Free Faithless by Tony Walker Page A

the first time he could legally go and see an X film because he was now 18. It gave him a grown up feeling that the world was his oyster and vistas of an endless, unlimited future spread out before all him - all starting tonight. He hadn't told his mother he was going to see an X film as she wouldn't approve. He was reading the Daily Express which was on the kitchen table. He'd told his mum that he'd get some chips with Karen later but she'd given him a slice of bread and butter to stave off hunger.
    He had a reasonable day at school. He saw Mr Cole and told him that he was definitely going to apply to do German and Russian at Durham University.  That had pleased Cole who'd shook John's hand in his warm, socially awkward way. When he came home he'd even been playing on the Rolf Harris Stylophone that his mother and father had got him as an 18th birthday present. He liked listening to music but had never really had any talent at playing it. He wondered whether his mother really knew very much about him at all.
    He sat at the kitchen table eating his bread and butter and reading out bits of the paper to his mother as she worked. "Did you see that the Soviet Luna 16 probe has landed on the moon successfully?"
    "No, son." She was busy cutting carrots for the main meal she would eat later with her husband.
    "Sounds amazing. The Soviets are really doing well in the Space Race. They don't have the bluster of the Americans; they just get on with it. You see, America is driven only by money."
    "Aye, son."
    He looked up at his mother. "You seem preoccupied ma? Anything up?"
    "No." She shook her head. He shrugged and went back to the paper.
    "I see Jim Morrison's got off with the charge of lewdness. He shouldn't have done it though." John looked up to see his mother had stopped cutting carrots and was quietly crying by the sink. He got up and went to comfort her.
    "What's up ma? Why are you upset?"
    "Well you're 18 and all."
    He put his hand on her shoulder. "Oh dear. Well you know I have to grow up. There's no stopping time."
    "It's not just that."
    "What is it then?" He stood back ,  puzzled.
    "I promised myself, that when you were 18 I'd tell you the truth about your father."
    He felt a strange wave of fear, mixed with elation.
    "Sit down," said his mother.
    "Do you want a cup of tea?" He said, as if it would diffuse the anxiety mounting in the room.
    "Just sit down, son. I have to say it."
    He sat and she began. "Well, when I was younger I was working on a surgical ward at the Royal. We had a woman in. She had surgery but got an infection and there were complications. She was in for weeks. Her son used to come and see her. He was very flirty and charming. Eventually he used to call up the ward to speak to me and if Sister answered he'd put on a stupid Irish accent and pretend to be enquiring about a patient who wasn't there. It happened a few times so she must have realised but luckily she never connected it with me.
    "He was very confident - very sure of his authority. Strange considering he came from nothing. And he asked me out. Well I couldn't tell my mum and dad because he was Irish. Well he was Scottish, but his parents were Irish. So that meant he was Catholic. I knew my father wouldn't tolerate me going out with a Catholic."
    "He was a miner before he got fired. So he didn't have much money and we used to just do simple things like go walking in Princes Street Gardens, and on a Sunday maybe go out for the day to Musselburgh. I remember a summer day there, when he'd pick up lit tle crabs out of the rock pools and scare me with them."
    "I loved him. He wrote me poetry, even though he was so political, he was romantic too. He looked like you. Just like you. I thought he loved me. He told me he did, and I believed him. Then I fell pre gnant and there was an awful row. When I was in hospital he never came near. My mother told me he didn't care. That must have been true. Who could leave their child?"
    "Was he a Communist?"
    "Who