cry. She leaned against the wall and tears ran down her face. He stood, shocked and ashamed for a moment, then moved towards her. He wanted to hold her, to beg forgiveness.
‘I’m sorry,’ he mumbled and reached out to touch her, but she pushed him away.
He tried again but this time her temper broke and she shouted, ‘Get away. Leave me alone. You’re as bad as him. Like father, like son – that’s what you are!’
Buddy backed away and sat on the bed. His mum stayed there, crying, for a few minutes then she wiped her face roughly and went to the door. She didn’t look back but Buddy heard the one word she said, quietly but full of bitterness, ‘Thief!’ She went out of the room and closed the door.
He lay on the bed and cried. She had looked so pale, so hurt. The lines near the mouth, the dark rings around her eyes – he had caused those. Once or twice he tried to defend himself in his own mind but each time he remembered her face and her tears and the way she’d said ‘Thief’. Perhaps she even knew about the shop-lifting.
After about an hour he undressed and got into bed. He wasn’t hungry and he couldn’t bear the idea of going down and facing his mum. Not long after, she came up and opened the door. He closed his eyes tight, pretending to be asleep. She said his name once but he didn’t move and she went away.
He lay there for ages, thinking. If only there was some way he could turn back the clock to this morning. If only he’d never taken the money. ‘Like father, like son.’ He knew what she meant: the big secret; the thing they never talked about. It had happened four years ago when Buddy had been nine. For three months his dad had disappeared. His mum had just said that he was away somewhere for his work, but Buddy had missed him terribly and the atmosphere in the house had been tense and gloomy. Then, when his dad came back he’d taken Buddy for a walk and told him the truth – just suddenly in the middle of the park.
‘I’ve been in prison,’ he had said, ‘– three months for breaking and entering. But it’s all over, see. I’ve done time and that’s it. We’ll forget it, ok?’ Then, after a long pause, ‘Still love me?’
Buddy had nodded and his dad had given him a hug.
And now – now his mum thought it was going to happen to him, too.
Some time, much later, he woke up. There was an argument going on downstairs. It must be about him. His mum must have told his dad and now they were shouting at each other because of him. He put the pillow over his head and pressed his ears to keep the sound out.
The next morning, the house was very quiet. He got dressed and went downstairs. His dad was asleep at the kitchen table with his head resting on his arms. Buddy shook him and he sat up.
‘Where’s Mum?’ Buddy asked, the blood pounding in his ears.
‘Gone.’
For one terrible moment Buddy felt as if he were going to laugh.
‘Where?’
His dad shook his head.
For the rest of that day, Buddy was certain she’d be home when he got back from school – but she wasn’t. Then he gave it a week. She’d be back within a week.
His dad cooked the meals and they ate them in silence. They did everything in silence. Buddy ached to talk about it – to say he was sorry – but he couldn’t. The only thing his dad said was not to talk about it to anyone – not at school, nowhere. Buddy promised and it made him feel more hopeful. His dad must want to keep it quiet because he thought she’d be back soon.
The week passed. Then another, and another. Gradually, as it turned into months, Buddy gave up hope. She wasn’t coming back. And it was all his fault.