by Peter Martin
‘Go now … Get help.’
With no idea where the phone might be, Billy ran downstairs. He glanced around the kitchen, remembering there’d been a telephone mounted on the wall behind the door back in Clifton Street. That split-second the thought of their old home was like torture. But returning to the present he rushed to the front room, where on a small table by the fireplace he spotted the telephone. He dialled 999, and within a few rings his call was answered.
‘Hallo, which service do you require?’
‘Err, it’s … it’s my dad, he’s been hurt.’
‘Okay, how and where is he hurt?’
‘His stomach … The woman stabbed him with a knife.’
‘All right, how old are you?’
‘Thirteen.’
‘And your name?’
‘Billy Price.’
‘Okay, Billy, we’ll send an ambulance straight away. Keep calm, we’ll soon have everything under control. Give me your address.’
Billy did, trembling all over.
‘Right, now is your dad awake or asleep?’
‘Awake.’
‘I want you to loosen his clothing, see where the wound is. Find a towel and wet it and put it over the wound. And put two pillows under his head. Can you do that? Repeat what I said.’
He did.
‘Leave me on the line and come back when you’ve done that.’
Billy did what he was told and returned five minutes later.
‘I … I did what you said. There’s a lot of blood. Is he going to die too?’
‘No, but we will have to take him to hospital.’
‘I think my mum’s dead … Her eyes are wide open …and she’s not moving.’
‘Oh, can you tell me what happened?’
‘No, no, I have to go to him now,’ Billy said.
‘Please wait –’
But Billy put the phone down. On the way back upstairs he unlocked the front door, leaving it open for the emergency services when they arrived.
Billy shuddered at the sight of his dad’s still form. ‘I told them, Dad,’ Billy said, sitting beside him.
‘Good lad.’ He patted his hand. ‘You’ll do well … in life …’ Lifting his head, he attempted a smile before passing out. Billy put two fingers on the side of his neck and detected a slight pulse. Thank God, he couldn’t bear losing both his mum and dad.
In the distance the blare of sirens got louder. One of his prayers had been answered. But with his dad unconscious, he’d have to explain. Should he speak the truth, or tell it as he’d been told to? Could he lie under pressure?
Lights were flashing around the walls of the bedroom where he sat with his father. Within seconds he heard heavy footsteps stomping up the stairs. The ambulance crew of three arrived first, instantly scouring the surroundings to assess the situation, and while the paramedic examined Billy’s dad, he directed his colleagues to the two blood-soaked, battered bodies lying motionless on the floor. Both were confirmed dead.
The paramedic turned to Billy and said, ‘Are you the lad who made the emergency call?’
He nodded.
‘I’m Ted.’
‘Will Dad be all right?’
‘I think so. He’s lost a lot of blood, but has a strong pulse.’
At this point two uniformed policemen entered the room, one of them a tall burly man with curly blond hair, three stripes on his sleeve denoting the rank of sergeant. But, at the sight before them, they both stood stock-still inside the doorway.
The sergeant edged his way inside, his gaze resting on Billy. ‘I take it you’re Billy?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Go easy on the lad,’ Ted interjected. When the sergeant made no answer, he continued, ‘We’d better get him to hospital, he’s unconscious. It’s the lad’s father.’
‘That’s fine, but we’ll need to ask the boy a few questions. He’s not hurt at all, so there’s no reason why he can’t talk to us while it’s fresh in his mind.’ He addressed Billy: ‘Hopefully, you feel up to talking to us, Billy? We’d like to find out what happened here.’
Billy couldn’t speak as he watched his father being stretchered away. He felt panicky and short of breath; they wouldn’t let him go to the hospital. He sobbed as the stretcher disappeared out of sight.
‘All right, Billy, let’s go somewhere quiet, the kitchen perhaps.’
Billy nodded and followed the sergeant, who closed the door behind them.
‘Okay, son, just tell me in your own words what happened here today. Take your time, it’s important you miss nothing out.’
Billy told him the story his dad had concocted, praying to God he’d told it right.’
‘Thank you, Billy,’ the sergeant said once he’d finished. ‘Do you have any relatives you can stay with in the meantime?’
‘No one.’
‘What about a grandparent?’
Billy shook his head ‘No one. My sister died a few years ago. I’m on my own now.’
‘What about an aunt or uncle?’
‘Dad’s got a brother, but I don’t know his address.’
‘Okay, Billy. We can’t do much about it now, but we’ll try to contact him tomorrow. In the meantime, we shall have to make arrangements. For tonight a foster carer will look after you.’
Billy had tears in his eyes.
‘Don’t worry, lad, we’ll sort it. By the way, what’s your uncle’s first name, and where does he live?’
‘Uncle James, and he lives in Redburn. But I want to be with my dad.’
He remembered his uncle from when he was a little boy, always trying to make him laugh with funny faces and silly jokes. But in recent years they’d drifted apart, and Billy had only seen him at Katie’s funeral, and then they hardly spoke.
‘All in good time. No doubt you’ll be able to visit him tomorrow.’
But despite the sergeant’s words of comfort, Billy couldn’t keep still.
‘Come on, I’ll take you to the station. Once we’ve contacted your uncle, we’ll assign someone for you to stay with for the night.’
Within a matter of five minutes they entered the police station. WPC Joyce Baker was assigned to stay with Billy until a temporary foster parent could be found. In the meantime, a doctor came to examine him and determine his wellbeing. He now sat in the rest room with Joyce, eating the food she’d got him.
Later an elderly gentleman came to collect him. He introduced himself as Mr Ian Dawson, and over the next hour, he related his entire life story to Billy. For a time, the evening’s horrific events faded from his mind.
Mr and Mrs Dawson had no children of their own, but in the latter part of their married life had fostered over fifty children. Billy was made to feel welcome, and his room was comfortable. They were nice people. In the long term, he needed to belong somewhere, he’d had enough of moving about. But in the circumstances, he doubted his father would play much of a role in his future.
Once Mr and Mrs Dawson had left his room, he was alone in a strange bed. He felt hot and sweaty, and didn’t know where to settle in this alien bed. He thought of his mum and all the happy times they’d spent together. He loved going out with her and his dad and Katie. To pubs and parks and the seaside. Now all that remained were memories. And he had nothing to take their place. Mum had gone, Katie had gone, and he’d hardly ever see his dad again. He feared for his future, and the thought of never seeing his family again felt so daunting. With no one to talk to or confide in, he felt lost and alone. Oh God, he wished someone could help him.
At the police station the next day, Billy sat waiting. Another interview was arranged for ten o’clock and, on his arrival, the constable on the reception desk had confirmed someone would soon be with him.
When WPC Joyce Baker arrived smiling, Billy felt a little better.
‘How are you, Billy?’ she asked. ‘Hope you got some sleep.’
‘Yes, a little.’
‘Mr and Mrs Dawson are a lovely couple.’
&n
bsp; ‘They came with me this morning. But I said I’d be okay to wait on my own.’ After a few seconds he asked, ‘Shall I be able to see my dad today?’
‘I can’t say. We’ve tracked down your Uncle James, and I would imagine it will be up to him.’
The sergeant he’d seen the previous night and a middle-aged woman of about fifty came into the waiting area and beckoned them over.
‘Morning, Billy, you already know I’m Sergeant Pitt, and this is WPC Baker here. I’d like to introduce you to Alice Westwood from social services.’
‘When can I visit my dad?’
‘Your Uncle James is in the interview room, and when you leave here you’ll be under his care, so it’s for him to decide about visiting your father. All right?’
‘Yeah.’
Sergeant Pitt looked around, and addressing the group, said, ‘If you’d all like to follow me, we’ll join Mr Price.’
Within seconds they filed into the interview room, and there sitting at the table alone was James Price. Billy recognised him at once. A thin man, tall but stooped, bald, with a long nose and dark blue eyes; an older version of Billy’s dad. Billy’s hands were clammy. He didn’t want to go with him. He hardly knew him, and feared they wouldn’t get on. Why couldn’t he stay with his dad? With his mum dead, they needed each other more than ever.
James got to his feet and walked over to his nephew, placing a supportive arm about his shoulders.‘Sorry to hear about your dad, Billy. It’s a big shock to your Aunt Violet and me, so I can’t imagine what you’ve been through.’
Billy nodded, with a lump in his throat.
‘Anyway, Miss Westwood here has arranged’ – he gestured towards the social worker – ‘that you stay with us until our Tom’s well enough to look after you again.’
‘But I want to be with Dad, Uncle James!’ Billy sobbed. ‘Last night was awful, and it’s all because of that Simpson woman. Dad was so badly hurt he passed out … and I keep worrying he’s not going to make it too.’
The sergeant said, ‘I can tell you, Billy, as of eight o’clock this morning he’s comfortable, although unconscious. I have to keep up with his progress because we need to question him too.’
‘So now your uncle is here, Billy, how about getting on with things, and who knows, when you’ve answered my questions perhaps he can phone the hospital to find out how your dad is.’
‘Yes, that’s right, once we’ve finished, I’ll speak to Aunt Vi, ask her to get the tea done later, and when we get in I’ll phone your dad for you.’
And so Sergeant Pitt began his questioning. ‘Okay, Billy, I know you’ve already been interviewed at the scene of the crime, but we’d like to go over it again in more detail. Let’s start with how you and your dad came to be at the house. Take your time, and if you’re upset at all, we can stop and continue again when you’re ready.’
Billy looked from one to the other staring at him. His face was flushed with heat, and he prayed to God they wouldn’t recognise this as a show of guilt.
‘Dad said we were going to see Mum and that she was coming back to us.’ He told them what had happened at Mrs Dyson’s bedsit, omitting the part where his father had thrown the plate at the wall. But mentioning the fight earlier that day with Dave at work didn’t sound too good. Then, citing the booze to justify his dad’s actions, he realised he’d made matters a lot worse. In fact, everything he said seemed to exacerbate the precarious position his dad was in.
‘So, when you got to the house, did your mum invite you in?’ Sergeant Pitt asked.
‘No, Jane Simpson opened the door, and she didn’t want to let us in. But Dad wouldn’t stop, and he shouted Mum’s name …’ Billy stopped as tears streamed down his face, and he shook his head, saying, ‘I keep seeing Mum and all that blood … and the knife.’ He gulped, unable to carry on, prompting the social worker to say, ‘That’s quite enough.’ She handed Billy a tissue. ‘I appreciate you need to find out the truth, but can’t you see the state he’s in?’
‘Just a few more questions, Miss Westwood,’ Sergeant Pitt conceded. ‘It’s vital we find out exactly what happened last night.’
Then, turning his attention to Billy, he said, ‘All right, we’ll go over this one more time –’
‘I’ve already told you once!’
‘We have to make sure you’ve left nothing out. Just be honest, and everything will be all right.’
‘If you want me to say he killed them both, I won’t, because he didn’t. Simpson killed my mum as she tried to get away and was about to kill my dad.’
‘Well, that’s not what the evidence shows. Billy, we realise you love your dad and he loves you, but two people are dead, one your mum. And the knife bears only your father’s fingerprints. How do you explain that? Surely Jane Simpson’s fingerprints would also have been present.’ Billy couldn’t answer, but continued to sob. ‘Besides, we’ve just spoken to Mrs Dyson who’s confirmed he got violent with her too, earlier that same day. And you’ve admitted he’d had a lot to drink. Is that why he lost his temper and killed both of them?’
‘No, no ... You’re wrong. Dad would never hurt Mum. He’s the best Dad in the world. He tried to stop that woman hurting my mum.’
‘That’s it, Sergeant.’ Miss Westwood stood up. ‘The poor lad’s been through too much already.’
Sergeant Pitt nodded. ‘Very well, Miss Westwood, but I may need to speak to Billy again. We have to be sure we have the truth.’
By this time Miss Westwood looked livid. ‘I understand you’re trying to do your job, but I have to do mine too. And next time you interview Billy, I’ll be with him. At all times.’ The strength of her words left no doubt in anyone’s mind of her resolve.
Ten minutes later James Price accompanied Billy out of the police station. ‘Great to see you again Billy, only wish it was under different circumstances.’
Billy said nothing.
‘How are you?’
When he still remained quiet, his uncle carried on. ‘Must have been awful for you. It’s so tragic to lose your mum, but having to witness what happened in that bedroom to both parents is horrific. I feel for you; we’ll take care of you, your Aunt Vi and me, do our best for you. While we can never take your mum and dad’s place you’ll want for nothing, and hopefully you’ll be happy.’
Billy couldn’t bear to think about that. If the worst happened, he couldn’t carry on. ‘Will my dad die?’
‘Course he won’t. He’s badly hurt, lost a lot of blood, but the doctors are hopeful he’ll pull through.’
‘Why can’t I be with him?’
‘Because he’s very ill, and the police want to interview him first. That could take a long time.’
‘It’s not fair,’ Billy sniffed.
‘I know, but there’s nothing we can do. Come on; let’s get you back to our house. And as I promise, once you’ve had something to eat, I’ll ring the hospital to put your mind at rest.’
With a downcast expression Billy didn’t reply as he walked beside Uncle James.
‘Here we are, Billy.’ His uncle pointed over the road to a bright blue car. ‘That old Ford Fiesta’s mine; it’s not much to look at, but it’s done us proud over the years.’
Still nothing from Billy.
‘This isn’t the ideal situation, but I can’t undo what’s happened. What I can do is assure you there’ll always be a home for you with your aunt and me, as I’ve already said.’
But Billy’s mind was elsewhere. ‘He shouldn’t go to jail! He did nothing wrong. It was that Simpson woman.’
Once he’d got into his car, James opened the passenger side door for his nephew with a sad smile.
‘Dad won’t stand for it. And anyway, it wasn’t his fault. He’ll try to escape … and I’ll help him.’
‘That’ll only make things worse.’
Billy didn’t intend arguing: he’d do whatever he had to, no matter what anyone said.
They drove out of Dexford, following the signs for Redburn
six miles away. As his uncle drove he took much care. Everything he did was so precise. His clothes, for instance, the white collar and tie complete with pin, his sports jacket over knife-edge pressed trousers: the total antithesis to his brother Tom.
The car halted outside a semi-detached bungalow, number 2 Ascot Avenue, the front garden of which had been covered by block paving. No sooner had they got out than the side gate opened, and a small plump woman rushed out to greet them. Billy’s memories of his relatives were hazy, but seeing his aunt now, dressed in a grey skirt and white polo-neck jumper, and the heavily made-up face, evoked a memory of meeting her at Katie’s funeral. She hugged him then held him from her to stare at him, saying, ‘Hallo, Billy. Nice to see you. Let’s get you settled in.’
Billy made no comment and followed her into the kitchen, knowing she was doing her best to make him welcome.
‘Come into the living room and sit yourself down by the fire.’ She pointed to a grey armchair. ‘I’ll get you a drink. Lemonade or orange squash?’
‘Lemonade will be fine,’ he replied as he sat down, feeling the warmth of the gas fire.
‘Right, coming up.’
She dashed into the kitchen, leaving him to gaze around the small room, but returned within a few minutes. First, she handed him his drink along with a plate containing an assortment of biscuits.
‘How about one of these?’
As Billy helped himself, James came in. ‘That’s exactly what I could do with, a nice chocolate biscuit.’
Violet turned to face her husband. ‘I’ve poured the tea in the kitchen, if you’d like to bring them in.’
As they sat in the living room the atmosphere grew tense; everyone struggled for conversation.
Then, clearing his throat, his uncle said, ‘Well, here we are Billy. As you’re aware, we’ve made arrangements for you to stay here for the time being. You’ve been through a lot, even before today.’ He stopped, and looking at his wife continued, ‘But your aunt and I will be responsible for your wellbeing, and if you’ve got any worries, please don’t be afraid to speak up.’
Billy nodded, with a deep frown.
‘Anyway, on the bright side, you’ll be able to stay in the same school.’
‘Yes, of course you will,’ his aunt cut in. ‘We’re very interested in seeing you progress at school. And another thing – living here will stop your dad worrying over you.’
