"I am not staring at your--"

His hiss is cut off by several people turning to glare at him, and he clamps his mouth shut.

The vicar bids the congregation to be seated. Tommy obediently sits with his hands folded in his lap. Quietly. And not fidgety.

Except for the parts where he runs his finger along the inside of his shirt collar and twitches his shoulders and tugs at the leg of his trousers and scratches his ankle and--