He wandered across the road, undecided as to where he would go. The hospital flashed through his mind, but Tom quickly pushed it aside. He didn’t want to see his Mum now. It would only cause more grief and he’d had enough of that already. He would ask where they buried her, and then go and visit the grave. If only they would put her name on the simple cross above Alice's final resting place, then that would do. Providing his Mum got some of the respect she deserved, he would be okay.
Suddenly Tom stopped walking. Ahead of him, two men were strolling side-by-side, down the footpath towards him, the same determination written on both faces. Geoffrey Hilton and Hugh Dawson. What did they want? Tom turned his back, stuffed his hands in his pockets and turned in the opposite direction.
“Hey kid! No, no, don’t go that way! We want to speak to you!” That was Hilton, as usual.
Tom kept walking.
“It’s about your mother! Hey, come back kid.” They started walking faster.
Man, they sure knew how to get someone to listen. Tom turned around and faced them. “What?”
They walked expertly up to him, almost like they wanted him to feel utterly insignificant. Hugh Dawson blew on his nails and polished them on his pinstriped lapel.
“About the funeral. It’s tomorrow, as you know, and we’ll be burying her at St. Catherine’s cemetery. Two o’ clock. You’ll be the only one there, apart from a few hospital nurses that made friends with Mrs. Manson when she was in their care.” Hilton frowned. “Oh, no no, there’s also that lady friend of the late Mrs. Manson’s. Ellie. Do you know her?”
Tom smiled sarcastically. “Don’t recall anyone of that name, no.”
“You don’t? Oh.” Obviously Geoffrey Hilton hadn’t encountered sarcasm much, although he used it without mercy. “Well, anyway. Two o’ clock tomorrow afternoon, right?” They both turned robotically and made as if to leave.
“Right.” Tom paused. “But I’m not going.”
They slowly turned around again and stared at him. “I‘m sorry? What was that?” Hugh Dawson, who had recovered first, spluttered over his words.
“I said, I’M NOT GOING.” Tom repeated his statement.
“But it’s your Mother! Wouldn‘t you want to be there? You, her own kid, won‘t even attend the funeral?” Geoffrey Hilton looked shocked.
“No. Look, I’m not going and that’s that.” Tom frowned angrily at them.
“Ok, well, but that is strange. I mean, I’m sure your mother would’ve wanted you to attend her funeral. Pay your respects.” Hilton had regained his composure.
“Look, don’t try and tell me what my Mum would’ve wanted from me, ok? Because I know her way better than you. Besides, she never gave a damn about stuck-up people like you!” This time, Tom left them and walked away. If he’d turned to look back, he would have seen them standing with gaping mouths, looking like a pair of fairground clowns. The fools.
He’d learned one good thing from that encounter-Tom knew where his mum would be buried and, consequently, could go and visit the grave. He knew his Mum would’ve wanted him to do whatever would most suit his feelings at the present moment, and he was thankful. Because Tom knew he would probably break down if he went to her funeral, and he wanted to avoid that sort of thing at the moment. He’d had enough of it already, although he was only in his teen years.
The sky was fading from watery blue to a dusky pink haze as Tom made his way across the road and down the walkway on the other side, past shops that were shutting for the night. His place stood beside the church, which was the only other building on the left besides more side streets, while on the right there were a few more houses scattered between fences and trees. Across the road, shops lined the street, from ‘Take Note’ Stationers to Pubs and dairies. He walked by the Golden Cross Bar now. It was an old fashioned building with two floors-the only Hotel and bar on mainstreet . Others were situated down dingy side roads, no doubt attracting the more unscrupulous customers. After that, the road turned a corner and there were more residential areas beyond, including a public park with a lake and walkways. Plus the many ducks which nested there also. He headed that way now, deciding to sit and have a quiet think. As Tom walked past the Golden Cross, he passed untidily dressed men and women lounging outside, their raucous laughter disturbing the still night air. He felt an intense hate welling up inside him as he watched them wasting their lives away, not caring about the consequences. It was people like that which his mother used to hang around with, and they were probably the ones responsible for introducing her to drugs. Now she was dead, however they didn’t give it a thought. He hated them, all of them. There had once been a time when Tom had dreamed of doing what his mother had done, without a thought of why or how. But if her death was the outcome of her unfortunate way of life, he didn’t want to take part or have anything to do with it.
So Thomas Manson walked right by the pub, round the corner and on towards the duck pond, leaving behind him drunken men and women wasting their lives away. He would never, ever walk through the door of a pub for as long as he possibly could, and that, he vowed, would be forever.
I like it better than the others, as it shows more of his personality. Good job
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