by Peter Martin
Nothing either of them said could make it any easier. It was impossible to undo what had happened. To stay with these two relatives he barely knew was his only option. Eventually he said, ‘Thanks both of you. Can I go to my room now?’
‘Of course. I expect you want to unpack your things. Any dirty washing, bring it out,’ Aunt Violet told him.
His bedroom was small but clean, plainly decorated with white emulsion. On one wall a single bed fitted into the recess between a built-in wardrobe and a storage unit. In the opposite corner stood a bookcase supporting a small television.
Out of the window he saw a well-maintained back garden of grass and flowerbeds. Beyond were fields and the beginning of a forest.
With no intention of unpacking, Billy pushed his suitcase under the bed; he’d sort his dirty washing out later. Instead he plugged in the television and with the remote control lay back, flicking through the channels to find a programme to help block out the horror of the last few days. But it was futile, the nightmare would never go away.
When they asked him to go through his statement again, he had to keep to the same story, the one his dad had concocted and told him to stick to. That’s why he had to go over it again and again in his head. That was his biggest fear right now.
An hour later Uncle James popped his head around the door, smiling. ‘Want something to eat, Billy? Aunt Vi’s made a steak and kidney pie. She makes great pastry; it melts in your mouth,’ he coaxed as Billy sat on the bed.
‘Not hungry.’
‘Have a sandwich then, you need to eat.’
‘Maybe later. Haven’t much of an appetite right now.’ Billy looked away. Why won’t he leave me be, he thought.
After a few seconds his uncle got up, saying, ‘All right, it’s up to you. We’ll save you a piece.’
‘Yes, okay,’ Billy said, glad when he’d gone.
He heard nothing from them after that, apart from a ‘good night’ when they went to bed. And so, alone with his thoughts, the vision of his mother lying on the floor continued, her dead body bespattered with blood. And the fact he’d killed someone only added to his unease. But he’d had no choice, he had to stop that woman, or she’d have butchered his father. He wondered what his dad was doing now, and what would become of him? It seemed certain he’d end up in jail for a long time. He sobbed quietly into his pillow before drifting off to sleep.
Sometime later he awoke and for a few seconds had no idea where he was, but as realisation returned pangs of hunger crept in. He got out of bed and went in search of something to eat. The house was eerily quiet. Making sure the coast was clear, he tip-toed down the hall and into the kitchen, going straight to the fridge. Within minutes he was sitting at the table munching two bread rolls crammed with chunky slices of cheese.
Luckily no one interrupted his midnight feast, and before long he’d slipped back unnoticed with a glass of milk.
But still sleep didn’t come easily. He lay awake staring round the unfamiliar room at the patterns of light seeping in from the window. He felt uncomfortable in this strange house with people he hardly knew. At some point he must have fallen asleep because in no time he was woken by a gentle shake to see Uncle James standing over the bed. Billy groaned, but got up without protest, although why he needed to get up at the unearthly hour of seven-thirty on a Saturday morning he had no idea. After eating breakfast, he returned to his room to watch television.
When his uncle informed him he’d arranged for him to see a counsellor to help him through the trauma he’d suffered, he groaned. What good would that do? The only person he wanted to be with was his dad, but it appeared at present that was impossible.
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His mum’s funeral came a week later. Even though his aunt and uncle were with him he felt all alone with his grief.
Now the funeral was over, he’d said goodbye to his mum, and with dogged determination held back his tears. But the bitterness grew stronger, as did his hatred of Simpson. She’d destroyed his whole family, and for that he was glad she was dead.
Now he faced an uncertain future. His dad would stand trial for murder, even though it had been self-defence. And where that would leave him, he didn’t know.
CHAPTER 7
Six months later, tears streamed down Billy’s face as he watched the sorry figure of his father taken away, head down, not even looking in his direction. Before Billy knew it, he found himself shouting, ‘He’s innocent!’
His pleas had attracted everyone’s attention, but to no avail. He could do nothing more for the man he’d always loved and looked up to.
His conviction for murder meant he’d be in prison forever. No longer would he be there for Billy in difficult times. With luck he might visit twice a month, but they’d never talk like before with their usual banter. And most likely their meetings would be supervised by a prison officer in a room with other prisoners. It was too much to take in.
The atmosphere on the way back was sombre. He heard his aunt and uncle’s low tones on their views of the verdict, but he let it go over his head.
‘You all right, Billy?’ Uncle James asked him, looking through his rear-view mirror.
‘Yeah, I suppose.’
Aunt Violet turned around, a concerned frown on her face. ‘Any time you want to see your dad, we’ll take you – won’t we, James?’
‘Course we will – we’d like to visit ourselves. Our Tom’s been through so much. It’d do him good to have his family around him.’
As if that would solve the problem, Billy thought, turning to gaze out of the window. The only contact the two brothers had recently was exchanging Christmas cards, Billy remembered. But, heartbroken and alone, he said, ‘I don’t want to see him in prison, I want him here with me.’
‘He will be with you one day, but not for a few years yet,’ James said, trying to console his nephew.
‘How could they do this when he’d done nothing wrong? What about Simpson and what she did? Ruined his life, and mine too. It was self-defence, for God’s sake.’ His eyes brimmed with tears as he remembered the part he’d played on that fateful night.
‘I know, lad, but they found him guilty. That’s why we have to move on from this. And you will too eventually, I promise you.’
Never in a million years. His uncle had dismissed this as nothing, and readily accepted his brother was a murderer.
Back at the bungalow, Billy ran straight to his bedroom, flopping down onto the bed, burying his face in his pillow and crying his eyes out. He prayed they wouldn’t come after him with their well-meaning but worthless attempts to console him. They must have realised he needed space. He turned over onto his back, staring at the ceiling, in his mind’s eye seeing his dad serving a never-ending prison sentence. He’d be alone with no one to talk to. It was scary. And longing to be with him, he thought he might be better off dead.
Would there be a chance of an early release from jail as Uncle James had suggested? He didn’t think so. How daunting to imagine the foreseeable future without him. When he was released, Billy would be an adult.
He changed into his pyjamas and slipped under the sheets, hoping a good night’s sleep might make him feel a tad better in the morning. But it wouldn’t come, tossing and turning over and over again, his heart thumping against his chest. Then the door opened and light flooded in. He lay still, pretending to be asleep as he listened to the soft footfall on the carpet, then silence and the room was plunged into darkness once again. Billy breathed easier as whoever had come in must have assumed he was asleep.
The next morning he awoke with a start; James shook him by the shoulder and said, ‘Billy, time to get up.’
‘Oh, do I have to, Uncle? Can’t I have the day off? What do they call it? Compassionate leave?’
‘Sorry, that’s only when someone close dies and you have to attend the funeral. So come on, shake a leg,’ Uncle James said. ‘It’s no good brooding here at home, that’ll only make you worse. You’ll feel better once you’re
at school with your mates – it’ll take your mind off things.’
Billy didn’t agree, but decided it would be easier to keep quiet and get on with it. So he got out of bed, washed and changed into his school uniform and walked into the kitchen for breakfast. But after sitting and looking at the bowl of cornflakes in front of him, he pushed the food away. Not hungry. He felt on show, his aunt and uncle watching his every move, but neither of them passed comment.
‘I’ll just collect my bag from the bedroom and then I’ll be off,’ Billy said.
‘I’ll drop you off. In fact, I can pick you up this afternoon too.’
‘Well, if it’s no trouble, Uncle, I wouldn’t mind a lift in. But I’ll get the bus back, seeing as sometimes we stay behind for football.’
James nodded, picked up his keys from the hall table, and waited while Billy fetched his things.
The journey should have taken fifteen minutes but on nearing Dexford they hit the school traffic, prompting James to say, ‘I bet we’ll be bumper to bumper all the way now.’
‘Do you want me to get out, Uncle? It’s not far, I’ll be just as quick on foot.’
‘All right. You’ll be okay from here. There’s a fiver in my jacket pocket.’ He thumbed towards the backseat. ‘Take it out. That should buy you a sandwich at lunchtime.’
After thanking him for the money Billy got out of the car and watched as his uncle drove off, beeped the horn and waved, without looking back.
Within five minutes he’d reached the school gates and wondered what the day might bring, having little enthusiasm or interest for lessons. As for his mates, he dreaded to think what their attitude would be. They’d only want to talk about the trial. It had been headline news in all the papers: LOCAL MAN CONVICTED OF MURDER. But there were two sides to every story, and the fact that his father had only been defending himself had been overlooked. Why had they convicted an innocent man? And now he kept wondering how his dad was coming to terms with prison, with the scum of the earth.
The morning passed without incident. Come lunchtime in the dining room, Billy felt sweat tickle down his back. In the queue, waiting to be served, he heard Ryan, Danny and Peter talking about going to the park after eating dinner.
‘Hey, Billy, coming to the park with us?’ Ryan asked.
‘Don’t know, probably not. Got a lot of catching up to do with my schoolwork.’
‘Oh, come on, Billy. It’ll be fun. Might see some of the girls over there,’ Danny said.
‘Would normally, but I’m way behind. Can’t afford to, right now. Some other time perhaps.’
‘Suit yourself, you silly swot,’ Peter grinned.
Billy tried to turn the other cheek and ignore them.
‘Thought you might want to tell us about the trial,’ Ryan said.
‘Nothing much to tell really. You must have seen it all in the papers and on TV.’
‘Yeah, but it’s better to hear it from the horse’s mouth. Neigh, neigh,’ Peter laughed.
‘Very funny,’ Billy said as they moved to one of the tables to eat their lunch.
‘Hey, Billy, sure you won’t change your mind? Some of those girls are really hot.’
Billy shook his head. He didn’t feel like doing anything right now.
During the afternoon lessons he felt constantly on edge, clock-watched, longing for three-thirty.
Relief rushed through his body once he was out of school and making his way to the bus stop. He didn’t relish spending the weekend with his uncle and aunt, despite how nice they’d been to him. They tried so hard to do the right thing, but at least they often let him escape to his bedroom.
Back at the bungalow, the front door opened, and cheerful Aunt Violet smiled from ear to ear. Despite being a little taken aback, he pretended to act pleased to be home.
‘Hallo, Billy,’ she said. ‘How was school? Sit yourself down – I’ll fetch you a drink.’
‘All right, thanks,’ he replied. ‘Can I have orange?’
She smiled again. ‘James won’t be home until after five. It used to be six’ – she moved into the kitchen, then on her return said – ‘every day, but they changed his hours a few months ago, so he’s home earlier on a Friday.’
Billy gulped down his drink as she rambled on. ‘My hours are different as well, I used to work.’ He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand when he’d finished as she spoke. ‘But now it’s three-thirty on Friday.’ He wasn’t interested in what she had to say, he had other things on his mind.
She continued, ‘Want another one?’ He shook his head, giving her a pretend smile.
‘Hope you like sausage, chips and beans.’
‘Great, Aunt Violet – one of my favourites.’
‘Good. Why don’t you get changed, it won’t be ready for a while yet. If you’re hungry, there’s a packet of biscuits up in the cupboard.’
‘I can wait, thanks Auntie,’ Billy said, getting up from his seat.
If she expected him to come back in to her, she’d be disappointed – he hated making silly small talk, or listening to her rabbit on and on. So, after changing into a tracksuit he stayed in his room, and by the time tea was ready James had returned from his job as a greengrocer. He greeted Billy pleasantly, asking, ‘Good day, Billy?’
Billy took his place at the table. ‘All right,’ was his mumbled reply.
‘Loads of homework, I’ll bet, what with all the catching up you’ve got to do. Don’t worry, after dinner you can get on with it. Mustn’t get behind, or you’ll be in a mess. And if you’re stuck on something, shout either one of us.’ He nodded in his wife’s direction. ‘We’ll be only too pleased to help.’
‘Thanks, Uncle James, but I’ll be fine.’ He knew Uncle James or Aunt Vi could help, but he wanted to do it himself.
After eating his tea, which he enjoyed, he left the table using homework as an excuse to get away. The last thing he needed was to talk over the day’s events. But in the confines of his bedroom he was fed up of all the work and instead listened to the radio with the volume turned low, earphones on. What did it matter whether he did his schoolwork or not? It wouldn’t bring his dad back to him.
A while later he fell asleep, and at some point was aware of someone taking off his earphones, and tucking him in bed.
Then in no time the room flooded with light and he was shaken awake by Uncle James.
‘We’re going to the supermarket this morning, Billy, and your aunt would like you to come so she can get an idea of what you like to eat.’
‘Do I have to, Uncle? I hate shopping.’
‘Come on, it won’t take long. And afterwards we could spend the afternoon at the local sports field. More often than not, there’s a football match on.’ He had an eager look in his eye, and added, ‘Want to go?’
This is a joke, Billy thought. He liked to sleep in on Saturday mornings. Now he felt obliged to appear enthusiastic about going to watch a match. But first he had to spend the morning in a bloody supermarket. Boring.
In the afternoon Uncle James tried to show how much he knew about football, when he hadn’t a clue. Still, Billy humoured him as best he could.
Then, in the early evening, Aunt Vi suggested a drive out into the country, saying it would do them all good, so Billy got roped into this planned outing too. Now, sitting outside a pub, he couldn’t remember when he’d been so fed up. They did try to include him in their conversations, but another weekend like this would drive him mad.
Thankfully, over time his aunt and uncle became less overpowering. At school, too, things had quietened down, and Billy started to enjoy after- school activities again. But the increased amount of homework didn’t go down well. Uncle James took an interest and was forever asking Billy if he needed help. The answer remained emphatic: he’d already done it without any problems.
As the weeks and months went by he realised the truth of his lack of interest in schoolwork would soon come out, but reassured himself that so long as he revised before each exam it would
be fine.
When the time came, his revision wasn’t enough. His notes didn’t cover everything. This was reflected in his exams. He felt ashamed: he’d never had such bad results before. At the end of term, he left his school report in his bag. Surely his guardians wouldn’t be that interested anyway.
Wrong. James asked his nephew about them straight away and forced Billy to hand it over.
Taking the report out of the envelope, James gawped at what he saw, occasionally staring at his nephew. He didn’t need to comment: his face said it all.
Then after an unnerving silence he spoke, ‘What’s this about, Billy?’ He handed the report across to Violet.
Billy shrugged his shoulders, looking at the ground.
‘Disappointing, isn’t it? I realise you’ve had this upset with your mum and dad, but you insisted you were working hard. It sounds as if you’ve been struggling, and you wouldn’t let us help you either. You’d be surprised what we know, honestly.’
‘Sorry, I did my best,’ Billy pleaded.
‘I’m worried about you. Carry on like this, and you’ll end up going nowhere. I’m not denying you’ve been through a very harrowing experience. We thought you were doing homework every night as you claimed.’ He exchanged glances with Violet.
‘I did, but I was too far behind.’ Billy clenched his teeth and fists to calm himself down, and his face reddened. How dare they criticise him like this? They weren’t his Mum and Dad.
‘So, what do you intend doing when you leave school?’ Uncle James asked.
‘No idea.’
‘Well, you should give it some thought. Or you’ll finish up in a dead-end job or on the dole. Why don’t you enrol for summer school, one of my customers told me only the other day that her daughter was doing just that? It might bring your English and Maths up to scratch.’
When Billy didn’t comment, his uncle continued, ‘Nothing will be handed to you on a plate, Billy. You’ve got to knuckle down or you won’t stand a chance of passing your GCSEs.’
