Billy and Me

by Giovanna Fletcher

  ‘Oh …’ I say, looking disdainfully at the fruitful Pavlova in front of me that will no doubt go to waste now. ‘That sounds like a nice idea.’

  ‘Well, we’ve seen a few of the reviews and you’ll never guess what – we’ve mostly been given five blooming stars!’

  ‘Wow! Congratulations,’ I cheer. ‘But I thought you told Paul you weren’t going to look at them,’ I say, slightly agitated that Paul’s won in some way.

  ‘We weren’t, but Ben’s mum phoned him up when we were getting ready to go on stage. She was all excited, we could actually hear her squealing down the phone. Once we knew it was good news, we decided we might as well actually read them, so we looked a few up online. They’re brilliant! That’s another reason why we thought we should go out, so that we could celebrate the good news.’

  ‘What did they say, then?’

  ‘Basically, that they all loved the play and found it exciting, thrilling and sexy. Ooh, one said that I was a pleasant surprise and that the only disappointing thing was that I hadn’t made the move to theatre sooner,’ he says, proudly.

  ‘Well, that’s amazing! Congratulations,’ I say. ‘No wonder you want to celebrate!’

  ‘Come out!’ he asks suddenly.

  ‘What?’ I laugh, looking down at my purple pyjamas covered in little cartoon penguins.

  ‘Come join us.’

  ‘Oh, honey …’ I hesitate, contemplating the idea. Should I run and change my clothes, put on a bit of make-up and meet him? Obviously, it would be nice to spend some time with him outside of the flat, and great to meet the cast properly after only speaking to them briefly last night as we were leaving, but I have work tomorrow. Plus, I’ve never been good at being spontaneous. If he’d asked me earlier, even in the show’s interval, then I might have been tempted, but the thought of changing my plans suddenly makes me inexplicably nervous. ‘Sorry, Billy, but I’m ready for bed.’

  ‘Come in your pjs! You look cute in them!’

  ‘Nah …’ I respond, making up my mind. ‘But thank you. You just have fun with everyone. I’ve got to be up at seven for work, anyway.’

  ‘Are you sure? I promise I won’t be long. We’ll probably only have a drink or two. I think everyone is still shattered from last night.’

  ‘That’s OK. I’ll see you when you get in.’

  When I put the phone down after saying goodbye, the flat feels emptier and quieter than before. I stand there rooted to the spot for a short time, feeling lost and unsure of what to do with myself. I don’t feel like watching television or reading a book. I don’t feel like doing anything. I feel deflated. I feel empty.

  I look about the flat, at the objects that surround me. It’s all pretty much still Billy’s stuff, all placed where it was when I first came to visit. I did bring a few objects with me when I moved here, a reading lamp, a pile of books and a couple of photos, but I didn’t want to intrude on Billy’s space. I know that’s silly, seeing as we were moving in together, but I simply didn’t want to start moving his belongings aside to make space for mine. I didn’t want it to look like I was taking over.

  Billy did urge me to, though. He wanted it to feel like my home too, and not just somewhere I was staying. He thought it would help me to feel more settled here. Looking around the room now, I wish I had listened to him. Although would objects make me feel any better? I’m not sure even seeing my beloved Mr Blobby cuddly toy would be able to help muster a smile right now.

  I put a glass cake dome on top of the Pavlova and leave it out on the side for Billy to see when he gets home. No doubt he’ll have a slice before coming to bed. I pour myself a glass of water and go to the bedroom where I climb under the sheets and close my eyes, ignoring the loneliness that niggles away at my heart.

  I’m woken by the sound of laughter. Loud. High-pitched. Laughter. Dragging me away from my dreams.

  I open my eyes a smidgen, and take in the darkness of the room. It’s late.

  A mixture of voices starts to echo its way down the hallway and into the bedroom. Several people, all talking over each over in joyous animated tones.

  What is going on?

  Who are all these people that have interrupted my sleep?

  Why are they here?

  My sleepy mind can’t quite cope with the unexpected commotion and is slow to piece together an explanation.

  Billy.

  He has decided to bring people back to the flat.

  Why would he do that when I told him I needed to be up early in the morning? I roll over to find out the time; it’s two in the morning. What is Billy playing at?

  The bedroom door slowly opens, letting in bright light from the hallway, irritating me further. For some reason Billy decides to crawl on his hands and knees across the room, on to the bed and up to my face.

  ‘What are you doing?’ he asks in a childlike whisper – clearly having decided to have a few more than the one or two drinks he had promised.

  ‘Sleeping!’ I say, hoping my dull tone conveys the fact that I’m not impressed.

  ‘Ha! No you’re not!’

  ‘Billy? What’s going on?’ I plead, wishing I was still asleep as my face refuses to relax its groggy frown.

  ‘Oh, baby! You said you didn’t want to come out so I thought I’d bring the party home. Now you can stay in your pyjamas!’

  ‘But I have to be up in a few hours.’

  ‘So?’

  ‘So? So, Billy, I need to sleep!’

  ‘But it’s only Coffee Matters!’

  I know he is right. I know that my job in blooming Coffee Matters isn’t the best job out there, but nevertheless his words bother me. Why should my job be any less important than his?

  ‘Come oooooooooon …’ he begs, tugging at my arm to try and get me to go with him.

  ‘Billy, I said no!’ I snap as I yank my arm back and tuck it under the covers.

  ‘But you’re being so boring! I just want us to have fun. Why won’t you let us have fun together?’

  I don’t reply. Instead, I close my eyes and clamp my jaw shut, trying to block out his drunken words.

  ‘Right. Don’t worry about it!’ he grumbles as he rolls off the bed and walks out of the door, leaving it wide open.

  Have I gone mad? Is this a lovely thing for Billy to do so that I can join in the group? Or is it just selfish and inconsiderate when he knows I need to sleep? But then it is Billy’s flat. I can’t exactly moan about it and start imposing rules on the place … can I?

  Judging by the sounds coming from the other room, Billy hasn’t decided to ask everybody to leave. Instead, I listen to them all laughing, talking and singing, not caring that there’s a person trying to sleep in the next room.

  I lie there for a while, trying to block them out, but it’s no good. I can’t sleep knowing that there are other people in the flat – especially as they probably know I’m here and choosing to stay in the bedroom instead of going to see them.

  Argh!

  I climb out of bed, glance at my face in the mirror to check it isn’t too horrific and puffy from being asleep, and make my way into the lounge.

  Billy and four others are sprawled out across the sofas – their arms and legs draping all over each other like some sort of Renaissance painting. I recognize them all from the show. On one sofa James, tall and blond with the face of an angel, has a wine glass resting on his knee while he leans back against Ben, built like an athlete and with the poshest voice I’ve ever heard. Ben has his legs up across Fiona, the youngest of the group, who puffs away on a cigarette while wolfing down a huge helping of the raspberry Pavlova I’d left out on the side. I’m not sure which of her two activities I’m more annoyed at.

  On the sofa opposite them is Ruth, the blonde girl who swishes her head in front of Billy’s manhood at the start of Dunked. She has her head on Billy’s lap, while he has his arm resting along her body and his hand placed on her thigh. Their closeness makes me inwardly squirm and feel uncomfortable. They look like a cou
ple. I have a sudden urge to drag Billy back to the bedroom and ask him what he thinks he is playing at, but I don’t. There are people here. I don’t want to make a scene and appear like a bunny boiler of a girlfriend.

  ‘Hey …’ James says, noticing me, and causing them all to look in my direction.

  Nobody jumps up to rearrange themselves – they all stay in their comfortable positions, as though there is nothing wrong or inappropriate with the affectionate way they’re sitting. Perhaps there isn’t. Maybe my awkwardness at it says less about them and their theatrical chummy ways and more about me and my inability to be so free and open.

  Billy looks at me with a beaming smile – full of innocence, ‘You decided to join us!’

  ‘We didn’t wake you, did we?’ asks Ruth, rolling over and placing her hand on Billy’s knee as she does so.

  ‘Well –’ I start.

  ‘This cake is delicious!’ squeals Fiona, stuffing in another mouthful. ‘Honestly, I don’t think I’ve ever had anything so tasty before in my life!’

  I smile back at her. She might’ve eaten something I hadn’t intended for her – but at least she’s enjoying it.

  I stand there with them all looking at me, not quite sure what to do or say. Should I go over and lounge on the sofas with them all – perhaps cuddle up to James or Ben? Shuddering at the very thought of it, I do what I know best.

  ‘Can I get anyone a drink? Tea? Coffee? Something to eat?’

  12

  Going out after the show becomes a regular occurrence for Billy and his cast mates, and one that is usually spontaneous. Being up on stage in front of a live audience gives him such a buzz he needs time to wind down afterwards before coming home to sleep.

  The majority of the time he just stays for one or two drinks with the cast, or has a late dinner with Paul if he’s been in to see the show with some bigwig casting director/producer/director, and comes straight home, rolling in at around midnight. But there are also nights when the party continues back at someone’s house and he doesn’t get home until a ridiculous time in the morning. I’m thankful that Billy hasn’t invited everyone back to ours again, but nights like this are sleepless and restless ones nonetheless. Most of the time he calls and texts to let me know his plans, but sometimes he gets carried away and forgets. On those nights, I lie awake and wonder where he is, what he’s up to and when he is going to come home.

  Who he might be out with is the thing that worries me the most. Is he just out with Paul or the boys from the cast? Or is he with the whole cast and being overly affectionate with Ruth again? Or, and this is the thought that niggles at me the most, is he being propositioned by random girls? In London it’s impossible to forget that Billy is such a heart-throb – he can rarely go anywhere unnoticed. I regularly witness the reaction from girls as they recognize Billy on the street. Their eyes light up and are instantly filled with desire – even if he has his arms wrapped around me, his girlfriend. I know, without doubt, that there are a whole bunch of women (and men) who would happily throw themselves at Billy if they had the chance. The thought of it happening while I’m sitting at home waiting for him makes me feel anxious and sick.

  Sometimes, when I can feel myself starting to panic, I call or text him. Just once or twice, not the millions of times I’d like to try until he picks up. Although saying that, he usually picks up or replies straight away, immediately eliminating any fear that was mounting in me – making me feel silly for being dubious of the situation.

  I don’t join Billy on his nights out and am asleep (or pretending to sleep) by the time he decides to venture home. Even though we have a brief chat before I leave for work in the mornings, he is usually in bed, and occasionally still has his eyes closed, eager to fall back to sleep as soon as I leave. The conversation is hardly riveting and extremely one-sided.

  One thing that Billy has started doing is meeting me after I finish work so that we can go out for dinner together – a quick bite to eat with a catch-up before he rushes off to the theatre for another show.

  The evenings remain difficult. Those hours where I feel lost in an unknown place. I become agitated and uncomfortable, unsure what to do with myself before it’s a reasonable time to go to bed. I potter about aimlessly beforehand.

  I’ve even stopped making cakes every night for us to munch on when Billy gets in – there’s no point if he isn’t coming home to actually eat them with me. Occasionally, I do make a batch of cakes for him to take in to share with the rest of the cast and crew – which I know Fiona (the raspberry Pavlova scoffer) enjoys. But that’s it.

  I won’t lie, I find it all quite depressing and feel we’d have spent more quality time together if I hadn’t made the move to London after all. I see less of him now that I’ve changed my life to be with him than I did when I was living a contented life in Rosefont Hill.

  I keep reminding myself that a snippet of time spent with each other is better than none whatsoever. But it sucks.

  I can’t wait for this show to finish – then I might get my boyfriend back.

  Sundays are usually our one day to be together, so we usually do nothing and completely chill out. However, today we have invited Mum and Molly over, so that they can see where we live at last.

  Mum used to drive when I was younger, but hasn’t for years, so, rather than them having the hassle of getting on the train and changing to get on the tube and so on, Billy decided to order them a car and chauffeur for the day. I thought it was an extremely sweet gesture and I knew they’d love it. I wish I could have been there to see the looks on their faces when the baby pink limousine turned up. It was Billy’s idea to get one, playing on the whole movie star thing with an added girlie flourish. We know they found it funny because they used the built-in car phone to call us in hysterics straight away. Apparently, Molly was sticking her head out of the sunroof while the car was in stationary traffic, and trying to persuade Mum to join her, much to Mum’s embarrassment.

  I’m wiping down the kitchen surfaces, in a last-minute attempt to make the place spotless, when they knock, so Billy greets them at the door. I smile as I overhear a mixture of laughter and hellos as Billy welcomes them in and guides them to me in the kitchen.

  ‘Oh darling, I’ve missed you so much,’ squeals Mum, running in to give me a big squeeze.

  ‘Oh, isn’t this lovely!’ coos Molly as she walks in behind her, looking around the flat.

  ‘You’ve cut your hair off!’ I say in surprise, noticing her new shorter do which is standing on end following her windy limo adventure.

  Molly combs her fingers through it and shakes it about wildly, making it go fluffier.

  ‘That’s right! I’ve always thought about it, but never done it. So I just took the scissors to it one day and watched it all drop to the floor. It was wonderfully liberating.’

  We all just stare at her in shock. I’m guessing Mum didn’t know that she’d given herself the chop either, as she looks just as surprised as Billy and me.

  ‘You cut it yourself?’ I ask.

  ‘Yes … it looks OK, doesn’t it?’ she asks, turning from side to side to give us all a better view.

  ‘Yes, of course, gorgeous as always.’

  ‘You, on the other hand, missy!’ says Molly, as she walks over to me and grabs my waist. ‘Where have you disappeared to? Is he not feeding you?’ she says, glaring at Billy, causing him to laugh.

  ‘Don’t blame me!’ Billy says, putting his hands innocently in the air.

  ‘I think it’s not having our cakes to nibble on every day,’ I say with a shrug. ‘The Coffee Matters treats aren’t quite as tempting.’

  ‘I bet!’ squeaks Molly. ‘But you’d better start eating them – you don’t want scrawny arms!’

  ‘I have told her,’ says Billy, agreeing with Molly. ‘She’ll end up like a matchstick if she keeps going.’

  ‘Hardly!’ I argue, rolling my eyes.

  ‘Men like their curves, madam,’ says Molly, shaking her head at me. ‘If th
ey wanted to be with someone with the body of a boy then they’d have something wrong with them in the head.’

  Billy laughs at Molly’s inappropriate and extremely un-politically correct comment.

  ‘Are you eating properly, Soph?’ says Mum seriously, failing to hide the concern in her voice.

  It makes me uncomfortable to have them all stood around me and fussing over something I wasn’t even aware was an issue.

  ‘Guys, I’m fine. I’m just busy at work and not eating as much blooming cake as I used to.’

  All three of them just gawp at me.

  ‘What?’ I demand, annoyed that the day together has not kicked off quite as I had planned.

  ‘It’s nothing, dear,’ says Mum.

  ‘Anyway,’ I say, wanting to get the attention away from myself. ‘What would you like to do today?’

  Both Mum and Molly shrug at me.

  ‘OK … how about a walk in the park? We could feed the ducks while we’re there?’

  ‘That sounds nice, love!’ chimes Mum. ‘Maybe we could feed the pigeons in the square while we’re here, too?’

  I look at Billy, who is trying to stifle a laugh. What is it with our family’s need to feed the pigeons?

  A little while later, the four of us stroll through Hyde Park with the warm sunshine beaming on our backs as we dodge the children, dogs and couples who have also decided to spend the day here. Billy and Mum walk slightly ahead of Molly and me, taking it in turns to play around with the camera we’ve brought out with us.

  I slip my arm around Molly and squeeze into her, briefly resting my head on her shoulder.

  ‘So, tell me about my replacement.’

  ‘What, Sally?’ she asks, taking my arm and linking it through hers.

  ‘Yes. Where did she come from? What’s she like?’

  ‘Oh, well, she just wandered in one day looking a bit clueless,’ she shrugs, raising her eyebrows.

  ‘Kind of like I did, then?’

  ‘You could say that. She was looking at the sign I’d put up about you sadly leaving and me needing new staff. When I asked her if I could help she was a little bit tongue-tied, so I realized she must’ve been interested in the position.’