Little Tim, Big Tim Read Online Free PDF Page A

being friendly and caring and I risk another question, hoping not to provoke Nasty Mum to the surface.
    ‘Where’s Dad? ’
    ‘Oh, he’s at work. ’
    ‘Oh, yes, work, ’I reply, covering up that I don’t know what work he does and leaving an opening, hoping Mum will explain more. She does.
    ‘Yes, you haven’t seen much of him as he leaves very early in the morning and he comes home when you ’ re asleep. He does love you and misses seeing you. ’
    I don’t understand her last comment and a strange thought enters my head—maybe Dad forgets too. I’m too young to explore this observation with Mum.
    Mum and I are alone in the kitchen; she helps me to learn all of Peter’s work that I don’t understand. Once I feel confident that I know the work, she quizzes me. If I get it wrong, she doesn’t chastise me, she simply says, ‘hit the books’. I practise the correct answer until I get it right. When confident, I announce to my Mum, ‘ Ready for a quiz.’
    ‘What’s the capital of Australia?’ she starts.
    ‘ Canberra.’
    What’s the capital of New South Wales?’
    ‘Sydney.’
    ‘Spell the word ‘giant.’
    ‘G-i-a-n-t, giant.’
    ‘Good. Spell the word friend’.’
    ‘F-r-i-e-n-d, friend.’
    ‘Good. Spell your name.’
    ‘T-i-m, Tim.’
    ‘Very good.’
    The quiz ends with a 100% pass and I feel confident, with Mum’s help and Peter’s silent assistance, that I will be able to achieve a good result in the third grade. If I dedicate some extra time each day to learning the work, I can sit in Peter’s chair and no one will be wiser that I haven’t attended school in this grade. Mum states,
    ‘Since you have been a good boy and learnt your work, how about helping me to do some baking?’
    It feels good to be praised by Mum. I feel proud. We bake all day—chocolate cake and Anzac biscuits. When the mixing is done, we each lick a beater clean. I giggle out loud at the chocolate mixture ending up on Mum’s face. She points at my face and I do the same. The freedom to be happy in my Mum’s company is indescribable.
    Evening approaches and with the loud bellow of a voice that rings through two blocks at least, she summons the rest of the family to dinner. All seated at the table, the conversation revolves around family members’ activities during the day. All are excited to tell their own story. My older brother ribs me about being involved with the baking session, but he doesn’t understand it is the best day of my life.
    School holidays continue and we only see Dad on Sundays. He works six days a week. Each Sunday he is extremely diligent—he makes Mum get us ready for the church service he says we need to attend to avoid being damned.
    Sunday school is bearable, but Dad drags us into the big church to be bored out of our brains; we never understand the words being preached. This is an opportunity to display us to the churchgoers; some obviously have more interest in us than is socially acceptable. Soon Stewart starts having seizures again; more pain to come is the only conclusion.
    My great achievement is the honour of being class captain for the last term of my third grade year. I am adorned with a white rectangular badge with the word ‘Captain’ in gold lettering; the school badge dangles underneath it. I carefully remove my pride and joy at night and place it on the dresser with careful attention, and each morning excitedly pin it to my uniform and get to class early to carry out my responsibilities.
    My life is coming together. With Peter holding the pain of the attacks at bay and Troy holding the anger, I begin to truly be myself as best as I can. I become quite popular and have lots of friends. My schoolwork is constantly rated in the top three. Miss Freeman, my teacher, smiles and touches my hand as she places my work onto my desk announcing to the class that I have achieved another ‘A’. When I look up at her from my desk she smiles and winks. I have finally found an adult