Ross was a very worried boy. He had watched his friend Michael Oakes take a slippering, and the older boys being beaten in various ways, and now his dad was taking him home and soon it would be his turn.
He never knew what his dad was going to do to him. Often it was just a punch in the guts, or a ringing slap to the back of his head. Kicks were fairly common too. If it was kicks, the only thing to do was lie in a curled up ball on the floor and wait for the kicks to stop. They usually did quite quickly. His dad had only really injured him three times. The first time a broken rib - well, his dad didn't realise how hard his punches were. The second time his dad had stood on his toes (he was in his bare feet) with his working boots on. Both of them heard the bone snap, but it wasn't worth taking him to the hospital for that. They'd only tell him to be careful, his dad said. And then, about six months ago, he'd broken his arm, but not really seriously. He'd told the doctor that he'd fallen out of a tree. Sometimes it was burns from his cigarette. Not stubbing the fags out or anything - just touching the burning bit against his skin. It. hurt badly, but his dad stopped when he cried - most times. It. made a little blister and when you pricked it water came out that was salty to lick.
His mum sent him to bed with no supper. One time he'd been so naughty that she did it five nights in a row. He'd been really hungry after that, but he managed to nick some food at lunchtimes in school. His dad's hand was on his shoulder, but he didn't say anything, just walked him along. Ross wondered whether it would be a plimsoll, or a strap, or a cane. James Boyle had really screamed as he was caned. Ross hoped like hell that he wasn't going to be caned like that. Maybe it would just be the slipper. His dad had soft leather slippers, and maybe it would be all right to lie over his dad's lap and get the slipper.
The house was empty. His mum and sisters were still out at the women's meeting. "Get upstairs and get undressed," his dad said. "Come down in your birthday suit. There's only me to see."
Ross did as he was told. He'd learnt that it was better to do that several years ago. It was strange coming down the stairs with nothing on though. Strange and frightening. His dad could do anything at all to him now.
It was a strap. His dad was good friends with Mr Hendricks and it looked the same as the one that Mark had been strapped with and then Dean Pole. His stomach felt funny seeing it in his dad's hand and thinking what it would do to his bare bottom.
"Get down across the table," his dad said and he stretched over the table. His dad had to move the salt and pepper shakers and the brown sauce bottle so there was room for him, and then he was bent over so his bottom was in the right place for the strap.
The strapping went on quite a long time and hurt terrifically. It felt like the whole of his bottom was exploding, but it stopped eventually. He yelled and cried a lot, which was different from the previous times. When his dad was kicking him he was mostly silent.
"Get up to bed," his dad said when it was over. It hurt a long time, but it wasn't like the other times, when basically he wanted to die. He heard his mum and sisters come in and there was a bit of shouting downstairs. His dad never hurt his sisters, and Ross was glad of that. Then he heard the television on.
His dad came up just as his bottom was starting not to hurt quite so badly. He sat on the bed squashing Ross's legs. He put his hand under the duvet and felt the heat coming off Ross's bottom.
"I'm sorry for those other times. When I hurt you like," said his dad. "It'll just be the strap from now on."
"That hurt too," said Ross.
"I know," said his dad. "But not like the other times, eh ?"
"No," said Ross.
His dad tousled his hair and said goodnight. It was nearly dark by then, and his bottom was still burning a bit. But a lot better than after the kickings, or the broken arm, or the cigarette burns.