Mam was in a jumpy phase. Carl had been hoping her new boyfriend would bring her some calmness. After all, Astro had been patient with him. He’d taught him songs, and school stuff like showing him how to remember his tables.
‘If you feel that way about me, you can go!’ Mam was saying. Her face was red, her eyes wild like that panicking horse he’d see on tv, and which he kept thinking about in bed when the light was off.
There were days when Mam seemed to be in a hurry like a racing car round a circuit. Other days she was quiet, didn’t want to go out, was touchy. She took medication to help her condition, but she was still a different person from one week to the next. Was her medicine worsening things? He worried about that sometimes.
‘I made a mistake moving in with you, babes,’ Astro was saying. ‘It’s just so full on.’
‘Crap!’
‘When I had the flat, stayed here nights, and went back, we had some space.’
‘You can’t commit. That’s your problem!’
‘We’re still getting to know each other. What’s the rush?’
‘Stop blaming me!’
‘We’re arguing all the time now… you get angry and… wouldn’t a bit of space now and then…?’
‘Help? I don’t need help. I don’t need you. If you’re going, then – go!’
Carl didn’t see his dad much. Just some weekends, if he was lucky. Having Astro here was good. It sort of made up for Dad. And now Astro was going upstairs for his things. He’d go out the front door. Would he return? Before him, there had been Bry from Port Talbot who’d also packed his bags.
Carl started tapping his fingers and turning his head. He did that in class when he was anxious, especially when Mr Reed went round giving each of them ‘mental arithmetic’. He reckoned it was called that because it made you mental with fear about not being able to answer. But Astro had given him confidence. ‘Multiplications?’ he’d said. ‘Your nine times table is easy all the way to nine times ten. `Cause your answer always adds up to nine; just remember that. You’ve got nine. Then you’ve one and eight – that adds up to nine too, right? Two and seven – nine, again. Three and six – nine. You seeing the pattern? All the way to ninety – nine and zero.’
Astro came down the stairs, a holdall in his hand. He went straight to the front door without a word. Carl, still finger-drumming, really wanted to ask him if he’d be back. But he couldn’t bring the words out of himself. Would he ever see him again? Astro turned back towards the pair of them, studied his mam thoughtfully, then said to Carl: ‘Six times nine?’
Five and four makes nine. ‘Fifty-four?’
‘Spot on. Stick at it, Carl.’
The door closed – quietly. A hopeful sign? Yes, he’d keep on with the tables for Astro. Seven times nine makes…?
