Theo Mallier: Growing Pains

1985

Christmas was a time of alcoholic overindulgence in the Mallier household - indistinguishable from other days of the year apart from a small battered tree, tinsel stolen from the school, and torn ceiling streamers made from newspaper coloured with crayon.

At the age of six, this would be the first Christmas Theo would remember. It had been the year of New Coke, Live Aid, the Brixton race riots, the first use of DNA in a court case, and the death of Orson Welles. Charity is meant to begin at home, and their Christmas presents were always second hand.

This year he had received some used Star Wars figures courtesy of a spoiled child who had received them ungratefully two years earlier when the last film had been released; films that Theo had only seen on borrowed copies of poor quality, overviewed pirate videos. The guns and lightsabers were missing and the paint was chipped, but they were still recognisable as Darth Vader, Luke Skywalker and Obi-Wan Kenobi. Though he had seen the films, he had read and reread the story from a battered annual he had received the Christmas before that had sparked his interest.

He was happily playing with the figures when George came back from his daily socialising in The Stool, though this time he was with two other people. His oldest brother Marc had taken to drinking with his dad in The Stool, and the other person was his dad’s latest holder of the ‘auntie’ trophy in the house. Tish Leeburn had been in the same school year as George, and when they were fourteen, had only given him a fumble in the darkness when they were alone on their second date, saving herself until three weeks later for the next boy in line.

Difficult on the eye, Tish was never going to win any Miss Wherever contests, unless the judges decided cosmetic beauty was secondary to the skills of working on DIY store checkouts and being able to piss standing up in a men’s urinal. She had turned up with a two-litre bottle of cider, carried out from the pub, and was sparingly sharing it with some of the older children. While George was in the kitchen, berating his eldest daughter, June-Marie, for not having the dinner ready for when they walked through the front door, she half filled a chipped mug with some of the cheap drink, and handed it to Theo. Theo was unsure, and looked around at the other children in the room, who started urging him to drink it.

Tentatively, he sniffed the mug, and got the faint smell of apples, though not like any apple he had ever smelt before. It was as if the apples in the mug were rotten, and he couldn’t understand why anybody would ever want to put it into their body. One of these a day would not keep the doctor away. As the mug teetered closer to his mouth, the children urged him further, now joined by Tish. He sipped it, and as he swallowed the foul-tasting ferment, he felt a shiver rattle through his body. He couldn’t help but close his eyes at the acidic taste, and he felt them start to well as the drink’s effects took what seemed like an age to dissipate.

He went to give the mug back to Tish, but she said, ‘You’ve hardly touched it, pet. Go on, it’s Christmas, your dad won’t mind.’ At that moment, Theo didn’t care whether his dad minded or not, but he did. He didn’t want to have any more of what felt like poison to him, and put both hands on the mug and reached it out to her like an offering of red wine at communion.

With one hand, and laughing, she pushed the mug back towards his face. The other children started to goad him again, saying, ‘Theo! Theo!’ and he went to take another sip. This time, when he had sipped it, Tish put her hand on the bottom of the mug and tipped it, so more of the drink would go into him. As the drink spilled over his chin and onto his worn, ET T-shirt, George came into the room to see why the children had been shouting Theo’s name.

He did not like what he saw.

‘What the fuck?!’ he shouted at Tish. ‘What the fuck are you doing? He’s six!’ As he said this, he rushed to Theo, pulled the empty mug away from him, and threw it towards the kitchen door. ‘He’s fucking six!’ he shouted at Tish again.