The Prodigals by Frank Burton

I said, “I’m sorry.”

She said, “I knowyou are. You just need to be careful from now on, Travis. You need to be careful about who you decide to play with.

You’re such a clever boy, with such a bright future. All you need to do is be good and work hard at school, and you can achieve anything you want.”

She cooked me one of my favourites – Heinz spaghetti bolognese, with some bread on the side to dip in it.

After tea, I went up to my room to think about what I’d done. My mum didn’t send me up there, it just seemed like the right thing to do.

I couldn’t believe she’d forgiven me. She seemed like the perfect human being that day – an angel.

I hadn’t forgiven myself yet. That was going to take a while. It wasn’t so much the stealing as the lying. The lying was the worst part, because I hadn’t done it to a stranger. I’d done it to someone who loved me.

I overheard snatches of myparents’ brief conversation when my dad came back from work. Moments later, he stormed up the stairs, still dressed in his bloodstained apron. He flung my bedroom door open, and launched into a verbal tirade about howmuch of a bloody disappointment I was, howmuch of a bloodyfool I’d been getting mixed up with those sorts of people. He told me he was so bloody embarrassed and ashamed of me.

I didn’t really care, but I didn’t say so.

He never mentioned it again.

My mum never mentioned it either. She stopped talking to Sammy’s mum, and I stopped talking to Sammy. We lived in different neighbourhoods and went to different schools, so ignoring him was easy.

Sometimes, I passed him in the street and offered the briefest of nods, before moving on.

189