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Chapter 29
The single yellow bulb that hung in the middle of the room burst showering fragments of glass onto their heads and computers as they worked. The center of the broken bulb glowed briefly and then a tiny flame flick to up the cable until it reached the ceiling and then spread diagonally in multiple directions along the ceiling tiles.
Puzzled faces looked up trying to comprehend and then chairs were pushed back in the mad scramble for the door. The strident ringing of the alarm bell struck up a competition with frantic shouts and screams as door and windows were found locked and the smoke began to choke.
The roof above me was beginning to disintegrate as I struggled to secure the computer backups of my cherished website in the fireproof safe. Then the plaster and lathe was tumbling down on top of me and the dust was mixing with the smoke to crush the life from my lungs.
My last memory before giving up and accepting my fate was the crackling sound of Bruno's laugh.
I opened my eyes wondering whether I'd been resurrected. There was still a ringing in my ears but it was the doorbell not the fire alarm. I struggled out from under my duvet, dragged my dressing gown out of a heap of clothes and trudged manfully up the stairs to open the front door.
"My mummy said I could come and play football with you."
I looked down at the tiny shining face full of excitement and enthusiasm and it was deja vu ... all over again. I looked for signs of his mum but only just caught sight of the Porsche and a waving arm as it accelerated away. His hair looked uncombed and he had a graze on his knee - proud war wounds from a recent international football competition I expected. His hair was very tempting ... so I ruffled it. Now it was even untidier and I gave him my best smile.
"You don't know how good it is to see you, Tommy."
He skipped over the threshold and his little legs pounded down the stairs into the garden. Within minutes, he was practicing kicking goals against the wall at the end of the garden in preparation for giving me a really hard time.
The kettle wouldn't boil properly or maybe it needed longer to finish. Surely cold coffee must stimulate the brain back to life as efficiently as its warmer relative. Then I realized that thinking was making my brain hurts this morning so I dragged on a pair of shoes and went to play football with Tommy in my dressing gown.
"You can be in goal, Barreee!"
"I wouldn't want to be nowhere else," I reassured him.
Before I'd had time to raise my level of consciousness and focus on the game, the ball came zooming at me and struck me in the midriff emptying my lungs. For the second time that morning I gasped for life and crumbled underfoot as Tommy ruthlessly hammered the ball home into the goal. As my eyes stared grimly past blades of muddy grass, I knew with certainty that Tommy was going to be one of life's winners. He knew how to stick the boot in when a man is down.
As I scrambled to my feet, the ball shot up towards my face. Instinctively I lowered my forehead and caught it a glancing blow. It ricocheted upwards into the overcast sky to Tommy's cries of disappointment.
"Aah, that was a close one ... lucky!"
But now the ball was descending again as I groggily struggled to engage my brain circuits. Tommy's little face was peering up in excitement. His right foot was drawing back and I knew my fate was sealed. It ricocheted of his boot like a rocket into orbit except it was coming straight at me. It was no longer a game, it was war and I dived ... in the other direction to preserve life and limb.
But then the testosterone pumped and my manly instincts came to the fore as the ball bounced its way back to the jubilant child. In one bound I recovered my balance, followed the ball, captured it and went racing round the garden with a shouting and screaming Tommy in close pursuit behind me. The dominant male had asserting himself and the young stripling was learning to give respect to his dribbling and dinking master. So Tommy won the goal kicks but I won the battle in the field and from the look on his face I'd probably won his heart.
There was some blackcurrant drink in the cupboard and Tommy sipped on a mug full as I experimented with making a cup of coffee that was hot. They say success builds on success and the new cup of coffee tasted great so I stuck my feet up beside Tommy on the sofa and contemplated the universe as I sipped the elixir.
"Brill," said Tommy. Referring to the football, I think.
"Totally brill," I said, adopting the shorthand that only males who have been doing manly things together understand.
Deviously, then I attempted to take advantage of this masculine bonding.
"Where's your mum," I said, as offhand as I was able.
"Oh, she's around," he was immediately on guard.
"Where are you living now?"
"Around!"
The little guy must have studied a course on espionage and passed the interrogation section with honors. He was giving nothing away.
"How long can you stay for?"
"Dunno ..."
I gave up and awarded him the status of honorary apartment mate. If somebody came to collect him, that was fine. If somebody didn't come to collect him, that was fine as well. If they came when we were out, that was their problem. There comes a moment in life when you just have to get on with it and there were things that I had to do that day and it looked as if Tommy was going to do them with me.
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