The Council Estate and Me

Chapter One – The Unspoken Rules

The flat smelled like sweat, damp socks, and something burnt from two nights ago.

It clung to the wallpaper, the furniture, even Jamie’s school jumper, no matter how often he tried to air it by the window before putting it on. It was the smell of council living, stale and permanent. It was like the estate had decided it was part of them now. Even clean washing came out smelling like defeat.

Jamie sat with his knees tucked under his chin, on the brown carpet that once had a pattern but now just looked like dirt. He’d drawn a circle of toys around him, old soldiers missing arms, a broken toy car, and the top half of a plastic wrestling figure, but he wasn’t playing. Not really. His attention was fixed on a ripped piece of cardboard from the back of a cereal box, where he was drawing with the stub of a red crayon. No pens, no pencils. Just the crayon. It wasn’t sharp anymore. It dragged like a blunt knife across the surface, bleeding colour where he didn’t want it.

He was drawing a monster. It had long, gangly arms and a thick belly. Its eyes were bulging. Its teeth were square and too big. He was still working on the fists, they needed to be massive, like hammers. He didn’t say it out loud, but he knew who the monster was. Everyone in the home did.

Footsteps above. A floorboard groaned. Jamie stopped drawing. Silence again. He returned to the cardboard, letting his hand move with slow, careful strokes. Each line was like breathing.

Kelly shuffled into the room in her pyjamas, holding her old armless doll by one leg. Her socks were grey and too big. She didn’t speak, just walked straight to Jamie and sat beside him, pulling the doll onto her lap. Jamie gave her a nod. That was enough between these two. Words were rationed in this house. Too many of them could get you in trouble.

Mum was still passed out on the sofa. Same position as last night, her legs dangling over the edge, one arm across her face, hair knotted around the cushion. A half-empty bottle of cheap red wine sat on the floor beside her, with an ashtray was balanced dangerously on the arm of the stained chair.

Kelly whispered, “Is she dead?”

Jamie shook his head. “Just sleeping"

"Jamie, she’s been sleeping for ages.”

With a hint of authority, Jamie sharply replied, “I know.” This was a scene witnessed many times and one that Kelly should know by now.

Kelly leaned against his side, warm and small, ignoring his tone and accepting his word. Her hand found his and squeezed it tightly. Jamie squeezed back, never letting his eyes leave the cardboard monster.

Their corner of the council estate was waking up slowly outside. Through the window, they could hear the rubbish lorry groaning along the kerb and the dull thud of the bins hitting the ground getting louder and louder as it crept towards them. Somewhere in the distance, a kid was crying. An engine revved hard, a stray dog barking as the car backfired. This was the same sounds that had filled their ears regularly in the mornings and strangely gave them some sense of comfort and normality.

The bedroom door creaked upstairs. Jamie froze. Kelly felt it too and tensed beside him. There were rules in this home. Not the kind anyone wrote down. Just the kind you had to learn the hard way, over time.

• Rule one: Don’t speak unless spoken to.
• Rule two: Don’t cry where he can see you.
• Rule three: If Mum’s not right, leave her be.
• Rule four: If the door creaks slowly, hide.

Jamie turned his ear towards the stairwell. No footsteps yet. The monster upstairs stirred sometimes without getting up. Sometimes he shouted down the stairs for no reason. Other times, he came down in his underpants, scratching his belly, snarling at whoever was closest. You couldn’t predict it.

Jamie reached for Kelly’s doll and handed it to her, careful not to make a sound. A floorboard creaked. He felt the dread in his stomach rise like cold water. There was no rush, he didn’t stand, didn’t run. He knew how to disappear without moving. You became part of the carpet. You pulled your energy inward like a sponge.

“JAMIE!” The voice crashed down from above.

Both kids jumped. Jamie stood slowly. “I’ll go,” he whispered to Kelly. She nodded, folding into the corner behind the coffee table, curling her body small. She was good at hiding. She’d learnt from the best.

Jamie stepped into the hallway. The stairs loomed in front of him, steep and stained with years of foot traffic and cigarette ash. His dad stood at the top, red-eyed and shirtless, scratching his chest.

“You seen your fuckin’ school bag, boy?” he barked. Jamie blinked. “It’s in the kitchen, Dad.”

“You left it on the fuckin’ counter again, didn’t you? Next to my tools? That’s how things get broken, boy. Use your fuckin’ brain, how many times you got to be told.” The only response here was “Sorry, Dad.” Anything more, and the terror would begin

His dad glared down at him for a second too long. The kind of stare that made Jamie want the floor to swallow him up. Then he turned away, slamming his bedroom door behind him.

Was this strike one in Dad's memory for today? ... Jamie heard the door lock slide and knew he was in the clear... for now.

Quietly and swiftly, Jamie went to the kitchen and moved the school bag to the chair by the door. It was old, stained and missing a zip, but it was the only one he had. Inside were his books, all bent and torn, some still sticky from a leaking yoghurt. He glanced at the calendar pinned to the fridge. It had puppies on it. The kind of thing Mum used to love when she was still his Mum.

It was Wednesday. Today was fish fingers for dinner, if there were any in the freezer. Jamie returned to the living room. Kelly was already back by the radiator, picking bits of fluff off the carpet.

Mum stirred on the sofa, muttered something, then fell silent again. “You okay?” Jamie whispered to her. He knew there would be no reply, but he couldn't help but try.

He crouched beside her. Her eyelids twitched, her mouth slightly open. She was alive, she was somewhere inside herself. A place Jamie couldn’t follow. His words fell on deaf ears and a numbness inside her. He stood up and pulled the blanket higher over her body. This made him feel like he was helping, but really, he knew it made no difference.

Kelly looked at Jamie and said. “Can we go outside later?” He knew the answer was probably no, but he hated to let her down. “Maybe.” His eyes grabbed hold of a glimmer of hope, “For chips?” Jamie was losing this one, but he knew what to say. “We’ll see if Dean’s home.” That brought a smile.

Dean was different. He came and went like a ghost, sometimes staying over at mates’ houses or disappearing for days. He was fourteen, tall, already smoking, and skipping school. But when he was around, he looked after them. He taught Jamie how to light a fag, how to tell a lie properly, how to tell when Dad was about to lose it. Last week, Dean took them to the park with the broken swing. He bought hot chips, and they sat on the bench sharing them like royalty. Jamie hadn’t stopped thinking about that day. It was one of the only ones that didn’t end with someone bleeding or crying.

He went back to his drawing. The monster was almost done now. Its fist took up half the cardboard. He gave it thick black fingernails, the kind you couldn’t wash clean. He wanted to give it a name, but nothing seemed right.

“Jamie,” Kelly whispered. “Do monsters die?” Jamie paused. “I don’t know.” She looked at the crayon in his hand. “Can you draw it dying?” He stared at the red crayon. At the cardboard. At the monster. “No,” he said. “Not today.”

Chapter Two – The Quiet Ones Hide First

There was something about the way the front door slammed that told Jamie to move quickly. Not the usual slam or the drunk, stumbling that lazy and careless movement. This is that different slam. This was war.

Jamie’s hand gripped around Kelly’s wrist before she even had time to ask what was wrong. She didn’t resist. She didn’t cry. She knew the sound all too well. Both knew what it meant. There were no words. They just moved.

Quickly, down the hall, around the corner and into the bedroom. With military timing, Jamie shoved aside the pile of laundry and lifted the bed’s wooden frame, propping it just enough for them to slide under. Kelly crawled in first, dragging her armless doll like a prisoner. Jamie followed, flattening himself on the dusty floorboards just as the voices erupted from the kitchen.

“I told you, Mike, I’ve got nothing left! I’ve stretched every penny!”

“You lying cow, there was sixty quid in that jar last week!”

“And I bought food, nappies, fags, what the fuck do you think it went on? Do i look like i spent the weekend at a spa?”

“You think I’m stupid? You think I don’t know when you’re selling your dirty knickers behind my back?!”

A plate shattered.

Jamie winced. Kelly squeezed closer, her breath short and fast. She gripped her doll tightly, cramming it into her chest like it could shield her from the chaos.

Another crash. Then screaming. Now came the silence. Boom again, the surge of violence exploded, another bang, a huge crash, a cupboard? Or someone was thrown into it. A vivid image formed in Jamie's mind. He tried to picture the sound with the layout of the kitchen. His brain used past experiences to try and make sense of who was going to get hurt, what with and how. He closed his eyes. Counted backwards and tried not to think about the shape of Mum’s face last time she got caught out. That purple, green bulge under her eye. Her split lip from when she walked into a door. How he hated those rehearsed lies and the stages leading up to them.

Kelly’s little voice trembled beside him. “Tell me a story.” Breaking his concentration, he quietly snapped back, “What?”. “A story,” she whispered. “Please, J”

Jamie stared at her. He could see her wide eyes and blood-drained, pale face. He could feel her heart pounding out of her chest as she pressed against him. She was pleading for something, anything to take the horror away. He swallowed his tears then whispered, “Okay… okay, yeah. Um… Once, in a faraway place… There was a girl called Kelly.” Kelly blinked, her whole body put back in check. “That’s me.”

“Shh… she was brave. The bravest girl in the land. She had a magic doll called Armless, who could fly super fast.” Trembling Kelly asked, “Even with no arms?”

“Especially with no arms. She flew with her heart.”

The sounds from the kitchen faded into the background. Just noise now. Just wind in a nightmare. Jamie went on. “One day, Kelly and Armless went to rescue a prince trapped in a horrible tower.” They snuck in at night, through shadows, past a monster with huge fist hands.”

“Like Dad?”

Jamie paused. Then nodded slowly and very carefully, almost as if he was being watched or his Dad would know. “Yeah… but worse.” He continued, weaving a tale as best he could in the dark. It didn’t matter if it made sense. It didn’t matter if it ended. It was a magic spell, and she needed it. Eventually, her breathing slowed, she calmed down and relaxed into the story. The madness around them had exhausted them. Kelly started to drift off.

Jamie didn’t sleep. He stared at the underside of the mattress above him, tracing the dust lines on the floor with his fingers. Listening. Always listening. The end came eventually, but not the good kind. The kind that meant someone had gone to bed angry, or passed out, or left the flat entirely. The kind that settled on your chest like wet clothes.

Hours passed. It was late when the bedroom door creaked open. Jamie tensed. A flashlight flicked on. “It’s me,” Dean whispered. Jamie exhaled. Kelly stirred beside him. Dean lifted the edge of the bed. His face appeared, sharp features under the dim beam. “Come out.” They crawled out slowly. Jamie blinked in the half-dark.

Dean was in his grey jumper and school trousers, both streaked with dirt. He had a plastic bag in one hand. It smelled like fried heaven. “I nicked some chips,” Dean said, tossing the bag onto the mattress.

Kelly jumped up and sat on the edge of the bed, doll on her lap, already reaching for a chip. Jamie followed, his stomach growling at the first warm bite. Grease, salt, vinegar. Bliss. All three stabbing away at the steaming pile with the free wooden forks, Dean also supplied.

They didn’t talk. There wasn't enough time for talking. All three knew this was time to get some food and recover from the fear inside them. Dean didn’t ask what had happened. Jamie didn’t ask where he’d been. That was the deal. No one said anything they didn’t have to. The steam from the chips curled from the bag. The room smelled less like dust now. More like something real. Something normal. especially now that Dean was here.

With a belly full, Dean asked, “You two alright?” Jamie shrugged. He wasn't quite finished, he was snatching at those crispy bits on the paper. Dean reached in and gathered the rest of the chips. As he handed them to Jamie, he told him, "You did well getting her under the bed" That was Jamie's real reward. Dean's approval. "I just told her a story" He was trying to be tough. Dean knew, he saw through it, "Good job mate", he said while smiling.

Kelly was out of it, she was in Salt and Vinegar chip heaven, her cheeks were packed full of potato. She was even listening to them. Her eyes were fixed on the paper, and Dean's hands as he took the remaining portions. He reached over, ruffled her hair affectionately called her a little hamster.

“She’s the toughest one out of all of us, J, you know that right?” Jamie nodded. “Yeah.” Dean sat back against the wardrobe, stretching his legs. “Dad’s gone out,” he said. “He kicked the kitchen bin over and stormed out. I think he’s gone to Mick’s or maybe down the pub. Mum’s crying on the stairs.”

Jamie didn’t say anything, he knew Dean had figured it all out. Dean continued, his voice flat. “He’s getting worse, you’ve got to be ready, Jamie.”

Staring into Dean's soul, Jamie asked, “For what?”

Dean stared at him. “Just… don’t be caught off guard. Keep your shoes by the bed. Know where your coat is. Hide the fags, the notes, anything he’ll kick off about. You can’t fix him. You’ve just got to stay ready.”

Jamie didn’t nod. He didn’t want to believe it. But he’d seen enough to know Dean wasn’t lying. The chip paper was all that was left now. Kelly had curled up on the mattress with her doll. Her belly was full. Her eyes now closed, she was ready to go back to sleep and dream about the story Jamie told her..

Jamie sat cross-legged beside her, his sketchbook open again. He’d found a pencil earlier in the cupboard and held it now like it was something holy. He began to draw. Back to the monster, but this time, smaller. The fists weren’t as big. The eyes were unsure. Jamie added a girl with a doll flying above it, casting a shadow like a wing.

Dean glanced over. “Is that her?” nodding over to Kelly's doll. “Yeah.” Jamie laughed.

“She looks cool.” Dean always encouraged Jamie about his art, he knew this was the escape he needed. “She’s a superhero.” Dean nodded, then got to his feet. “Alright, J, I’m off. Lock the door behind me, ok?”

“Where are you going?” The fear just touched Jamie's stomach for a second. “Just out, mate.” Jamie looked at him. “You’ll come back? Dean paused. “Yeah. Of course I will.”

And with that, and as fast as he had appeared, he was gone.

Jamie locked the bedroom door. He sat down. He watched Kelly breathe.

Outside, a siren wailed somewhere in the distance. The dog barked. A council estate went to sleep. Jamie leaned against the cold wall, sketchbook balanced on his knees, pencil gripped tightly. He’d tell Kelly the rest of the story tomorrow. He had it all planned now, how the prince got free, how the monster shrank, how the brave little girl flew them all away.

Chapter Three – The Wrong Kind of Dirty

A new morning, the air was thick with the stench of damp and decay, a familiar scent that forever stuck to the concrete on the estate.

Jamie pulls his jumper over his head, the fabric stiff and unyielding from the previous day’s grime. It smelled of sweat, smoke, and something sour he couldn’t place. He gave it a quick sniff, grimaced, and pulled it on anyway. There was no time for washing, and even if there was, the machine had been broken for weeks. He had little choice but to accept that what he had was it, and he had to get on with it.

At school, Jamie kept his head down, eyes fixed on the scuffed toes of his shoes. The whispers started as soon as he entered the classroom.

“Look, here's stink boy,” someone muttered. “Bet he hasn’t had a bath since Christmas,” another voice chimed in. The usual nasty comments he had become accustomed to. Jamie felt his cheeks flush, but he said nothing. He slid into his seat, trying to make himself as small as possible. The teacher droned on at the front of the class, but Jamie couldn’t focus. His mind was a whirlwind of shame and anger. His thoughts were overwhelmed by the previous night. Before he almost burst into tears, he thought of Dean and the steaming pile of chips, which helped him overcome his upset, and he felt some slight relief.

At lunch, he sat alone at the end of the table. This was his normal routine, he didn't always mind, as it would give him some time away from the bullying and name-calling he suffered throughout the day. Unwrapping a squashed sandwich from a crumpled piece of cling film. He took a bite. The bread was dry and tasteless. Suddenly, he became aware of a shadow being cast over him. Callum, a boy from the year above, was glaring down at him, grinning “What’s that you’re eating, skid mark?” Callum sneered. Jamie didn’t respond. He focused on his sandwich. Callum reached over and knocked it from Jamie’s hands, sending it tumbling to the floor. Laughter erupted from the surrounding tables. “Oops,” Callum said, feigning innocence.

Jamie stood up, fists clenched at his sides. “Pick it up,” he said, voice low and steady. Callum’s grin widened. “Make me.” Without thinking, Jamie swung his fist and caught Callum square in the nose. There was a sickening crunch, and blood spurted from Callum’s nostrils. He staggered back, eyes wide with shock. The cafeteria fell silent. Teachers rushed in and Jamie was dragged away, his heart pounding, but he didn’t resist. There was no point. He had finally done it, he stood up to the bully, he used all his fear and anger from everything he was going through and delivered a massive blow that shocked everyone.

At home, Jamie stood in the doorway, his father looming over him. The man’s face was a mask of fury, fists clenched. “Got into a fight, did you?” he growled. Jamie just nodded, eyes fixed on the floor, the sting of his knuckles still fresh. “Embarrassing the family, are you?” His voice rose. “Think you’re tough, do you?”

Before Jamie could respond, a blow landed on his cheek, sending him sprawling. Another followed, and another. He curled into a ball, trying to shield himself, but the hits kept coming. Each one was a reminder of his place in the home. A lesson, a punishment for stepping out of line and bringing attention to the family.

When it was over, Jamie lay on the floor, bruised and battered. His father just stormed out, muttering curses under his breath. That night, Jamie lay in bed. Every movement sent waves of pain through his body. He reached for his sketchbook, the one place he could escape.

With a trembling hand, he began to draw. He sketched Callum as a slug, all slimy and grotesque, leaving a trail of filth wherever he went. Next, he drew his father as a snarling dog with teeth bared, eyes wild. In the corner of the page, he drew himself. Small and shadowed. Watching from a distance as the blows rained down on him. As he shaded the final lines, tears blurred his vision. But he kept drawing. Each stroke was a release and a way to process the pain he felt.

In his art, he found a voice. A way to confront the monsters that haunted his world.

Chapter Four – Lisa’s Escape Plan

The first time Jamie knew about anything being different was when Lisa came home with a black bin liner full of clothes. She said she got them from her friend Casey down in Block 9. Jamie knew better. Lisa didn’t take charity unless she had a reason. She moved fast, packing, unpacking, stuffing things into her wardrobe, then taking them back out again. Her jaw was tight, eyes scanning the flat like she was looking for escape hatches.

Mum hadn't even noticed that she’d been in the same robe for two days, she just sat there chain-smoking and muttering to herself while Countdown played in the background on the TV. Their dad had gone out on a three-day bender.

When he came back, the air in the flat tightened like a pulled wire. That’s when Lisa started sleeping in her clothes. “You cold?” Jamie had asked one night, watching her curl up on the sofa in her denim jacket. “No,” she replied. “Just ready.” Jamie didn’t ask what she meant. Lisa had that look, the one she got before something big, like when she snuck out to that illegal rave in Catford last year, or when she swore at a teacher and nearly got expelled from school. But this was different.

Lisa wasn’t angry. She was done. It was late when she told him. The lights were off. The flat was silent except for Mum’s snoring and the distant hum of a police siren outside, and always that dam dog. Jamie lay in bed with Kelly, both of them curled under a frayed blanket. The cold bit through the old lead single-pane windows. Jamie had learnt to keep socks on in bed and to fold the quilt double where his knees got coldest. The bedroom door creaked open. Lisa stepped in, soft as a whisper. She knelt beside the mattress. “You awake?” Jamie opened his eyes. “Yeah.” She held her arms out open and gestured for “Come here.”

Like a ninja, Jamie slipped out of the blanket without waking Kelly, he followed Lisa into the hallway. She led him away from all the bedroom doors and into the linen cupboard. They sat down inside. It was their sneaky spot. One of many hiding places. “Promise you won’t say anything?” Lisa asked. Jamie nodded. “I’m leaving, little bro.” He blinked. “What do you mean?” “Just what I said. I’m done with this place. I’ve got a bag packed. Casey’s cousin said I can crash at hers for a bit. She lives just outside town in a normal, proper place. She has offered me the spare room. And most importantly, there ain't any drunk thugs.”

Jamie felt a hollow ache in his chest. “You’re not joking?” She shook her head. “But what about Kelly?” Lisa peered through the cupboard door opening towards the closed bedroom door. Her face twisted. “I can’t take her. I wish I could. But she’s little, and the woman I'll be staying with, well, she won’t take both of us.” Jamie couldn't hold in his fear, almost shouting, he cried out, “TAKE ME THEN"

Lisa quickly covered his mouth with his hand. "Jamie, what the hell, mate, do you want to get me done in? Im sorry i can't take either of you with me."

"Lisa you have to, you can't leave us here, PLEASE. Jamie was losing it, he could feel his tummy turning and knotting up. He was losing all his safety nets and protection. Lisa just sat there looking at him. They both seem to know the answers and were communicating with body language. Jamie turned away, looking towards the wall.

After a brief silence, Jamie spoke first, “You know what he’s like.” “I know,” Lisa said, barely audible. “But if I don’t go now, I’ll never get out, Ive been trying to plan this for weeks J."

Jamie wanted to scream, he rested his for head on the cold wall, he wanted to smash his head against it so hard that he never woke again. that way he wouldnt have to deal with any of thsi crap every again. But all he could do was breathe in the smell of the mouldy paper in the dark corner.

“Lil bro, one more secret to keep, can you do that?” Lisa asked. “Yeah.” Seeking reassurance, she said, “You promise, this is not a joke?” Jamie nodded. She reached into her jacket pocket and pulled out a silver necklace. It had a small, scratched heart pendant, the one Mum used to wear when she was still kind and gentle, when she still kissed bruises and sang while washing up. Lisa pressed it into Jamie’s hand. “Keep this. When you think of me and wonder if i still care about you, both think of this moment and remember I'll always love you.”

Jamie stared at it. The metal was cold against his skin, it had lost its sparkle until Lisa gave it to him now with her words ringing in his ear, and the tears trying to break through the silver started to shine bright again. "Are you going right now? he asked. Lisa stood. “I’m going tomorrow night. After he passes out, i will come back and see you if i can, ok. She grabbed Jamie's hand, closing it around the necklace. "Now you be brave, ok?" As she turned, Jamie noticed a single tear run down he pale cheek. She wiped it away like a germ, knowing tears are a weakness in this home, she left the cupboard quietly, and everything was silent again.

The next day was tense. Jamie watched Lisa all morning, like a hawk. She was quiet but sharp-eyed, moving from room to room like she was checking inventory. Her black hoodie stayed zipped to her chin. Her hair was tied tight. Even her steps sounded different, less like stomping, more like gliding.

Dad was in one of his moods, hungover, shirtless, shouting at the TV. Mum hadn’t said more than three words all day. Jamie helped Kelly draw in the corner of the room. She sketched flowers with thick, purple crayons.

That night, after everyone went to bed, he lay awake. Lisa’s mattress creaked in the other room. Jamie stared at the ceiling, at the flickering shadows from the streetlamp outside. Sometime after midnight, he heard the faint sound of the front door latch click shut. He sat up sharply, waiting for an eruption, but everything was silent. He crept to the living room. Lisa’s mattress was empty, her coat was gone, and the black sack of clothes was gone too. LISA WAS GONE.

Jamie didn’t cry. Not at first. He got back into bed and stared at the ceiling, he must have fallen asleep because Kelly woke him up as the day was breaking outside asked for cereal. They went to the kitchen and found the Cornflakes, they were stale. They had no fresh milk, so Jamie poured them into an old chipped bowl and told Kelly to pretend it was popcorn. He said she could sit by the TV and pretend she was watching a movie with her Popcorn. She loved his little ideas and the imaginary stories they shared.

He sat her down in front of the telly and went to check the front door. No letters or notes, not even a slight sign Lisa had gone. That night, Dad noticed. He shouted through the flats' Thin walls to Mum, “Oi bitch, Where’s Lisa?” Mum just shrugged her shoulders then with utter bitterness she said, “Probably shagging someone.” He grunted, opened a beer, and that was that. Again, Lisa was gone, but this time it was forever.

Two nights had passed, and it was then that Jamie cried. He sobbed quietly into his pillow. He let everything out, howling into the stained old pillow that had soaked up so many of his tears over the years. Has he finally managed to gain back his control? Everything went back to silence. Then he remembered the necklace.

He retrieved it and sat on the floor, holding the necklace, tightly in his hand, His eyes burned. He wanted to hate her, he felt like he should hate her for leaving them behind. But he couldn’t, deep down he knew she was right. Because she’d survived. That was when he hoped that maybe one day, he would too.

Chapter Five – The Christmas Window

Christmas morning and with the hopes of snow gone all that was left was the sent of beer soaked carpet, damp socks and stale cigerettes.

The flat was silent except for the tick of the gas meter and the occasional wheeze of wind slipping through the cracked kitchen window. There was no tree here. No tinsel, no lights. Festive Spirit was dead in this house. The kind lady in the corner shop had given Mum a potted Poinsettia plant, and even that was now half dead. Jamie stared at it and couldn't help think that even a pot plant was ashamed to be in this Flat. It kind of made him giggle inside just how shit everything was you just couldn't make it up.

Jamie returned to his Christmas breakfast, a nice bowl of dry cornflakes. The fridge buzzed, it was like it was trying to call out for some food to be put inside. Jamie just nodded at it as much to say, Don't you start, fridge. Kelly shuffled in, rubbing her eyes, wearing those same pyjamas, the only ones she had. Only now, one of the legs was torn, the cotton thinning at the knees. Her armless doll dangled from her hand, head bouncing with each step. “Is it Christmas?” she asked, voice soft, expectant. Jamie hesitated. “Yeah.” Kelly looked around with hope.“Where’s the presents?” He pointed to the corner of the room. Two small wrapped parcels sat under the radiator. One was a colouring book Jamie had nicked from the local supermarket. The other was a half-used Barbie set Dean found in a rubbish skip and cleaned up with bleach.

Kelly stared at them. “You think I'll be allowed to open them ?" “Not yet,” Jamie said. “You'd best wait for Mum.” Kelly nodded and sat beside him. He poured the last of the Cornflakes into his bowl and slid it towards her.

He put his arm around her to keep her warm and she sat there eating in silence. It was nearly midday before Mum appeared. She drifted in from the hallway like a ghost, her hair matted, mascara smudged, dressing gown hanging off one shoulder. She looked like she hadn’t slept in days. In her hand was a glass of red wine that sloshed with every step. Jamie knew from the colour and the bottle under the sofa that it was the kind that came in a plastic bottle, cheap, warm, and strong enough to make you forget what day it was, every day of the week, let alone Christmas.

“Merry fuckin’ Christmas,” she muttered. Jamie looked up. “Mum, you want some tea?” She didn’t answer. She dropped onto the couch with a groan and sipped the wine. Kelly walked over, hopeful. “Can we open the presents now, Mum?” She leaned in for a cuddle or some comfort. Mum stared at her like she didn’t recognise her. Then she smiled, not a real smile, just the broken stretch of a mouth trying to remember what kindness looked like. “Yeah, go on then.” She reached out, guiding Kelly away and towards the presents. Jamie couldn't help but think how she reminded him of Miss Hannigan from the film Annie.

Kelly tore into that wrapping paper like her life depended on it. She squealed at the sight of the colouring book and without a moment's hesitation, she rushed to the table, sat down with an old crayon in each hand and started to create her master piece. Mum watched for a moment, leaned back in the chair and closed her eyes. Jamie just sat there quietly, watching them both. All he could think of was, someone better clear up that wrapping paper, or we are all in for a hiding.

Dean wasn’t home. Hadn’t been all week. Jamie didn’t know where he was. Maybe with his mates. Maybe in trouble. Maybe he’d just had enough, after all, who could blame him? Around 2 p.m., the heating went off. The meter had run out of credit. The emergency credit on the meter had already been used, and after that point, everyone knew they were on borrowed time before it went off. "The electric company don't care about Christmas", Mum said.

After a while, Kelly started to moan about being cold. Jamie didn't want her to make Mum angry, so he scooped he up in a blanket and went to put on his coat. Mum barely even noticed. Jamie thought maybe the red wine had some secret warming potion inside. By 3 p.m., she’d finished her wine and was halfway through a second bottle. She muttered to herself, sometimes laughing, whispering things Jamie couldn’t hear. At one point, she stood up and started pacing, shouting out.“They don’t know what it’s like,” she said. “They don’t fucking know,” Jamie said nothing. She continued, “They think I wanted this crap. A council flat, the fags, the shit furniture." She turned sharply and made a beeline for Jamie, shouting, "I had plans, Jamie. You know that son? I had fucking plans, I was supposed to be a nurse. Travel, I was going to Paris. Fucking Paris, YOU HEAR ME CUNT?”

Jamie nodded very slowly and with as much kindness as he could muster, he simply said. “I know, Mum, Sorry Mum” She grabbed his face hands on each cheek he sharp dirty nail tips, peicing his skin and said “Don’t fucking lie to me boy!” What did he say? What was his response now? He knew no matter what he said, he was done for. “No, I'm not Mum, I remember you told me once.” She SCREAMED in his face. “You don’t know shit, you just a stupid kid, sitting there at christmas with nothing, NOTHING you hear.” Again, Jamie nodded, accepting everything she said was better than the alternative.

She stumbled, let go of his face and swayed off into the kitchen looking for something. She opened and slammed all the cupboards. Jamie knew she was looking for her pills. She had done enough for one day, and now she decided it was time to leave the world and drift off again. Jamie followed her carefully and with caution, he knew she would probably hurt herself. “Mum—” She dropped a glass. It shattered. She didn’t flinch. “Fuck this,” she hissed. “Fuck this whole life.” Jamie moved towards her, arms slightly raised like he was approaching a wounded animal. “Mum, it’s okay. Just come sit down, yeah?” “No. No, it’s not okay,” she snapped. Her hands were trembling now. “I gave everything. My body. My fucking soul. And what did I get? Him hitting me? You lot staring at me like I’m the problem? I should’ve fucking left years ago.” Jamie pleaded, “Mum, please.” She was crying now. Big, wet, drunk, furious tears.

Suddenly, she turned and bolted, running, not towards the couch. Not into the kitchen. But towards the window. “NO!” Jamie moved fast, his instinct, fear, everything burning in his chest. She’d managed to unhook the latch. The window cracked open, freezing winter, wind rushing in. She got one leg up onto the ledge, wobbling, arms spread like she could fly. “I can’t fucking do this anymore!” she screamed out, she wanted the world to hear her cries of desperation. Jamie lunged, wrapped his arms around he waist and hung to her with everything he had, he became the dead weight she was trying to shed. She fought him, thrashing, elbowing him in the face, wild with panic, fury and heartbreak.

Kelly had run off into the hallway. She stood there, clutching her doll, eyes wide open, screaming. “MUM!” Jamie yelled, wrestling her to the floor. “STOP IT! STOP!” he had managed to somehow pull her down and stop her. She collapsed, sobbing. Jamie held her tight as he could, he was trembling, his heart was slamming in his chest like a fist on a door. Kelly stopped screaming and backed into the wall, She just slid down to the floor in a heap. Jamie could see legs were shaking. He wanted to go to her, but he couldn't release his grip on Mum. He fixed his eyes on her, they made eye contact, and he mouthed, "Love You, Shhhh" This calmed her enough to be quiet. Jamie rocked his mother in his arms until her sobs became gasps, then hiccups, then silence. He used the last of his strength to get her onto the sofa.

The flat was freezing, the open window had filled the whole place with Icy air, by the time he got over to Kelly, she was breathing out like a chain smoker. He gathered her up, got the blanket, and they went into the kitchen to light the gas oven. He had been caught doing this before and got a beating for it, but what could he do? He had to warm the place up and keep Kelly safe.

The Day was over almost as quickly as it had begun, no Christmas dinner, just some Jacobs Crackers from the cupboard and some margarine from the fridge. Jamie called them appietisers and told Kelly a story about a rich family that lived in a penthouse that ate things like these with expensive butter on them. They ate them pretending to be at the Rich peoples party.

Then he drew his Mum, not how she looked tonight, but how she looked in an old photo he’d once seen. Young, smiling, hair curled, holding Lisa as a baby. Then he drew himself. Tiny, sitting on the floor. Watching it all happen around him. His hand ached, but he didn’t stop. The last thing he drew was the monster again, only this time, the monster was crying too.

Chapter Six – The Noise Upstairs

The noise started around midnight. At first, Jamie thought it was just the wind again, rattling the loose guttering or making a loose bit of roof felt dance again. Dean had become so angry with it once he tried to climb on the roof to fix it, after he failed, he described it as dancing felt. But this wasn’t wind.

This was shouting. It was from the flat above. Heavy footsteps, Slamming Doors, banging and crashing. Now, sinister laughter, sharp and nasty. Jamie sat up in bed as Kelly stirred beside him, groaning, She asked. “Is it morning?” “No,” he whispered. “Go back to sleep.” She rolled over, hugging her doll. They were used to this sort of disturbance by now.

Jamie crept out of the room and stood in the hallway. The old plastered ceiling above him shook with the sound of someone stomping about, back and forth. Male voices. Then a woman’s voice, shouting something he couldn’t make out. He jumped, and someone screamed out. It made his neck hairs stand up. Jamie held his breath, waiting he was frozen on the spot. HE wanted to run back to his room, but many times before he was building a picture in his mind, finding the orientation of the flat above, working out the layout of the rooms and what the noises meant. Then came the loud thud.

His brain was racing now, images filing in and out. It wasn’t furniture, not dropped keys. It didn't sound like a cupboard door, it wasn't even coming from the location of the kitchen area. Suddenly, his mind's eye flashed. An image he had tried to forget flooded in. It was the sound his Mum's body made being slammed into the wall or thrown to the floor. Now he knew someone was getting hurt. He could help but think that at least it wasn't him or his Mum this time.

The new family upstairs had only moved in three weeks ago. They were loud from the start, doors slamming, arguments echoing, a dog barking at all hours. But this was different, everything had shifted up a gear. This was something else entirely.

The council Masonettes were like tiny houses stacked on top of each other. Mum spent a lot of time in the livingroom or Kitchen which was downstairs she never really seemed to make any comment about the flat above. Jamie and Kelly soent a lot of time in the upstairs bedrooms and had quickly become used to the noises of people living above them.

Mum was on the sofa again, passed out with a fag burned into the carpet by her foot. Jamie went to see if the noise had disturbed her and to do his normal check to see if she was still breathing. He had developed a squeeze test to apply just enough pressure to get a reaction, but not to wake her and feel her anger. Now the bit he hated the smoking, fag ends and ash everywhere. He flicked the end of the butt in to the over filled ashtray then took it to the kitchen.

The shouting upstairs didn’t stop. Now Jamie could hear a small child crying. He wondered how old they were, he tried to make out if it was a girl's cry, the same as Kelly's. He made his way over to the window. Looking out, he could see lights from the flat above. Now he knew from the noise and the lights that they were definitely in the living room above. he could see the light flickering as people were moving about, and with each foot thud, he was placing their movements more in his mind. He had worked out that there was a man who seemed to be doing most of the moving about. Then he would hear rapid, tiny tapping thuds of a child's feet running across the room, followed by heavy thuds, the man. Suddenly, his focus was lost his ear rang from the sound of something smashing. He flinched, then waited.

He knew he was at risk here, standing in the living room with all the noise above so loud it was penetrating through to his living room, he remembered Kelly was alone, she must be hearing this. He knew should go back to bed. He said to himself over and over, trying to motivate his feet to move. It's not my problem, it's not my problem. But something pulled at him. some sense of duty, stay, listen and bear witness to all the horror life can throw at you.

Again, THUD, Now it was more rapid and less of an impact each time, He could hear a man shouting something like "You will learn Bitch". His feet moved, a surge of energy rushed through him, swiftly and quietly, he went to the kitchen and followed the thudding above. As he stood there, he lost the general image of what was happening and where from above. His brain kept showing him images of his mum on the floor with his Dad over her, fists the size of hammers, pounding down blows on her in a drunk rage.

Jamie felt like he was being controlled by someone else, he opened the kitchen drawer, pulled out the phone, and held it in his hand. His finger hovered over the buttons, his hand was shaking.

He pressed... 9...

WAIT, He could hear a voice in his head screaming at him, WAIT. He paused. They had all been told, NEVER call the police, even if your life depends on it, even then, think twice. He thought about Kelly, her screams, her pain. He saw Dean, his hero, who couldn't take anymore. Now Lisa and the pendant, the was she looked at him and left. Now the voice was his Dad's, "Snitches get stitches". All this pain inside his flat. He just couldn't bare thinking about someone else having to deal with it too. This was his quiet time, his time to recover, and now he has to have this added pressure from someone else. NO, it can't be this way

In a rush he reset the phone and hit the buttons 9... 9... 9. He jumped, the voice on the other end was calm. Too calm. She said “Emergency, Which service do you require?”

Jamie's word flooded the room. "There is a man and a child, then there was a thud and banging the man is shouting".... It was all mixed up what was he doing. His head voice shouted. HANG UP.

"Listen darling, this is the operator, take a breath and tell me, do you need police, Ambulance or fire brigade?" Jamie thought she was an angel sent to help him, she was so kind. He took a big deep breath, swallowed he straightened up and said. "I need the Police." The line clicked, the kind woman spoke like she was answering a riddle, and the voice changed to a man. His voice was deep, and he spoke with authority. "Police, what's the emergency caller" “Police,” Jamie said quietly. “There’s something bad happening in the flat above us." He explained everything he had heard and seen. The Police started asking about his mum and dad. Now he was scared. What had he done? What if Dad found out? He slammed the phone down, shut the drawer and ran as fast as he could to his bedroom.

The sirens came ten minutes later. Jamie squeezed his eyes shut so tightly, he prayed that the police wouldn't knock on his door. What had he done? How could he be so stupid? He knew the rules. His ears stayed sharp, tuned to the sound of boots on stairs and the creak of the upstairs door swinging open. He heard the radios cracking and men shouting, but now it was commands. Now the police were taking charge. Things fell quiet and now came crying. A woman crying. For a second, he opened his eyes and thought it was his Mum crying. He turned his head and focused. It was the woman and a child crying upstairs. He heard the protests from a defeated man as the police led him away down the stairs outside. Jamie thought how different their boots sound thudding away on the floors than the chaos he always hears. This was relieving as it now brought back calm and peacefulness. No one came to Jamie's door, no questions or knocking. He had done it, he had helped defeat a monster and got away with it.

The next morning, Jamie woke to see Kelly drawing at the table with a crayon she'd found under the fridge. Mum was gone, probably at the off-licence, or chasing round after someone to get more booze or fags. Today he felt quite good, a small window had been left open and a fresh breeze had filled the flat, no musky smells this morning. He poured two bowls of cereal and handed one to Kelly. “Did you hear all that noise last night? I thought the Army was coming, was it the policemen?” she asked.

Jamie nodded. he must of looked like he had no idea about anything. “Well what happened, Jamie?” He raised his eyebrows, “Dunno.” He wanted to let it all out the police the call everything. He loved Kelly but she wasn't strong enough to resist an interigation and grass him up. She carried on colouring her picture. “You think they were hurting each other?”... “Yeah.”

Kelly's volume dropped. “Like Dad does?” Jamie didn’t reply. She pressed again, “Did someone die?” “I hope not,” Jamie said. “But they could of if the Police didn't come.” They sat in silence for a while. Jamie felt a little bit like a superhero inside. he did a good thing. This deserves a sketch. He went for his pad and this time, instead of a monster this time he drew a flat with paper-thin ceiling and walls, a boy was sitting underneath it with a phone in his hand. He drew a woman and a girl upstairs, hiding in a wardrobe, while the walls shook around her. A man was surrounded by police with truncheons. The man was crying as he was led to a van with bars on the back window.

Chapter Seven – The Weekend Plan

It was a Friday, Dean had come back. He slipped into the flat just after dark, hoodie up, trainers muddy, stinking of smoke and fried food. Jamie heard the front door click shut, followed by the rustle of a carrier bag and the thump of Dean’s schoolbag landing in the hallway. “Are you alive?” Dean called. Jamie leaned out of the bedroom. “Just about.” Dean grinned. “Good. I brought dinner.” He tossed a paper-wrapped bundle onto the kitchen table, chips, hot and soaked with vinegar, the smell alone enough to lift the flat’s mood.

Jamie and Kelly were on to the soaked paper in seconds. Mum didn’t even stir. She was curled on the sofa in her usual position, one arm draped across her face, a bottle of something clutched loosely in her hand. Her snores echoed like waves against the wall. They didn't care, this was their time with Dean and the chip supper. Dean didn’t bother waking her.

“Sit,” he said. “We’ve got plans.” They ate straight from the paper, fingers burning, mouths full. Dean leaned in. “Tomorrow we’re going out. You, me, Kelly. Whole day.” Jamie raised an eyebrow, although he was excited inside, he had heard it all before and had learned not to get his hopes up. “Where, Dean?”, “It's a surprise, mate, don't you want a surprise little bro?” Dean just told them to trust him and to wait and see, he tol them they needed a break, they were pale and the live was being sucked out of them.

Kelly beamed, mouth full of chips. “Can we go to the park?” Dean just winked. “Better than that, you'll see.” Jamie narrowed his eyes. “What about money?” Dean shrugged. “Don’t worry. I’ve sorted it.” Jamie didn’t push. If Dean said he’d sorted it, then it meant something had been nicked, traded, or borrowed from a mate who probably owed him a favour. As long as they got out of the flat, Jamie didn’t care.

They left just after ten the next morning. Dean borrowed a tenner off a guy at the bus stop, “temporary loan,” he said with a grin, and they jumped the number 12 bus to Elephant and Castle. Kelly sat at the window, nose pressed to the glass, pointing at every dog she saw. Jamie sat beside her, coat zipped to the chin, sketchbook tucked under his arm, this adventure would need to be documented for sure, he thought.

Dean leaned against the rail by the stairs, earphones in, head nodding to something fast and angry. The city opened up around them, graffiti on the walls, buses packed with people, flashing lights and shops filled with goodies they couldn't afford. For a little while, it felt like a different world had been built around them as they survived in their flat. They got off two stops early. “Where are we going?” Jamie asked again. Dean grinned. “You’ll see.”

As they turned a corner Dean stopped, Jamie and Kelly looked up at him, worried. He looked down at them, then ahead and nodded. A they looked in the direction they came face to face with it.

A cinema.

A proper one. Not the grotty one near the estate that smelt like piss and had sticky floors. This one had posters lined up outside, big glass doors, neon lights, everything. Kelly gasped. Jamie’s jaw dropped. “NO WAY, You serious?” “Mate,” Dean said, pulling three crumpled tickets from his pocket, “I’ve been saving these for weeks. A girl at school’s brother works here. Let us in for cheap.” Jamie couldn’t believe it, this was the best surprise Dean had ever come up with. This would smash the day at the park.

Popcorn, salted, in a paper bucket, Dean somehow got for free and then the three of them sat in the dark together, faces glowing in the flickering light, eyes wide, mouths quiet. The excitement must have been streaming out of them for all to see.

It was a kid’s film, animated, loud, silly, but Jamie didn’t care. He hadn’t sat in a proper seat like this in years. Hadn’t felt warm and safe in the dark, knowing no one could shout at him, hit him, or scream in his face. For ninety minutes, they weren’t estate kids. They weren’t poor. They weren’t anyone’s problem. They were just there, laughing, eating and watching. Normal kids.

Afterwards, they walked along the high street with slushies in hand. Dean got a 99 ice cream for Kelly. He managed to persuade the guy to accept a drawing from Kelly of his ice cream truck and him smiling out the window as payment. He could work anything out, he had a way about him that saw a problem differently and solved it for everyone's benefit. Jamie watched them, heart full and aching. Dean nudged him. “Told you. You needed this.” “Yeah,” Jamie said, voice quiet. “Thanks, Dean.”

They caught the late bus back. Kelly fell asleep on Dean’s shoulder. Jamie sketched quietly on his lap, drawing the cinema, the lights, and Kelly’s smile. When they got home, the flat was dark. No lights, no sound. Dean opened the door slowly. Mum wasn’t there. Jamie checked every room. Her coat was gone. Her bag. The wine bottle smashed on the kitchen floor. On the counter sat a note. Just a scrap of paper, torn from a takeaway menu. Gone to my friends, don’t wait up. Dean sighed. “Classic, well done, Mum.”

Jamie folded the paper and shoved it in the bin. Kelly climbed onto the sofa and curled into a ball, doll tucked in tight. Dean pulled his hoodie off and chucked it in the laundry pile. “I’ll do dinner,” he said. “Got some beans. Toast if we’ve got bread.”

Jamie stared at the sketch he’d done on the bus, Dean smiling, Kelly mid-laugh, sun behind them. He pinned it to the wall. He tilted it, 'The Weekend Plan', by Dean.

Chapter Nine – The Letter from School

The letter arrived in a plain brown envelope, dropped through the letterbox on a Thursday morning. Jamie spotted it first, lying on the mat between a pizza flyer and a final notice from the gas company. It had his name printed on the front in neat, official letters. He didn’t pick it up straight away. Official letters were never good news and mostly ended up in the bin after a row over them. He stood staring at it for a moment, feeling that sinking weight settle in his gut.

Then he heard Mum moving about in the kitchen, and without thinking, he snatched the letter up and shoved it into his schoolbag. Better to open it later. Somewhere safer, somewhere private.

He didn’t last until home. By lunchtime, Jamie was sitting alone on the steps behind the science block, picking at the seal with a cracked thumbnail. Inside was a folded sheet of thick paper, the words printed in black ink were blunt and unforgiving.

Notice of Concern

Pupil: Jamie Carter

Subject: Attendance and Behaviour

It went on about missed days, unfinished homework, lateness and disruptive behaviour. None of it was a surprise. At the bottom was a line that made his chest tighten:

Parent/Guardian requested to attend a meeting.

Jamie stared at it for a long time. He could already picture it. His mum, sitting in the head’s office, reeking of smoke and cheap wine, snapping at the teachers or nodding blankly, not taking any of it in. Or worse, his Dad turning up instead, fists clenched, face red, ready to swing at anyone who dared to call Jamie the failure he had become.

He folded the letter small, small enough to fit inside his sock. He would deal with it later, he always did.

That evening, Dean found him sitting on the edge of the balcony, legs dangling over the side. “Oi,” Dean said, tossing him a Mars bar. “You look like shit.” Jamie caught it one-handed, he scrambled at the wrapping and started to destroy the sweet treat. Dean crouched beside him. "What’s up?"

Jamie hesitated, then pulled the crumpled letter from his sock and handed it over. Dean read it quickly, mouth twitching in annoyance. "Another meeting," Dean muttered. "Brilliant." Fearful, Jamie asked, "What do I do, Dean?" Dean shrugged. "Depends. You want Mum to find out?" Jamie shook his head. "Right. Then we’ll sort it ourselves, i have the perfect plan."

Dean grinned. "You’re gonna write a letter back." Jamie frowned. "What?" "Yeah. Proper posh. Tell them Mum’s working, can’t make it, but you’ll do better, all that crap. They love that. Makes them think they’re making a difference." Jamie wasn’t sure it would work, but Dean looked so certain.

"Come on," Dean said. "I’ll help you. We’ll make it sound dead grown-up." They spent an hour at the kitchen table, hunched over a scrap of lined paper. Dean dictated, Jamie wrote.

Dear Sir/Madam,

I apologise for my recent attendance and behaviour.

My mother is currently working difficult hours and cannot attend a meeting. I understand the importance of my education and will do my best to improve.

Thank you for your support.

Yours sincerely, Jamie Carter.

It looked proper when it was done. Neat and polite. Dean even found an envelope and a spare postage stamp in the back of a drawer. "Post it tomorrow," Dean said. "No one’ll ask again." Jamie tucked the letter into his schoolbag, heart hammering with nerves. "What if they don’t believe it?" Dean smirked. "They will. Teachers want to believe. Makes their lives easier." Jamie smiled, just a little. Maybe it will work. Maybe he could keep everything from falling apart for one more week. Maybe?

Chapter Ten – The Friday Night Game

Friday night meant one thing on the estate, football. Not the fancy kind with boots and kits and painted white lines. This was estate football. Trainers scuffed to death, jumpers thrown down for goalposts, a ball held together with tape and hope.

Dean was already out there when Jamie arrived with Kelly in tow. The old basketball court had become their pitch—a cracked square of tarmac surrounded by battered wire fencing. Half the floodlights were busted, but enough worked to keep the shadows at bay.

Dean spotted them and waved. "Bout time!" Jamie grinned and jogged over, Kelly skipping beside him. Dean tossed him the ball. "You’re in goal first." "Not again," Jamie groaned, but he took his place between two battered bins anyway. The game started fast.

Dean, Pete, Kevin, Big Jon, Little Jon, and two girls from another part of the estate, who could outrun half the lads. No rules except no heads and no biting. Everything else went. Kelly sat on the edge of the court with her doll, clapping every time Jamie made a save, even when he missed by miles.

Jamie loved it. The noise. The chaos. The way everyone forgot for a bit that they lived in crumbling flats with leaking ceilings and broken lifts. Here, it didn’t matter who had free school meals or who had a dad in prison. You could just run. Shout. Breathe and play. The battle grounds of make-shift football pitches, everywhere kids could just be kids again.

Dean was a machine, darting between defenders, laughing, throwing himself into tackles like he had nothing to lose. At one point, he slid across the tarmac, skinning his knees, but he popped up grinning, ball at his feet, arms wide. "You lot are shit!" he yelled, and the others piled on him, laughing and shoving. Jamie watched him, amazed. Dean made it look easy. Surviving was a sport, too, and he was winning.

After two hours, when everyone was limping and covered in dirt, they collapsed at the edge of the court. Someone passed round a bottle of flat fizzy pop. Someone else had snacks. Jamie lay on his back, staring up at the broken sky. He felt… good. Tired in the right way. Happy in the way you only get when no one is shouting, hitting or crying.

Dean dropped down beside him and tossed a crisp onto his chest. "You did alright, keeper." "Cheers." Dean looked at him sideways. "You need to get out more, lil bro." Jamie laughed. "Yeah sure, where to?" Dean shrugged. "Anywhere. Just... out." He didn’t say it, but Jamie knew what he meant. Out of that flat, off that estate and away from the life that was drowning them all. Jamie only wished he thought, Someday.

The group drifted off, one by one. Parents shouted from balconies. Younger kids were dragged home. Dean walked Jamie and Kelly back to their block, boots scuffing the pavement. At the front door, Dean clapped Jamie on the back. "Same time next week, bro?" Jamie nodded. "Yeah, for sure." He wanted to say a lot more to Dean. Thank you, i needed that. You’re the only reason I’m still standing and much more. But Dean already knew.

Dean always knew.

Chapter Eleven – Mum’s Bad Day

It started with a smashed plate. Jamie heard it before he saw it, the crash of ceramic on lino, sharp and angry. Then Mum’s voice, low and muttering, rising in broken waves. He found her in the kitchen, barefoot among the shards, wine glass in hand, wearing a jumper that still had last night’s fag ash down the front.

"Stupid... useless... always fuckin' me over..." She wasn’t talking to him. She wasn’t even talking to herself, not really. She was shouting at ghosts. Old arguments. Old wounds. Jamie backed up a step, He knew the signs. Today wasn’t just a bad day. It was a full spiral.

Kelly was hiding behind the sofa, hugging her doll like it was a life jacket. Jamie crouched beside her. "Stay here, yeah? Stay out of her way." She nodded, wide-eyed. Jamie went back to the kitchen doorway. Mum was kicking through the broken plate now, swearing, wine sloshing over her fingers. "Mum," Jamie said gently. "Why don't you come sit down and rest?"

She turned on him like an animal. "Don’t you fucking tell me what to do!" "No, I’m not," Jamie said quickly. "It's just... you’ll cut your feet on the glass." She sneered. "Worried about me now, are you Cunt? Poor little Jamie thinks he’s my bloody carer now." She screamed at him, "WHO MADE YOU BOSS?" Jamie was thinking fast, his heart was racing. This could go either way for him now. "Sorry Mum, I’m just worried about your feet"

She looked towards him, but she wasn't truly looking at Jamie. With no care or love, she lowered to his level, nose to nose. She stank of anger. Her face changed, her mouth snarled, her eyes were red and her face was boiling "Shut it, cunt, do you hear me!" and with that and like a lighting bolt she threw her wine glass passed Jamies head. The glass smashed against the doorframe a second later, exploding into tiny, glittering pieces.

Jamie didn’t flinch, he was frozen on the spot, waiting for more. He’d learnt not to move. Dean wasn’t home. Out grafting or hiding or both. Jamie never blamed him. Jamie kept his voice low, calm. Like soothing a dog that might bite. "Mum... please. Kelly’s scared." "Good!" she barked. "Maybe she should be. Maybe you both should be!" Jamie stayed still. Waiting. What would it be? Head, Face. A punch, slap or would it be a big one? The Belt, a slipper or worse. 'You wait until i tell your father.'

Eventually, Mum sagged against the counter, crying big, choking sobs. Jamie had to take his chance; he moved very carefully backwards out of arm's reach, brushing the bigger shards of glass away with his feet, clearing a path, out. Safe, he now had to get Mum back to the sofa. He guided her through the minefield of broken glass and let her fall onto the sofa. Pulled a blanket over her. Put the telly on low—something mindless. She didn’t resist. She just curled into herself.

Jamie swept up the broken plate, tossed the pieces into a carrier bag and tied it tight. Kelly ran to him as far away from Mum as she could in the tiny confines of the Flat. They worked quickly to reset their environment back to some form of normality. Both knew this was a close call today. He made Kelly a sandwich. Peanut butter. Cut into triangles like she liked. They sat together on the floor, eating in silence. Jamie had one on Mum.

As the bright day outside turned grey and the slow grey creep of afternoon turned into night. Jamie sighed, then thought that another day they had survived. This one was a close call. He rested his hands in his lap. His trousers were damp. Without realising he had had an accident, he must have pissed himself when she went for him. He'd better get them soaked in the bathroom sink before anyone finds out.

That night, when Kelly was asleep and Mum was snoring into the cushions, Jamie sat at the kitchen table with his sketchbook. He didn’t draw monsters tonight. He drew a house. Not their flat. Not the estate. A little brick house with a garden. A washing line with clean sheets. A kitchen with no shouting. A mum with a smile that wasn’t cracked. He shaded it carefully, gently. Like if he got it right on paper, maybe one day it could be real.

Chapter Twelve – The Fight Behind the Chippy

It started over nothing. A look, a shove, a word tossed out the wrong way.

Jamie was waiting for chips, clutching two battered pound coins in his hand, when Gary, from another block, barged into him, knocking the money to the ground. "Watch it, you little prick," Gary sneered. Jamie bent to pick up the coins. "What was that for, Gary?" Gary just laughed, but it was the wrong kind of laugh. Sharp, mean and with purpose. "Maybe it was an accident." Jamie snapped back, "No, it wasn't" Gary glared over "You calling me a liar?" Jamie shook his head. "Just leave it, mate."

Gary's mates had started to gather round, forming that lazy, circling threat you learned to recognise before you learned your times tables in school. Jamie knew what was coming. He didn’t run. Running made it worse.

Behind the chippy, the bins stank of old grease and piss. Rats skittered in the shadows. Gary shoved Jamie hard in the chest. Jamie stumbled back but stayed on his feet. "Come on then, stink boy," Gary jeered. "Show us how tough you are." Jamie didn’t speak, didn’t lift his fists. He just waited.

Gary swung first, a wild, sloppy punch meant more for showing off than hurting. Jamie ducked, and Mum moved faster than Gary. The second punch clipped his ear, ringing sharply and hot. The third caught his ribs, winding him. Jamie dropped to one knee, gasping. Gary laughed and sought approval from his mates. "Pathetic."

Jamie looked up, vision swimming, heart hammering. He could taste blood, dirt and felt Shame. He thought about Dean, Lisa. Now Kelly, sitting at home with two pieces of stale bread waiting for him to come back with a hot meal. Now this Prick was in his way. Something snapped, just like that day at school. Not rage, not courage. Just tiredness and hurt.

He stood up. Gary swung again. This time, Jamie didn’t avoid it. He dipped and stepped in. the Punch flew over and past his head. With his head low, body tight, he drove his shoulder into Gary's gut with all the force he had.

Gary let out an almighty wheeze sound and instantly doubled over. Jamie, now consumed with rage, grabbed the back of his jacket and shoved him face-first into the old metal bins. The metal clanged. Gary collapsed onto the floor, groaning and crying

Jamie stood over him, chest heaving. The others didn’t step in. Gary was the toughest; if he couldn't have Jamie, then they didn't stand a chance. There was no laughing. They just watched, silent, as Jamie walked away. When he was clear, Jamie looked back. Gary was being recovered by his mates. Jamie saw blood and tears. One of the mates, Baz, was laughing, but now it was at Gary instead. Jamie started to run home.

Back at the flat, Kelly met him at the door. "Your face," she whispered. Jamie wiped his mouth. His hand came away red. "It’s nothing," he said. "Did you get chips?" she asked. She knew the answer.

He cooked her beans on toast with a dodgy tin he found at the back of the cupboard. They ate on the floor, knees knocking, telly humming in the background. When she was asleep, Jamie sat by the window, sketchbook open.

He drew the alley first, bins, rats and broken street lights. Then he drew Gary, crying on the floor, cartoonish, a big yellow star spinning over his head. Now he drew himself towering over Gary, arms crossed, bleeding from the mouth, but still upright. Not a hero. Not a monster, but just a little boy who had finally stood his ground on the cold streets around him.

Chapter Fourteen – The Coldest Morning

The estate looked frozen. The kind of cold that crawled into your bones and stayed there, no matter how many jumpers you wore. Breath turned white in the air. Puddles cracked underfoot. Even the graffiti looked dull, the colours sucked out by frost. Jamie pulled Kelly’s coat tighter around her as they waited by the bus stop. It was too small now, the zip stuck halfway up, but it was better than nothing. His coat had lost half its stuffing and smelled like damp, but he yanked the hood up and kept his hands in his pockets.

Kelly shivered beside him, holding his hand tight. The bus was late. It was always late when you needed it most. Mum hadn’t come home last night. Dad was an ever-lost cause, never seen these days. Jamie knew better than to ask where they were. Mum was probably with Mick or one of the other regulars from the pub. Maybe passed out on someone’s sofa. Maybe lying in a gutter, who cares? All he was worried about right now was how cold his hands and feet were.

He had packed Kelly’s schoolbag himself. Found some stale bread and jam for breakfast. Brushed her hair with his fingers because the brush had gone missing weeks ago. Dean had left a note, scrawled on a bit of cardboard. Back later. Be smart. Jamie tucked it into his pocket like a good luck charm.

The bus finally groaned into view, brakes squealing like wounded animals. Jamie let Kelly climb on first, then followed, nodding at the driver like he had the right to be there. They squeezed into a seat near the back. Kelly pressed her nose against the window, tracing pictures in the condensation. Jamie watched the estate blur past, tower blocks, broken swings, bins overflowing with wrapping paper from a celebration no one could afford.

He thought about Lisa. He wondered if she was warm wherever she was now. If she had clean clothes. If she still remembered them. Kelly looked up at him, eyes wide. "Will Mum be home today?" she asked. Jamie lied without blinking. "Yeah, probably." Kelly smiled and went back to her window drawings.

Jamie looked out at the grey streets. He didn’t believe his own words. Not for a second. Later, at school, Jamie sat in the back of maths class, tapping his pencil against his workbook. The radiator rattled and clanged, but no heat came from it. Miss Power handed out worksheets and smiled like everything was fine. Jamie’s fingers were too stiff to grip the pencil properly. The numbers blurred on the page. The cold wrapped around him, tighter and tighter, until he could barely breathe.

When the bell rang, Jamie moved like a ghost through the corridors. He didn’t go straight to Kelly’s classroom. He went to the caretaker’s cupboard instead, slipping inside while no one was looking. It was warmer there. Not much, but enough. He sat on an upturned bucket, hugging his knees, pretending for a few minutes that he wasn’t just another kid from the flats with holes in his shoes and frostbite in his soul. He stayed there until someone banged on the door, shouting at him to move.

That night, after putting Kelly to bed with extra socks and two jumpers, Jamie sat on the floor with his sketchbook. He drew frost first, sharp, jagged, sneaking over windows and through cracks in the walls. Then he drew himself and Kelly, two little figures wrapped in too-big coats, standing under a sky so white it hurt to look at.

He shaded until his pencil snapped. He didn’t bother sharpening it. Just stared at the page, willing it to melt. Another day survived. He hoped Dean would be back tomorrow and that maybe he had some food with him. Or would Mum turn up with some shopping, anything to warm them up?

Chapter Fifteen – The Last Warning

The letter came on a Monday, stiff and heavy, like bad news wrapped in paper. Jamie found it when he got home from school, tucked under the door where the postman had shoved it through. The envelope was thicker than usual, the council logo printed cold and black at the top.

He didn’t need to open it to know it was trouble. But he did anyway.

Notice of Eviction

Final Warning

Jamie stared at the words until they blurred. The letter went on.

Rent Arrears.

Property Damage.

Complaints from Neighbours.

Failure to Attend Scheduled Meetings.

All of it was written so officially, like his life was just a list of mistakes.

The last line hit the hardest:

You Have 28 Days to Vacate.

Twenty-eight days. He sat at the kitchen table, the letter spread out in front of him, waiting for Mum to come home. Waiting to show her. Waiting for her to do something. To scream, to cry, to fight. Something. ANYTHING!

She eventually stumbled in just after six, already half-drunk, smelling of stale cigarettes and old wine. Jamie stood up. "Mum." She waved him off, kicking her shoes into the corner. "Later," she murmured. "Mum, it’s important though." Jamie had to get her to listen, he had to break through now. She screamed at him "I said later, now fuck off, J!"

He hesitated, then slammed the letter down on the table, the paper loud against the cheap wood. Mum glared at it, then at him. "LOOK" he shouted. Mum seemed to snap out of a trance here head lifted higher "Alright, What’s this all about then?"

"Eviction notice, Mum." as he pointed to the bold letters on the letter. She laughed, a horrible, hollow sound. "Let 'em try." Is that all she had to say? Jamie felt something inside him crack. "It’s not a threat," he said. "It’s happening. We’ve got twenty-eight days, Twenty-Eight Days MUM."

She grabbed the letter, skimmed it, then tossed it aside like it was nothing. "They’re bluffing." She tried to explain to him that this is what the council did and that this was some part of a corrupt establishment that just wanted money from them. "They’re not, Mum this is the same letter my mates mum got and now they live in a hostel out of area. She slumped into the sofa, dragging a blanket over herself. "Not my problem." Jamie stared at her, heart pounding. "It’s our home, it's all we have?" he said.

Mum closed her eyes. "Not for long." And that was that. No plan. No fight. No hope. with a last breath she shouted out. "why don't you ask ya father what he plans to do about it, the wanker" and with that she was asleep in her place away from all the pain.

That night, Dean found Jamie sitting on the balcony, legs swinging over the edge. He lit a cigarette, blew smoke into the frozen air. "Saw the letter," Dean said. Jamie nodded. Dean sat beside him, silent for a bit. "They mean it," he said eventually. "I’ve seen it happen. Family in Block 5. Booted out. No warning. No help." Jamie didn’t speak. He didn’t need to. Dean was right. Dean flicked his cigarette into the darkness and stood up. "Pack your stuff, little man," he said. "Hide anything you care about. Papers. Photos. Your drawings. Anything you can’t replace."

Jamie looked up at him. "Where will we go?" Dean shrugged. "Somewhere. Anywhere." He ruffled Jamie’s hair roughly. "But we’re not gonna be their problem, yeah? We don’t beg. We don’t break. We move." Jamie swallowed hard. "Okay." Dean smiled, sharp and proud. "Good man."

Inside, Jamie packed a bag. A few clothes. His sketchbook. A battered photo of him, Lisa, Dean, and Kelly, taken before everything cracked. A silver necklace he kept wrapped in a sock. One pencil, blunt but still drawing.

He zipped it up and sat on the bed, listening to Kelly breathe in the next room. Twenty-eight days. Maybe less. But he was ready. At least, he told himself he was.

Chapter Sixteen – The Last Friday

Friday came heavy and grey, like even the sky had given up on them. Jamie sat through lessons he couldn’t concentrate on, staring out the window at the cracked playground. It was hard to care about fractions when you were counting down the days until you lost your home. At lunchtime, he sat on the wall near the bins, peeling the crusts off a limp cheese sandwich.

Dean found him there. "Here," Dean said, tossing him a battered envelope. Jamie caught it. "What’s this?" Dean smirked. "Bit of hope." Jamie opened it carefully. Inside were three tenners, folded tight. "Where’d you get this?" Dean shrugged. "Deals. Favours. Little bit of luck, you know J, that's how i roll mate."

Jamie stared at the money. It was more than he’d seen in months. "For when it happens," Dean said. "You’ll need it." Jamie tucked the envelope into his inside pocket like it was made of gold. After school, Jamie picked up Kelly from the infants' playground. She was waiting by the gate, socks slung around her ankles, lunchbox swinging in her hand. "Did you know it’s pizza night?" she asked, eyes bright. Jamie smiled weakly. "Is it?" "Mrs Hargreaves said. Friday’s pizza night. So it’s good luck."

Jamie didn’t have the heart to tell her there wasn’t any pizza money. There wasn’t any pizza luck either. He just held her hand and walked her home. Mum wasn’t there. The flat was dark and cold. The heating was off again, the meter drained of all credit. Jamie scrounged through the kitchen cupboards, found half a packet of pasta and a jar of sauce with the lid stuck tight. He whacked it against the sink until it popped open.

They ate quietly by the little two-bar heater Dean had wired up with a bent coat hanger. Afterwards, Jamie let Kelly watch cartoons until her eyes closed. He carried her to bed, tucking her in with an old jumper over the blanket for extra warmth. Jamie sat on the floor by the window, staring out at the estate. People rushed past, collars up against the cold, voices tight and hurried.

No one noticed the boy in the dark flat with the packed bag by the door. No one ever did. He opened his sketchbook. Drew the estate first, big and crumbling, the windows like hollow eyes. Then he drew a boy and a girl on the pavement outside, each with a bag in hand. Walking away. Not looking back. He didn't think of his Mum, he hadn't thought about his Dad in a very long time. He didn't have the capacity in his mind to fill it with thoughts on how others were going to survive. He only had time to think about him and Kelly now.

Chapter Seventeen – The Long Walk

It happened faster than Jamie had expected. One morning, he woke up to banging on the front door. Sharp, angry and Official. Kelly sat bolt upright in bed, clutching her doll. "Mum?" she whispered. Jamie shook his head. "Stay here." He rushed into the hallway in bare feet. Through the letterbox, a voice barked, "This is the council. You have one hour to vacate the property." Jamie’s stomach dropped. Not next week, not tomorrow. NOW!

He moved fast. First, he grabbed his bag, already packed. Then Kelly’s little rucksack, stuffed with crayons and a few bits of clothing. He found Mum passed out in the bathroom, clutching an empty bottle, snoring softly. He tried shaking her awake, calling her name, but she only moaned and rolled over.

He didn’t waste more time. Dean’s words echoed in his head: "Move. Don’t beg. Don’t break." Jamie scribbled a quick note on the back of a takeaway flyer. Gone to Dean’s. Back later. Love you. He left it on the kitchen table. Then he took Kelly’s hand. "Come on," he said. She resisted "But?" He tugged at her hand, looked at her directly and snapped, "Now."

They slipped out the back stairs, avoiding the men in council jackets waiting at the front. Down three flights of chipped concrete steps. Through the alley behind the bins. Out onto the cracked pavement where the real world began.

The air was sharp, slicing their cheeks. Kelly stumbled, but Jamie kept her moving. They moved quickly and with purpose. "Where are we going?" she panted. "Dean’s," Jamie said. "Is it far?" Trying to make her feel better, he lied. "Not too far." Everything was far when you were cold, scared and carrying your life on your back.

They walked for what felt like hours. Past shuttered shops. Past boarded-up pubs. Past the broken swings where Jamie used to sit with Dean, dreaming about getting out. Jamie kept one eye on the streets, wary of police, wary of people who might ask questions they couldn’t afford to answer. Kelly dragged her feet, but she didn’t whinge. She didn’t cry. Tough, that little one, Jamie thought. The truth was that all the kids had been born tough into a world of hardship, and they had to grow to understand that.

The two tired kids, with stinging faces and bruised feet, finally reached Dean’s mate’s flat, a two-bed above a dodgy kebab shop that smelled of grease and stale beer. Dean was waiting outside, pacing, hoodie pulled up, eyes scanning the road. When he saw them, he broke into a grin. "Took you long enough." Jamie’s legs gave out a little as they reached him. Dean ruffled Kelly’s hair, then pulled Jamie into a quick, fierce hug. "You did good, little man," Dean said. "You did real good." Jamie buried his face in Dean’s hoodie for a second, breathing in smoke and sweat and safety. Then he pulled back and smiled.

Inside, it was warmer. Not much, but enough. Dean’s mate, a guy called Ricky, nodded at them, grunted something about them being welcome for a few days. Kelly curled up on the sofa immediately, her doll tucked under her chin. Jamie sat on the floor, bag by his side, heart hammering less with every passing minute. They were out. Not safe yet. But out. And that was something.

As Jamie sat feeling safer, he wondered what would become of his Mum. Had the council officials gone in and dragged her out? tossed her aside on the landing like a rubbish bag. His mind raced through the flat trying to remember if he had left anything that they would need.

Eventually, he drifted off with the thought that today ended with them being safe and tomorrow was another day to fight through as he had always done.

Chapter Eighteen – The Rooftop

Dean took Jamie up onto the roof that night. The stairs were steep and crumbling, the door to the roof half-hanging off its hinges. A cold wind howled across the top of the block, whipping at their clothes, pulling at their hair. The city stretched out around them. Tower blocks, train tracks, flickering lights in broken windows. From up here, it almost looked beautiful. Almost.

Dean lit a cigarette with cupped hands and offered one to Jamie. Jamie shook his head. Jamie wondered if Dean had been away that long that he had forgotten Jamie's constant battle with the ashtray and the stench of smoking in the cramped flat. Dean shrugged and leaned against the railing, looking out. "You’re not a kid anymore, you know", he said. Jamie didn’t answer. He just shoved his hands deeper into his pockets. "You did the right thing," Dean said after a while. "Getting her out. Getting yourself out." Jamie stared at the lights. "Did I?" Dean nodded firmly. "Yeah. You’re still breathing. That’s a win."

They stood in silence, the city buzzing softly beneath them. "Where will we go?" Jamie asked finally. Dean took a long drag of his cigarette, exhaled slowly. "I Don’t know," he admitted. "Somewhere better, i hope." Jamie almost laughed. The idea felt ridiculous. Like something out of one of Kelly’s fairy tales. But up here, above the noise and the stink and the bruises, it didn’t seem impossible. Not completely.

Dean flicked the butt of his cigarette into the darkness and turned to Jamie. "You’re tougher than you think," he said. "Remember that." Jamie nodded, throat tight. "And whatever happens," Dean added, voice low, "you keep moving. No matter what." Jamie blinked against the cold, against the sting behind his eyes. "Okay," he whispered. Dean clapped him on the back. "Good man." They stayed up there until the sun began to rise, the sky turning pale and pink at the edges.

A new day. Maybe a better one. Maybe. Jamie tucked his chin into his jacket and watched the light creep over the rooftops. And for the first time in a long time, he let himself hope. Just a little. He would take Dean's words and make things better. He had too.

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Epilogue – Dawn’s Embrace

The dawn broke soft and slow over the city, the kind of morning that didn’t belong to anyone yet. Jamie sat on the steps outside Ricky’s flat, Kelly dozing against his side, her little fingers curled tight around his jacket. The air was cold, but finally it didn't feel cruel. The streets, for once, were quiet. No shouting. No sirens. Just the hum of early buses and the distant clatter of shop shutters rising.

It was a new day. And they were still here. Dean came out with two steaming mugs of tea, one chipped, the other with "World’s Best Dad" scrawled on the side in faded letters. He handed one to Jamie and sat down heavily beside him. "Ricky says we can stay till next week," Dean said. "After that, we’ll figure something out." Jamie nodded, sipping the scalding tea. It was terrible, bitter and gritty, but it was hot, and it was real. Jamie hadn't had a morning cup of tea fill his stomach in such a long time.

Dean ruffled Kelly’s hair, careful not to wake her. "You did it," he said quietly. Jamie didn’t answer. He just looked out at the horizon, where the light was growing stronger, pushing the darkness back inch by inch. He thought about the estate. About the flat they’d lost. About Mum, wherever she was now. He thought about Lisa. About the promises they made to themselves when they were little. About the monsters, they fought without ever putting names to them. He thought about the future, the wide, terrifying, empty future, stretching out in front of them.

It didn’t feel impossible anymore. Hard, yeah. Ugly. Lonely sometimes. But not impossible. Jamie shifted, feeling the weight of Kelly against him. He wrapped his arm around her and pulled her closer. "We’ll be alright," he whispered, more to himself than anyone else. Dean nodded without looking at him. "Yeah. We will." As the sun rose higher, painting the broken city gold, Jamie believed it. For the first time in a long, long time, he truly believed it.

It was like everything they had been through had been a test to get to this day. Life had challenged a family of kids and they had fought back. Now with a tough skin and robust bodies, they face the future together.

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"While parts of this story are inspired by real events and people I knew growing up, this narrative is a work of fiction. The characters and situations have been altered to suit the story's themes and to create a more engaging experience for readers. I hope you enjoyed reading it and found something relatable in the journey. Thank you for taking the time to join me on this adventure."

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