Alfie was only six, he was too young to be told what had really happened to Danny. To be honest, being told he was with the angels seemed to be a good answer.
I didn't cry, not once. As much as i'd wanted to, my eyes wouldn't let me. I'd gotten angry though. Confrontations were often during the few weeks in the new house. I punched a wall and shattered the plaster, and bruised the soft tissue in my hand.
"Ever thought of taking up boxing lad?" Chuckled Darren as he peered through the wall when he came to fill it.
As the weeks went by, I began to think more and more about Danny. I had a dismissal from school, so I had nothing to do all day except think about his face. His ginger hair, big grin. Every time the happy images floated into my mind, they were replaced by what I had seen. His skin purple, bloated, his screaming eyes bloodshot, and his mouth gaping. His body dangling over an empty void between his feet and the floor.
I woke up at night in cold sweats, screaming his name.
I was angry with him. He had been selfish. We had all been happy, why should some fucking bullies at school ruin our lives? Our happy lives.
One morning, I came downstairs to find my mom sitting at the kitchen table, fag in her hand and her eyes wide.
"Morning," I said, trying hard not to let my voice crack.
She said nothing.
Just kept staring.
I poured a bowl of cereal, took one spoonful and threw the bowl at the wall.
"TALK!!" I screamed, spit flying from my mouth and finally tears began to cascade down my face.
The chair flew backwards as my mom stood up and slap me clean across the face. Then she started sobbing, clutching me in her arms. We dropped to the floor, still holding each other, weeping and sobbing onto each others shoulders until Alfie came down the stairs and asked what was wrong.