How I Killed Margaret Thatcher Read Online Free Page A

Alex Higgins knocking in a century break, but neither of us could draw that well and Alex Higgins looked like a monkey holding a long banana.
    My uncle Johnny arrives home as we eat fish and chips. I want to be like him. He had to do overtime tonight to make up for not doing it earlier in the week because he’s been going out and working on the election. He even made a poster that some people have put up in their windows. It says DUDLEY EAST, VOTE LABOUR, VOTE DR JOHN GILBERT , in red letters. Jim Bayliss, who’s in the Labour Party, and who Johnny’s been delivering leaflets for, got them printed up. The original, which Johnny painted on cardboard on the kitchen table on a Sunday morning a few weeks ago, is on the wall of his bedroom next to Peter Shilton and David Bowie and Wheatfield with Crows . My grandad put the poster up in the front-room window. I’ve seen them up in people’s houses on the way to school. I tried to put one up at our house. My mum told me to take it down.
    Why?
    Take it down, Sean.
    Why can’t we put it up, like at nan and grandad’s?
    Nobody’ll see it, Sean. There’s no point.
    Course they’ll see it. Everybody in the street’ll see it.
    It’s not a good idea, darling.
    Why not?
    Sean, I said no.
    Johnny slumps down in a chair and rubs his face; his eyes look tired. All the posters have to come down now. My dad cracks open a bottle of Newcastle Brown for him; they like to drink that together. My nan has kept a plate of chips warm. Johnny has a load of badges on his jacket. He passes them on to me: Steel Pulse, Steve Biko, CND. I pin them to my school parka.
    They tell Johnny the story of how I fell out the window to cheer him up and it’s good to see how my mum and dad turn it into a funny story, even though at the time they thought I might be dead. He starts to laugh and comes over and ruffles my hair.
    What happened to your hand, Dad? Johnny says.
    No one says anything.
    I’ll tell yer later, my mum says to Johnny.
    We turn Margaret Thatcher off.
    Her woh last five minutes, any road. Johnny says, doing a voice like my grandad’s.
    My grandad says not to be so sure. My mum agrees. My dad doesn’t say anything.
    I’m happy because they decide that I’ve done enough moving around for today and I get to spend the night at my nan and grandad’s house. I love staying here, especially when my grandad is off work. He’s just finished a week of nights. His voice is tired and cracked and I think maybe that was why he lost his temper with my uncle Eric and why Margaret Thatcher has got to him so much.
    My dad has to go back to work because a machine breaks down and only he can fix it. He’s got an important job, maintenance at Coopers Steel Stampings, making sure the machines that cut the metal work properly. My mum sleeps in the single bed next to mine in the room I fell out of. I dream of falling and she holds my hand.
    Next morning, my mum eats toast at the kitchen table. She has some shopping to do and wants to get out before it gets too busy, especially now it’s clear that I’m fine. I know that my dad is going to meet her when he’s finished at work and they are going to look at one of those houses in Kingswinford or somewhere else miles away.
    Am yer sure you didn’t bang anything else, sweetheart? my mum asks and holds my shoulders so she can look into my eyes. Yer didn’t bang yer head?
    Just me bum.
    You haven’t got a headache or nothing?
    Just arse-ache!
    Don’t say arse, Sean.
    What else should I call it?
    Yer bottom or yer bum. Yer behind.
    Just bum-ache, then.
    Yer know what you’ll look like when the bruise comes out?
    What?
    A baboon. A baboon with a bright blue bum!
    She does a little dance like a monkey that makes me laugh and kisses me again on the top of my head before she leaves for the shops.
    My grandad sits in his usual seat at the table, dipping toast into a fried egg