My Dad's a Policeman by Cathy Glass

Author:Cathy Glass [Glass, Cathy]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Tags: Fiction, General, Political Science, Family & Relationships, Family Relationships, Runaway Children, Dysfunctional Families, Foster Children, Public Policy, Social Services & Welfare, Home
ISBN: 9780007374755
Google: eplupJg5P6AC
Amazon: B004M8RWFW
Publisher: Harper Element
Published: 2011-02-17T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Eight

There was no chance of oversleeping. It seemed I’d just dropped off when I was woken by a loud noise. I reached under my end of the pillow for my phone and saw it was 6.20 a.m. I lay very still and listened. Wayne was fast asleep and breathing regularly beside me. The noise came again, louder this time. Then I realised with a jolt it was Wayne’s old man on the bog. Their bathroom’s next door to Wayne’s bedroom but he could have been sitting right next to me for all the noise he was making, shitting and farting after a night on the booze. It was disgusting! Wayne slept on. I guess he was used to it, as well as the smell that seeped under the door. I heard the bog roll unravel at 100 miles an hour, then the bog flush and the bathroom door open. The dirty pig hadn’t washed his hands! More worrying were his footsteps, going downstairs.

‘Hey, wake up,’ I hissed in Wayne’s ear, poking him in the ribs. ‘Your old man’s up and it’s only six thirty.’

Wayne groaned and opened one eye. ‘Don’t worry, man,’ he mumbled. ‘He’ll go back to his room with his tea. You can get out then.’

We lay side by side on our backs again, me wide awake and Wayne slowly surfacing, as the noises of Wayne’s old man making tea floated up from downstairs. The walls in these houses are so thin you can hear everything, and I mean everything. Wayne’s old man is a big clumsy slob who lumbers rather than walks, so the noise he makes is amplified. I felt like Jack hiding from the giant in ‘Jack and the Beanstalk’ as I lay still and listened.

I heard Wayne’s dad turn on the tap to fill the kettle, open a cupboard door and then set down a mug on the kitchen work surface. He did it with so much force it’s a wonder the pottery didn’t smash. It went quiet and I guessed he was pouring boiling water on to the tea bag. Then we heard him lumbering up the stairs and his bedroom slam shut.

‘You’ve got until seven,’ Wayne said. ‘Then he comes to wake me.’

That was enough for me. I was out of bed so fast that my head span. I had on my trousers, shirt and jacket, and was stuffing my feet into my trainers, before Wayne had clambered out of bed.

‘I’ll see you out, man,’ Wayne said, standing and scratching his balls unattractively. ‘Good luck with finding Tommy.’

‘Thanks.’ It was then I realised I still didn’t have any money. ‘You couldn’t lend me a tenner, could you?’ I knew I was asking a lot; I couldn’t have lent him money, but then he’d never asked.

‘Sure, man,’ he said easily. ‘No problem.’ I watched as he reached under the corner of his mattress and brought out a wad of £5 notes. There must have been over fifty quid there and I gasped in amazement.

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