Frankie Evans checked her hair and make-up for the third time that night. Call her paranoid, but she was determined not to make a bad impression on the headmaster. It was a nice school, what her son Junior was going to, and the last thing she wanted was for the man to think she was just some East End tart. She'd chosen her most modest black dress for the affair, although it wasn't that modest if she was honest with herself, and feathered her hair tastefully.
She was still in disbelief over the entire situation. Junior was a good boy, a bit rough around the edges but he was her son, after all. He was smart, too, smart enough to get into that school so why wasn't he smart enough not to stay out of trouble? She didn't want to prove those toffs right, that they were working-class scum, that they weren't good enough for their poncey fucking school. Well, Junior was, and she'd be damned if she let him balls it up.
'Mum, can you relax?' asked Junior exasperatedly from the sofa, his eyes fixed on the telly. 'It ain't Buckingham Palace, issit.'
Frankie went from placid to infuriated in an instant. 'I don't wanna hear a word out of you,' she spat, jabbing a manicured finger in his direction out from the bathroom doorway. 'Not after what you done. Oh, I just can't believe it, Junior... Me own son.'
'Mum,' emphasised the sixteen year-old, shifting uncomfortably in the stiff button-down he'd been forced to purchase especially for the occasion. She'd been on his tits about it all night, hadn't given him a second to explain himself or make excuses. After all, it was only a fist fight. The fucker had deserved it too. She would have understood had she been there! But the second he'd come home and she'd seen the bruise under his eye, she'd gone mental and he hadn't had a break since.
'Well, it's a bloody big deal, Junior!' she went on, padding barefoot out of the bathroom, her black heels hanging off her finger by the straps. 'What if you get expelled? You know how hard you worked getting into that school, and here you are pissing it all away over some poncey little brat!'
He sighed as his mother sank down onto the sofa beside him, and allowed her to take him into her arms a moment later.
'I'm only yelling 'cause I care,' she explained, kissing the top of his head.
He nodded. 'I know, Mum.'
She kissed him a few more times, and then smoothed out his hair. 'Alright, love, enough of that. Your uncle will be here any moment.'
This caught Junior's attention, and he lifted his head to look at her. 'Uncle Fred? He's coming?'
Frankie leant forward to pluck her heels off the ground and slip them onto her feet. 'Of course he's coming. That headmaster's got to see you've got a father figure, don't he?'
Junior looked into his mother's eyes, this woman who had given him birth and had raised him single-handedly since his father fucked off some years ago. She cared so much, too much for what it was worth half the time, and though he didn't say it often enough it was something he appreciated. She cared enough for both parents and worried for England, and it was one of the many, many reasons he loved her.
Just then, there was a knock at the door, and both Frankie's and Junior's eyes darted towards it.
'Go on, answer that,' encouraged Frankie as she stood, fixing her heels while she hobbled off back towards the bathroom. 'I've got to finish up.'
Shaking his head fondly, Junior stood and made sure his shirt was straight before yanking open the door.
Freddie was stood outside in a smart suit and sunglasses, a big grin on his face. 'Young Fred. I hear you've gotten yourself into trouble, lad!'
Junior looked at the only man who'd ever given his mum a chance, her brother, his namesake, and felt the warmth of admiration fill his chest. 'Yeah,' he said, embarrassed. 'Come in, Uncle Fred.'
Freddie stepped inside the council house and slipped off his sunglasses. His sister always kept her drum nice and tidy, and while it was small it was still a place to be proud of. They'd just finished renovations on the kitchen, done up the whole place with white melamine cabinetry and brand new appliances, paid for by Fred himself. He wanted the best for his sister and would have given his right leg so that she could have it. He'd find a way to give her the fucking moon if she wanted it.
'I'm coming, I'm coming,' came the woman in question's voice from the other room, and in only a few moments she'd appeared, all glittery hair spray and Chanel perfume to cover up the fag smoke.
'Freddie,' she said, smiling.
He walked over and kissed her cheek. 'Beautiful as always, Sis. Might have to take me knuckle dusters with so that headmaster keeps his hands off ya.'
'Stop it.' She swatted his arm, smiling bashfully. 'Right, are we ready, then? We're gonna be late.'