Billy Christmas

by Mark A. Pritchard

  Katherine seemed to be getting a bit bored.

  “Speaking of girls, the person who we went to see, who was actually a deer for a while, is called Senga. The good news is she thinks we can still find my dad. Which is nice, ’cause I’d hate to go through all this, and have all of you go through this, and it all be because I’m mad. Which is what it will look like if he doesn’t show up in two days’ time.”

  He poked her on the shoulder; she was still ignoring him.

  “So I’m sorry I kissed Senga, but I really didn’t think I had a choice. Walking back would have taken forever. I know you probably feel like you’re a long way from home too, but I think if I keep going somehow this will bring us all back, in one piece, in one place, ready for you to leave with your dad.”

  She was looking paler than the last time he was here. Perhaps they were keeping the window shut in order to keep her warm? Could people in a coma shiver? He looked over to the door. It was ajar, but there was no sign of her aunt. He couldn’t kiss her like this; he knew the difference now. At some point, his father’s fate was going to hinge on whether Katherine had woken up or not, but if he focussed on what he couldn’t achieve now, they would all be finished. Instead, he made to leave, turning to face her as he approached the door.

  “Katherine,” he said loud enough to wake anyone sleeping in the room, “you’re going to have to wake up. I’m getting offers from other girls, and some of them are very tempting. Besides, I’m intending not to sing at all next year, and I believe that means you owe me a kick in the…”

  “Well said, Billy!”

  He leapt in shock. Katherine’s aunt was beside him at the door.

  “I told Andrew she needed some plain speaking, and…well, that was putting it plain,” said the aunt, giving his arm a squeeze. “Let’s let her think on that for a while.”

  With that, she guided a red-faced Billy out of the room and back downstairs to the kitchen. There was a plate of biscuits waiting there, and he was glad of the breakfast and distraction.

  “Don’t be embarrassed. When this family isn’t on display, the language is pretty frank. She needs something to give her a chivvy.”

  “Do they have to go to the Gulf?” Billy knew it was a question he couldn’t ask of Katherine or her father.

  The aunt looked back at Billy. “I think you know a little of the determination they share. I do know this is tearing Andrew apart, and that he’d hoped not to have to leave the country till Katherine was at university. But events are fast overtaking him.”

  Over the last year, he’d lost his stomach for news. It was enough to keep on top of everything in his own world; more than enough. There was talk at school—talk of fear, talk of terrorism—but he’d simply had too much to cope with to worry about how the world was turning.

  “I have to go, please keep talking to her.”

  “I’ll tell her you’re out searching for a date.”

  Billy blushed again. “You know that we’re not… We’re supposed to be just friends.”

  “Really? The way Katherine spoke about you I was always sure there was more to it than that.”

  He thanked her as calmly as he could for the biscuits, and tried to leave the house without looking like he was floating on air.

  * * *

  It was late morning and instead of rolling back down Ragman’s Lane, he turned left out of the drive and headed for the main road and then Winchbottom Lane. Here there was, arguably, an even steeper hill, without the death-inducing ninety-degree bend at the bottom. Enjoying the breeze and the two red kites which circled above him as he flew down the hill, he allowed himself to feel a moment of excitement at the thought of Katherine speaking about him with warm words. He knew this was a long way from the real world, but the hill was so steep that he felt he could outrun reality, just for a while.

  * * *

  All Saints Church was busy holding a Christmas bazaar, so Billy was able to slip into the graveyard that backed up onto the weir without raising any suspicions. He looked across to the park, saw that the mistletoe had engulfed the trees and was sending out exploratory arms through the iron railings. At night it was easier to believe in anything, and he hadn’t had many daytime indicators of his adventures. He began to wonder just how big the next task would prove to be. Senga had said that the effect would be dramatic. Did she mean just for him, or for the public at large? She’d also said he couldn’t do this alone, though with Katherine still out of action he was going to have to do his best.

  He approached the water’s edge behind the church. It was one of the days where you didn’t even have to look for the falling edge of the weir. It could be heard. The water was dark and fast moving, carrying vast power before meeting the hundred-metre-long weir which consumed that energy and converted it into sound and spray.

  Nearer to Billy, where the water was relatively calm, a wooden boat about ten feet long was chained and locked to a great iron ring in the bank of the river. The boat had been forced hard against the side, and its black rubbing strake was leaving marks on the concrete bank. Alongside a lock a huge chain went underneath the boat without appearing to be attached. Billy wondered if another boat had simply sunk to the bottom of the river.

  “A present from my predecessor,” said Mike, making Billy jump. “Sorry, I thought you’d heard me coming.”

  Collecting his stomach and his thoughts, Billy tried to appear calm. “Kept it here in case any of the sermons went badly, did he?”

  “I’ve no idea, but I’ll bear that in mind,” said Mike, smiling.

  It occurred to Billy that he might be able to ask the vicar to help him. After all, he’d offered nothing but support, asking for nothing in return. He also had the advantage of being able to see some of what was happening. Billy couldn’t articulate why he didn’t feel ready to trust him completely. Perhaps after this was all completed and there was nothing left to risk, then he could. From beside the church, a shrill voice started calling out, “Vicar! Vicar!”

  “Whatever I did last time around, I’m paying now,” he said before covering his mouth in mock horror at his blasphemy. He turned to walk back to the church. “Four-seven-two.”

  Billy frowned, confused. “What?”

  “If you need to borrow the boat. Four-seven-two,” said Mike, dragging his feet along the path.

  Billy grinned; he hadn’t noticed that the boat was locked. “Thanks!”

  “I know, I know. You can’t tell me. Dress up warm. There’s a storm coming.”

  An icy wind rolled across the graveyard. It was as if the vicar had woken an ancient winter from its slumber.

  * * *

  The second time Billy left his home that day, he looked like he was set for another flight to Rum. He needed to cycle, so he only had two pairs of trousers on, but he’d managed to locate his father’s skiing goggles, and these were proving an excellent screen from the wind that had picked up since his earlier outing. He’d duct-taped the black iron bar to the frame of his mother’s bicycle to make it look a bit more like a man’s bike, with a cross-bar. He had the knuckleduster zipped into a breast pocket. He’d thought about bringing the axe too, but was scared of losing it overboard, or of the Gargoyle taking it from him. The thought of the Gargoyle loose with the axe in its one good arm made his blood freeze.

  He rode slowly into Robert’s drive and placed the bike as quietly as he could against the garage. Without giving himself time to check his courage, he knocked firmly at the door. Robert opened it, and seemed confused to see Billy.

  “I thought it was polite to ring before you dropped around.”

  “Don’t have phone,” said Billy through frozen lips. “Can I come in?”

  “Alex is out.”

  Billy took this as a yes.

  “What are you dressed for?”

  “Funny you should ask that. I wondered if you wanted to come and open up the weir.” Billy had a notion that this is what the wheel might do. Opening the weir and emptying the river. Hence
the attention it would attract.

  “Open the weir? Why?”

  “Well, you know, for the hell of it. For a laugh.”

  “But it’s bloody freezing out there.”

  “I know that, but it’d be great, wouldn’t it?”

  Robert looked at him, checking that he had heard him correctly. “To open the weir?”

  “I think that’s what it does. I’ve got this old iron bar, and a boat by the church.”

  For a moment, Billy thought he saw a smile breaking on Robert’s face; then it changed.

  “I can’t. I’m supposed to cook for Alex tonight.”

  He looked about the kitchen. There were empty packets, but no sign of a meal in progress.

  Robert read his mind, and looked a bit afraid. “I know. I’ve looked everywhere. I can’t find anything.”

  Billy frowned, then started to open cupboard doors. Over the last year, he’d learnt how to rustle up meals from random cans, fruits and vegetables which had never been in close contact before, or probably since. However, this was looking bleak. There weren’t the usual base things like half-empty pasta packets or cans of tuna. Just empty cardboard, and the odd jar of out-of-date sludge. Not good. From the corner of his eye, he could see Robert looking out into the darkness. His brother must be due home soon.

  “It’s always like this,” said Robert in a voice Billy could hardly hear. “Like I ate everything that was here…”

  “Ha!”

  “What?”

  Billy held up a stock cube. “Sorted. Bring me anything from the freezer.” He fired up the largest hob, pulled a large frying pan from the bottom of a cupboard, and emptied the cube into it. An open pack of butter was by the toaster; he added a wedge of this to the stock cube, trying not to wonder how long it had been there.

  Robert came back, still looking worried. “Prawns and peas. That’s it.”

  “That’s fine. Don’t suppose there’s any wine anywhere?”

  Robert’s face brightened. He left Billy with the prawns and peas and disappeared again. The new ingredients went into the pan and steam filled the kitchen. Soon Robert was back, with three red wine bottles in various states of near emptiness. Billy took them without hesitation, added them to the mix, along with a dollop of ketchup he’d coaxed from a forgotten bottle.

  “We need bread,” said Billy, shaking the spitting pan.

  “There was some pita bread in the freezer.”

  “Perfect. Get it.”

  Billy dropped the pita into the toaster.

  “Thanks,” Robert said. “You’ve no idea what a beating I was in for.”

  Remembering Robert’s head being smashed against the garage door, Billy thought that he might, but just nodded. With that, the kitchen door flew open.

  “You never told me you were bringing someone over!” said Alex, grabbing Robert by the neck.

  Robert’s feet skittered underneath him. “Just to cook, Alex, just to cook.”

  Billy stared into the pan, stirring like crazy at the red and green stew.

  “What is it?”

  Billy thought fast. “Tom gai soup. Fresh from the pan.”

  “Sounds foreign. I hate foreign.”

  “It’s Thai.”

  “Oh. Well, OK then.”

  Alex let go of Robert and sat at the table. Robert rubbed his neck while Billy served up the soup with pita bread on the side. Robert looked up as Alex dunked the bread in and slurped the soup back. He looked at them both, to one, then the other.

  “It’s all right I suppose,” he said.

  “All right?” Robert took a step forward.

  Billy looked at him in horror; this was the time for an honourable retreat, not to make a point. Alex turned back to him, of course.

  “Yeah. What were you expecting?”

  “Perhaps a thank you?”

  Billy started to inch towards the door. He’d done his best here, but Robert was bent on destruction. Alex took another step forward.

  “Hmmm. Thank you for keeping a roof over my head?”

  They stared at each other, Billy waiting for the bowl to fall, and the beating to begin. Eventually, Alex lost interest, and turned his attention back to the soup. For an instant, Billy saw a flash of rage in Robert, and thought he was going to charge after him. He stepped forward and put a hand on his shoulder.

  “Come on. Let’s get out of here.”

  Robert turned, still combusting but under control, and nodded.

  * * *

  Olly’s house was quiet, leaving Robert without a bike. As it was downhill most of the way Billy ferried him on his, standing on the pedals and letting him sit on the seat. The cold breeze was a welcome distraction from the temperature and tension of the kitchen. As they glided down the quiet High Street, Billy had most of the road to himself. With the shops shut and the weather turning much colder, people seemed to have decided to head home earlier than usual. He pulled up outside the church and, having rolled Robert off to one side, began to push the bike up the path. Robert looked up at All Saints tower with some confusion.

  “I thought we were going to the weir?”

  “That’s right, come on.”

  Robert followed Billy, looking around the unfamiliar graveyard, clearly not happy to be there. Billy turned to make sure he was keeping up before putting the bike against the sidewall of the church. He unwound the tape around the bar from the frame of the bike and swung it over his shoulder. It was only a short walk to the wall but, from the noise of the weir, Billy could tell that the flow of the river had increased. The surface of the river had uncomfortable folds, like an overused bed sheet. He swung his legs over the edge of the bank and onto the boat, leaving the iron bar on the side of the wall. The boat itself was made of heavy oak, and proved quite steady. It had two sets of seats, or thwarts, as his father would have corrected him, and a separate rudder and tiller at the back. A heavy chain was attached to the bank and then disappeared somewhere underneath the boat.

  Robert was looking over the wall at him. “Is that thing safe?”

  “So far so good. Pass the bar over.”

  As Robert clambered in, Billy stowed the bar and turned his attention to the combination lock which tied the boat to the wall, looped through the large iron chain that disappeared into the water.

  “Billy?”

  He was wrestling with the gummed lock. “Hang on.”

  “It’s just that…”

  “Give me a minute, will you?” said Billy. The lock hadn’t been moved in some time, and the last number wouldn’t fall.

  “I think it’s quite important.”

  “Got you!” said Billy, falling back into the boat, open lock in hand.

  “Where are the oars?”

  The boat reacted to the news by spinning in the nearest eddy. Billy looked around the boat. Robert was absolutely right, no oars. Billy shot an arm out to the chain, and with their combined strength, the boat turned in alongside the bank.

  With the boat no longer fighting them, Robert was able to sit back on the seat. “You hadn’t really thought this out, had you?”

  Billy looked down into the dark water. Robert was right, but he didn’t want to admit it. Hadn’t his instincts and determination got him this far? He then thought about his fading mother and the absent, broken Tree. Perhaps things weren’t in such good shape.

  “What are we doing here, anyway?” said Robert.

  This was no easier to answer. Billy had to think fast. “It’s in a bit of old Marlow legend. This bar completes a wheel in the weir.”

  “To do what?”

  “Well, that’s what we’re going to find out.”

  Robert gave Billy a look to see if he really was being as vague as that. How could he begin to explain that, on this flimsy reasoning lay, perhaps, the life of his father? Turning back, Robert was looking towards the weir, back to the wall, and then out to the weir once again.

  “What is it?”

  Robert went to the front of the boat, and exa
mined the prow, running his hands over the turning block. “I don’t think this boat was made for oars.”

  “It’s got holes for the rowlocks.”

  “Yeah, but look at them, they’ve hardly been used. Can you see that chain, just above the water level on the weir?”

  Streetlights painted the water orange, making it hard to pick out detail. “I dunno, maybe. Are you sure?” said Billy.

  “I’ve got good eyes,” said Robert. “I reckon it’s the same chain as the one that runs underneath this boat. I think it was supposed to be a sort of chain ferry. Perhaps for whoever used to open the weir?”

  Billy had to admire Robert, not just for his eyes, but also for his thinking. That would explain a lot. Perhaps the chain could also guide them into the place where they were supposed to add the iron bar. He shot him a grateful smile.

  Moving the chain proved hard work. With a massive effort, they lifted a few links over the turning block at the front of the boat. Robert, shorter and wider, was able to pull the chain more easily and took over. As the pace of the chain quickened, it became clear he had been right about the way this boat was meant to move. Billy was glad of the company, and surprised by Robert’s resourcefulness. By the time they were halfway across the river, they were really moving. And to his relief, the area was completely deserted, as the heavy chain was making a real racket.

  As they drew closer to the wall of the weir, he began to doubt the chain would act as a guide for placing the iron bar. The chain ended just above the water line, but there was no hint of the wheel that Senga had referred to.

  “Getting close now,” said Robert.

  A car passed over the bridge. White lights broke through the orange gloom, revealing the full length of the mighty weir, with huge wooden posts rising like turrets. The temperature was still falling, but the cloud cover was thick and oppressive, as if it were about to thunder, making Billy’s skin shiver and itch at the same time. With the crossing almost complete, he risked standing up. The chain was now clean out of the water and Robert barely had to pull on it at all, just letting the links fall through his hands. Another car passed over the suspension bridge, making Billy jump.