SPOW

What happened next was very boring, and, I guess, not that unusual. About ten years ago, after my dad, Noel, had been made redundant from his teaching post and when everyone thought a mouse pad was a hole in the skirting board, he had set up in business with his best friend, Steve Rawlinson, selling computers. Steve had invested capital but dad had invested our house, The Lodge, in Greenway Park, as security. Dad did all the promotions and 'people' side and Steve sorted out the accounts – or so we thought.

At first everything was doing great and there were jokes about retiring to Maldives etc. Then everyone set up computer outlets and the jokes stopped. Steve started to make cutbacks, like not paying taxes and VAT. Strangely enough, this was spotted, and Mr Taxman and Mr Vatman took M&R Computers to court. Mr Judge took away our house and gave Noel and Steve community service for being naughty boys. Noel and Steve had a big fall out and Steve moved to Leicester and we moved to The Close but no one lived happily ever after.

Dad's still doing his community service – two hundred hours of painting and decorating the youth and community centres in town. The theory is he's going to find another job as soon as he's finished and we'll be able to start again. 'All this is only temporary, Sonny,' mum had promised when we looked around the house on The Close. But I'd seen the changes in dad, the way he closed himself off from all of us when he came home, the way he either gazed blankly or shouted at mum when she put the Jobs page out for him. No way was 'this' only temporary. Not that I was going to tell Chad Dylan Cooper that. He nudged me in the arm. 'I'll show you around if you like,' he offered.

'Around where?'

'Everywhere. Introduce you to everyone, take you to The Centre.'

'No thanks.'

'Why not?'

For some reason- I don't know – maybe the 'queen' bit give me ideas, I found myself putting on a snobby accent. 'I doubt that I'll have anything in common with anyone. No offence.'

'Suit yourself.'

We sat in silence for a while. I wished he would go upstairs to sit with the Scrunchies and the smokers. I wondered why he hadn't. 'Are you going on the French trip?' ha asked.

'I haven't decided,' I mumbled.

'I am. A week off school, chatting up French birds. Try and stop me.'

'Can you afford it?' I asked voicing my own worries out loud but still in that fake posh voice.

Chad bridled. 'Sorry,' I said, returning to normal, 'that didn't come out the way I meant it.'

'No, I bet it didn't,' he scoffed.

I got my wish. Chad sloped off to the upper deck and I was left on my own.

'Don't you know he's loaded?' a voice said from behind. I turned to see one of the Year Nines (double-scrunchie, nose-stud) from this morning staring at me.

'So?' I shrugged.

The girl continued anyway, squelching gum as she talked. 'His dad, Tony, owns all the Pine Island shops. My dad works for him.'

'Super,' I said, hoping that would be an end to it.

'My dad says unemployment on the estate double if it wasn't for Tony Cooper .'

'Fascinating.'

'You should show Chad more respect,' she said tartly. That did it . I reached up and rang the bell for the next stop. I was half a mile too early but a final straw's a final atraw.