The Passenger

Mother started her ranting. And Dad did his calming-down thing. He decided when he got to their age he’d marry someone calm. Someone who didn’t talk about god and that all the time. 

—John Cooper? Get down here. Now!

John sighed. She was having a moment. His dad couldn’t fix her. He left his small room and headed down the stairs that creaked. Then he walked into the living room. 

—Yes, Mother? 

—Ah, John. I need you to go to the shops. Now. Not when you feel like it. 

—Okay, what do you need? 

—I need flour. So I can bake a pie for your Sunday School session this week. 

John looked at his dad. Nothing. His face said nothing at all. 

—Er, mother? I’m not going. 

—WHAT?

—Yeah, it’s not for me. They talk about things I don’t—

—You ARE GOING. That’s final. NO child of mine will be a heathen. 

—Now, Miranda, love. The lad is old enough to—

—Don’t you support HIM ON THIS! How could you? HE WILL go to church AND Sunday School. 

Silence. John thought about making his case. His dad glanced his way and shook his head. 

—Miranda? You can’t dictate like that. He’s a good lad—

—NO! He WILL have faith. I will NOT raise a non-believer—

—But that’s what I am. I don’t believe any of it. 

John didn’t know where the words came from. They came out. On their own. His mother recoiled like he’d slapped her. 

—WHAT did YOU SAY? 

—Don’t heed him too much, he’s young and figuring—

His mother jumped to her feet. Arm out, pointing at his dad. 

—YOU. You are encouraging this. You’ve NEVER believed yourself. 

—No. You’re wrong. I have my beliefs. They don’t match yours, I’ll admit. But either way, the lad is old enough make his own mind up. 

—NO. HE is NOT. James Cooper? You should know BETTER. 

—I’m not going, mother. I hate it. 

John didn’t know where that came from, either. Well, he did. Deep in his mind. But having the courage to say it? That bit he wasn’t sure about. Even his dad looked shocked. 

His mother collapsed back into her chair. Clutching her rosary beads. Sobbing to herself. His dad walked over. Sat on the arm of the chair. 

—Look, love, like I said, he’s a good lad. He doesn’t need the church—

—WRONG! James, how wrong can you be? Our son needs spiritual guidance. Without it he will be lost. LOST, I tell you.

—I can think for myself, Mother. I don’t need—

—YOU DO NOT KNOW! You do not know what you need. You are too young. 

—I’m eleven. I know things. I can look after—

—Leave it, son. 

His dad waved a hand. John said nothing more. He felt daft standing there. Time to leave. He turned. 

—DO NOT leave this room, young man. 

His mother stared at him like he was something dirty. That wasn’t nice. He tried to stop the feeling rising up. His mother leaned forward in her chair. Pointing a skinny finger at him. 

—You WILL go to Sunday School. Father O’Malley will be expecting you. And I will ask him to keep you back for extra prayers and Bible study. 

It happened then. That feeling. Rose right up. As far as his head. That’s how it felt. But then, a voice. 

—Alright, fella? Tell her to fuck off.

John looked around. The hairs on the back of his neck stood up. But his mum and dad were there. That was it. 

—I’m ‘ere. In yer head yer numpty. Ask to leave the room. Bathroom break or summat.

John nodded. His dad gave him a look. 

—Er, I need to pop to the bathroom. 

—Go and then. But straight back down here, right? 

—Yes dad. 

He left the room and climbed the stairs. 

—In yer room mate.

John did as the voice said. 

—I haven’t got long—

—Don’t talk out loud, you dickhead. They’ll ‘ear ya. Say the words in yer head. I’ll hear yer.

John thought for a moment. 

—Who are you?

—Me name is Tobias Green. How come I’m yer head we can get to. But first, yer need to sort that nutter of a mother out.

—How do I do that?

—Two choices. Tell the bitch to fuck right off. Or, do her in.

—What?

—Yeah. Easy. Get the big old hammer out of yer dad’s shed and give her good news wiv the heavy end.

—Wait. You’re telling me to kill my mother?

—I’m saying it’s an option.

—The other option?

—Stand yer ground. I know you don’t say swear words yet. But if yer go down and tell the pair of them to shove their Sunday school shit right up their arses? That’ll do it.

—I’ll be grounded for months!

—Nah. This is the new you, mate. John and Tobias. The team yer don’t fuck wiv.

—You swear a lot.

—Yeah. I’m from down the East End. Originally. You’ll get to understand why. It’s how we talk down there.

—JOHN? Down here NOW, please!

His dad called him. 

—I’d better go back down.

—I’ll talk yer through it. Just say what I tell yer, right?

John walked back down the stairs. It was mad. He had a London bloke in his head. Terror rose through his chest. 

—Calm, lad. Stay calm.

John walked back into the living room. 

—Where WERE YOU?

—In the bathroom, like I said.

—Hmm.

—I was!

—John, lad? Me and your Mother have had a chat. We need you to keep going to Sunday school for a while. 

—Here goes. Say ‘no fucking chance.’

John waited. Sweat ran down his back. 

—Go on, you wuss. Watch what happens.

—No fucking chance. I told the pair of you. 

John heard the words. He hadn’t said them. His mother recoiled again. Like he’d punched her. His dad stared. 

—What did you just say? 

—I said, fuck off. No way am I going to that Bible-thumping bollocks. Not anymore. 

—JOHN!

His dad stood. Took a pace towards him. 

—Sit down, before I knock you down, James. I can’t be arsed with this.

—WHAT DID YOU SAY? You apologise—

—The language! SUCH horror! He is DOOMED! 

His mother fell back in her chair, clutching her beads. 

—Walk out now, mate. Make sure yer slam the door. Hard.

John tried to walk. His legs locked up. He had to push to move. Once he got to the front door, he opened it and stepped outside. The sun on his face felt real. Nothing else did. 

He slammed the door. Hard. 

—Good lad. Now we can ‘ave a proper chat.

John started walking.