Lifesaving for Beginners

knew about that. But she nods again when he says it, as if she knows all about it.
    She nods. ‘I’ll speak to him.’
    Mr Pilkington frowns. ‘You said you’d speak to him last week.’
    Faith never said anything to me last week. Not about George Pullman anyway. She said she wanted to talk to me and took me to Eddie Rocket’s, because the tuna melts happen to be my favourite sandwiches in the world. She gave me fifty pence to put in the jukebox. I played ‘Oliver’s Army’, which is one of Faith’s favourite Elvis Costello songs. And when I asked her what she wanted to talk to me about, she said it was my lifesaving class. How great I was doing. And how Coach thinks I’ll definitely pass my exams. Maybe even come top of the class.
    I think it’s true. I might pass all my exams. Maybe even come top of the class. And it’s not because I’m big-headed or a know-it-all or anything like that. It’s just that I train really, really hard. Even when Faith brings me to the pool just for fun, I make sure I do my laps and my different strokes. Sometimes I can swim nearly two lengths under the water. In one go, I mean.
    Faith and Mr Pilkington are still talking. I look out of the window. I feel really tired all of a sudden. Mam always made lasagne on Wednesday. She took a half day from the café, just so she could go home and make lasagne. It’s her favourite dinner, lasagne. She said Wednesday was a nothing kind of a day. Right slap bang in the middle of the week with nothing going for it anymore, since they stopped showing Coronation Street . She loves Coronation Street . Becky is her favourite. Becky and Steve. She’ll be pretty upset when she finds out they’ve split up.
    Mr Pilkington says, ‘Mrs Sullivan will have to be told, of course.’
    Faith says, ‘I’ll pay for any damage done. Any dental expenses.’
    ‘I’m not sure if that’s going to placate Mrs Sullivan.’
    ‘She’s a family friend. She’ll understand.’
    ‘Hmmm.’ Mr Pilkington doesn’t seem convinced.
    ‘And Milo will apologise, won’t you, Milo?’ Faith looks at me but only briefly. I don’t have time to say anything. ‘He’ll apologise to Damo. Damien. And Miss Williams, of course. He won’t do it again, will you, Milo?’ Again, the flash of her face towards me, then back to Mr Pilkington, lots of smiling, and then she stands up and pulls at my elbow until I am standing up too. ‘I think it’s best if I take him home now.’
    Mr Pilkington says, ‘Well . . .’ He looks at his watch. I put my hand in my pocket and cross my fingers. I won’t have to go to Mrs Appleby’s class. I can’t believe it.
    Faith says, ‘Thank you for being so understanding. I really appreciate it.’ Now she’s giving him one of those smiles she gives Rob when she wants him to do something, like take out the rubbish or dance with her.
    Mr Pilkington goes the colour of the tomatoes Miss Williams is growing in a pot on the windowsill of the classroom. He opens his mouth but no words come out and Faith turns, grabs me again and steers us out through the door.
    She waits until we’re in the car. ‘Jesus, Milo, what the fuck are you at?’ She bangs her fist against the steering wheel. I reckon it hurt because she doesn’t do it a second time.
    ‘You never used to say the F-word in front of me.’
    Faith looks at me. ‘I know. I’m sorry, Milo. I’m making a bloody dog’s dinner of this.’
    ‘Well, it’s not easy bringing up a nine-year-old boy, going to college, being in a band and looking after the café.’ I’m glad I said that because she sort of smiles. It’s a pale kind of smile, like when you don’t mix enough Ribena in the water. ‘Where did you hear that?’
    ‘You said it to Dad. On the phone.’
    She says nothing for a moment. Then she nods. ‘I didn’t mean for you to hear that stuff.’
    ‘I’m sorry.’
    ‘No, I’m sorry, Milo.’
    ‘’Sall right.’
    ‘I was just . . . I was upset.’
    ‘Because Mam’s not your real mam?’
    ‘I suppose.’
    ‘I heard you talking. To Dad. And that man in the office. Jonathon. I’m not stupid, you know.’
    ‘I know you’re not stupid. I just . . . I should have told you all this myself, I’ve been . . . Christ!’
    ‘I’m sorry. I couldn’t help overhearing. I wasn’t spying.’
    ‘No, it’s not . . . I’m sorry, Milo. Shit. I’m sorry. I’m crap at this.’
    ‘You’re not that bad.’
    ‘Then why do you keep hitting people?’
    ‘I