Short Story: Big Boys Don't Cry

Short Story: Big Boys Don't Cry

This piece has not been edited by the ShortbreadStories team.

Bradley Mathews, Brad to his gang, was not a pleasant child; in fact to imply that he was merely unpleasant did his personality no justice at all. By the age of nine he was an accomplished and manipulative bully with a home life described by his social services team as ‘challenging’.

He lived with his mother, sister and niece in a council house on the outer edges of a small village estate and attended, somewhat sporadically, the local primary school. The house was his second and the school his third in his short but combustible academic career and he was proud of his achievements thus far. To have driven so many adults into such tumult and desperation that expulsion was the only cure to their stress was not to be sniffed at. Carnage on that scale was a badge of honour and hard fought for.

Bradley’s father had never been part of his life and his mother was utterly inept, lacking both the skills and temperament required to keep such a boy in check. Maureen Mathews, it was widely acknowledged, preferred the solace of the village pub to looking after her children and could be found propping up the bar most afternoons and certainly every evening.

Bradley’s older sister Helen had barely left school and was struggling to cope with both bringing up Bradley and the vociferous demands of her four month old daughter Shannon. Helen was not sure who Shannon’s father was but considered herself better off with the benefit system for support. The thought of trying to choose between a thirty five year old married shopkeeper with two kids (one of whom was Helen’s best friend) and a lad from school who lacked both maturity and prospects was itself exhausting.

Bradley secretly envied little Shannon, her angelic appearance and clean sheet meant she still had a chance. Her demands were always responded to…somewhat haphazardly perhaps but at least she got a response. Bradley had begun getting in trouble at school to get a response from his mother but it turned out to be the wrong kind and now he was so deep in he just couldn’t help himself. He was bottom of the heap at home so he had to make sure he was king of the pile at school.

‘You make sure you get there today! You hear me Bradley?’ yelled his mother down the stairs, ‘are you even listenin’? I warn you boy if I have to see to that smug bloody truancy officer one more time…you know what I’ll do. You hear me? You know what you’ll get don’t ya?’

Bradley carried on rifling through his sister’s purse for loose change and tried to ignore the outraged cries of his niece who had been soundly sleeping until her grandmother’s aggressive outburst. He pulled on his grubby trainers, grabbed his jacket and left slamming the door behind him. He didn’t worry about answering her today. No need. The days of striving to placate his mother and predict her moods had passed.

Bradley had no intention of ever going back so there’d be no music to face. He’d had enough after last night. He never wanted to see his mother that drunk again. In fact he never wanted to see his mother again full stop. With every blow that fallen he had grown stronger in his resolve that today would be the day he would run away and never look back.

His only regret was Shannon. She might be a pain in the arse what with all the crying and everything but did she really deserve to be left with that pair? Bradley turned up the collar of his jacket and forced himself not to think about her. He took one last look back at the house before turning tail and disappearing round the end of the road.

He walked at a steady pace, determined not to draw anyone’s attention. He had taken nothing other than his jacket and his sister’s money and there was nothing unusual in that. He regularly rifled through her belongings for a few quid, he had to if he wanted any dinner. Free school meals were all very well but they didn’t fill his empty stomach for long. Breakfast and dinner was non-existent in his house.

As he walked along his mind skipped through his meticulous plan, secure in the knowledge that he had the determination and the guts to see it through now. He could be three counties away before it got dark… if everything fell into place. He was clever like that. Clever enough to take a blasé stroll around the supermarket and walk out with a jumbo pack of nappies stuffed up his jumper, clever enough to ride the buses all day without parting with a penny if the mood took him.

But that sort of clever meant nothing in school or with social services. He needed to be with people who would appreciate his skills now, help him hone them and move on to bigger and bolder things. Confident in his master plan Bradley swaggered towards the bus stop knowing every step he took was a step away from home…away from danger.

He climbed aboard the bus fumbling in his pocket and scattering the change far and wide. The other passengers groaned and the bus driver swore under his breath but Bradley smiled. His little act made sure they would remember him later. They were vital characters in his carefully constructed charade and he was sure they would give the right answers when he had been gone overnight and the police began looking.

‘Sorry,’ he muttered to the surly driver, ‘return to town please.’

Bradley spent the day wandering around the once magnificent but now shabby seaside town. He played the slot machines, ate greasy chips from a polystyrene cone and in the afternoon skimmed stones across the surface of the flat grey sea that stretched unbroken to the horizon.

He slipped the last stone into his trouser pocket and felt the coolness of it pressing against his leg. It was a perfect skimming stone, smooth, flat and just slightly larger than the palm of his hand. He would keep it, he thought, a treasured reminder of this place that he loved and a prompt, should he need one, that it hadn’t been all bad. One day, he hoped that stone would want to be skimmed, it would make its presence felt in his pocket and it would draw him back, back to the sanctuary and seclusion of this beach.

Bradley looked furtively around him and checked himself before sniffing hard and blinking back the unwanted tears that threatened to fall and give him away.

‘Big boys don’t cry.’ He reminded himself turning his back on the sea and climbing the steep steps back into town.

This time he hid himself amongst a crowd of pensioners and slipped on to the bus without paying. He sat quiet and unnoticed as it wove its way across the country to the next big town. He repeated the move again and then again until he was, as planned, in the city, unseen and three counties away before nightfall.

Darkness fell as he reached the end of the line for the buses. Bradley jumped off just as a steady light rain began to fall. He cursed. His coat wasn’t waterproof, it barely fitted anymore. He would be soaked in minutes. He fell amongst the shadows the first tentative feelings of doubt and hesitation creeping their way in to the very edges of his mind. Bradley pushed them away.

The rumbling in his stomach prompted him to head for the city centre. At home, when he was really hungry, he would go to the bakers and ask if they had anything left that wouldn’t be fit to sell the next day. There was always something they could spare him. Bradley knew he couldn’t risk anything like that tonight, he couldn’t do anything obvious and besides, he knew no one here, there was no-one to take pity on him. He would have to thieve but very carefully.

He was barely out of the shop door when he heard the shouting behind him.

‘Stop!’ a man’s voice yelled. ‘Someone stop that kid!’

He ran on and on through streets he didn’t know, bumping into people he didn’t recognise. No-one dared to challenge him, they simply swore or stared at him for a second before carrying on with their own journeys. Their minds preoccupied with their days work, their dinner and the evenings favourite television programme. No-one had time to spare for a kid like Bradley.

Eventually he darted in to a side alley; it was little more than a dark space between two tall shops really. He squatted down and tore into the sandwich he had managed to grab. Tomato and chicken, he hated tomato and chicken.

‘Beggars can’t be choosers,’ Bradley thought picking apart the slightly stale bread. ‘I suppose that’s what I am now…’

A shadow fell across the narrow damp path and Bradley leapt to his feet before he had even taken his first bite. He was almost away but the boy, who was taller and stronger, but not much older than him, caught his arm and held him tight.

‘You all right mate?’ he asked, ‘I haven’t seen you round here before. Saw you runnin’ tho’! Bleedin’ quick ain’t ya? Never seen no-one move as quick as what you did back there!’

Bradley stared down at his filthy trainers and took a deep breath. He was furious with himself, furious that his hunger had got the better of him and that he was caught.

‘I could do with a fella like you,’ the boy wheedled slightly loosening his grip on Bradley’s arm and standing back as if to appraise him.

Bradley looked up at him and scowled.

‘Need a bed for the night do ya? I know a place. It’s not far. There’s a fella there... he’ll let you stay. He’s a good bloke.’

Bradley didn’t know what to say or do. He was completely out of his depth; city life wasn’t turning out how he had hoped or expected. His plans hadn’t taken into account other people, other kids that would be smarter than him, that were already here and ruling the roost. Where Bradley came from he was the smartest, he was the biggest fish, but here he was nothing more than fry.

He began to sniff and tried to swallow the lump in his throat. He thought about his damp little bedroom and Shannon. He would have given anything in the world to be transported back there, to feel Shannon’s plump little fingers clinging to his hand. He would never moan about his mother’s temper again, he would endure it, accept it… if only he could find a way of getting back he would never be any bother to anyone ever again.

The boy grew tired of waiting for an answer. He propelled Bradley through the alley and towards the street where a car was parked. The back door was already open. The boy bundled Bradley in and slammed the door. Bradley fought to open it but it was locked. He quickly looked about him, trying to work out just how much trouble he was in. He thought he must be in a taxi; there was a partition between him and the driver.

‘Let me out!’ he screamed. He was crying and banging his fists against the glass.

The driver didn’t move. The boys muffled cries barely touched him.

‘You’ll be all right mate!’ the boy shouted to Bradley through the glass. He was smiling and putting up his thumbs as if that was going to reassure the child. ‘You do whatever this fella wants and he’ll see you right!’

He banged on the roof of the car and it pulled away taking Bradley Mathews with it. Bradley huddled down in the seat, terrified of what was to come. He hugged his knees, his body wracked with sobs and wondered if this was his dream come true. Was he finally amongst the people who would teach him bigger and bolder things?