by Peter Martin
‘Hallo, Billy, take a seat.’
Billy sat down, feeling browned off with teaching.
‘I’ll come straight to the point. There have been a few complaints about your teaching methods of late. Your lessons are rather bizarre and you’re not adhering to the curriculum. What’s going on?’
‘Nothing much. Boredom, I suppose, with the lessons I’m expected to give. I fancied giving the kids a bit of light relief.’
At first, Gibson nodded his agreement, saying, ‘Maybe that’s all right for a short period, but to carry on as you are doing is a downright abuse of your position. If you’re unwell or have another problem, tell me.’ The flicker of a warmth Billy had detected in the man’s eyes had gone.
‘There’s no problem, Mr Gibson, no problem at all.’
Jack Gibson sat up straight, ‘This has to stop at once. And if it continues, you’ll give me no alternative –’
The sentence went unfinished when Billy rudely butted in, ‘Oh sorry, pardon me for rocking the boat. I’ve been a naughty boy and I promise not to do it again.’ He gave a mocking salute.
‘Okay, Mr Price, I can see you’re not your normal self. I’m sorry, but I will have to suspend you. I suggest you see a doctor to help sort you out,’ the Principal said with a concerned frown.
Shocked that he should be victimised in this way, Billy answered, ‘I’m all right, as fit as a fiddle – why shouldn’t I be?’ It didn’t matter how he taught his students, so long as they passed their exams.
‘Go home. I can’t force you to go to a doctor, but until you do, I don’t want you back here.’
Billy’s hands squeezed the arms of his chair, his body became rigid as he stared at Gibson in disbelief. How dare he treat him like this – the man had it in for him.
‘You know something? You can stick your job. Why should I care when nobody cares about me?’
‘You’d better leave now before this gets any worse. Go, or you might live to regret it.’ The Principal got to his feet, pointing to the door.
I’m out of here, Billy decided, walking down the corridor towards the staff room to get his things. He hated the place, the lousy students and the even lousier teachers – they deserved each other.
When he reached the flat he flopped down on his bed and began to cry. The anger and hurt would take time to abate. He really had thought Becky was the one, but preferring her abusive husband to him was humiliating. And Sarah was the same with that lout Ryan. So here he was again on his own; no matter how much he cared for others, it was always the same. He should be used to it by now, but nevertheless he was distraught.
Eventually, he pulled himself together and got off the bed. From now on he’d put himself first. And as for seeing a doctor as Gibson had suggested, he wouldn’t – there was nothing wrong with him. How he despised that man, sitting in his comfy office, getting paid an extortionate wage to dish out useless advice. It’s about time he had his life turned upside down. See how he felt.
After three days of self-imposed exile and ready to face the world again, he ventured out to buy a few supplies. The morning was crisp and bright and the ground was covered in frost; people were predicting snow. He remembered the last heavy snowfall with Sarah and the children. His life had been a series of upheavals albeit to different degrees ever since.
But the past was the past, for now he needed to get another job; but first he intended to deal with Gibson. But how would he bring that about? The man lived near to Oldhampton, a small village about ten miles away. Soon after moving to the area, the Gibsons’ had thrown a big party to celebrate a milestone wedding anniversary. With luck, and a bit of rummaging, he’d find the invitation he’d received. If only he’d made time to go to the shindig. After turning the place upside-down, he found the invite amid a wad of invoices in an old shoebox at the back of a wardrobe. Printed in black at the bottom of the gold-edged card the address stood out:
11 Waldron Road Oldhampton.
The next day Billy took a trip out to Waldron Close to size up the area and the layout of Gibson’s house, which was in a secluded spot. Then a week later, he started out early. He passed through the quaint village of Oldhampton to an isolated area overlooking Waldron Road. From this vantage point, using binoculars, he could see the front door of number eleven.
He sat back, turned up his coat collar and poured himself a mug of tea from the flask, placed the cup on the dashboard and went back to the matter in hand. Half an hour later, flask empty, windows to the car steamed up, there was still no movement from number eleven. He wondered whether he should try again another day, then through the misted window something caught his attention; a light went out. Wiping the glass with his gloved hand, he grabbed the binoculars. Still unable to see clearly, he opened the window, and in the early morning light, Gibson’s BMW glided out onto the road.
One down, two to go; with any luck Gibson’s prune-faced wife wouldn’t be far behind. And he was right; just as the tips of his fingers and his runny nose couldn’t get any colder, she appeared, tottering out in figure-hugging clothes and stiletto heeled shoes. Finally, after messing about for what seemed like hours, she drove off in the Audi TT.
He waited a while wondering if she might have forgotten anything and return. Satisfied the coast was clear, he left his car with a small crowbar placed discreetly up the sleeve of his dark overcoat.
A few minutes later facing the six-foot fence at the rear of the property, he climbed over, dropping onto the lawn below with the utmost caution. He waited, crouched at the foot of the fence, unsure whether he’d been seen. Then, with daylight fast approaching, he crept towards the back door and, taking the crowbar from his sleeve, tried to wrench the door open. Several attempts later, it opened. Once inside, to his alarm, he faced a large retriever dog. He stood still fearful of what the dog might do. The dog jumped up and gave him the warm slobber of his tongue.
Sure the mutt would actually do him no harm, he pushed past him into a spacious warm kitchen. He walked around astounded by the grandeur; never had he expected such splendour. Huh, it was all right for some, no doubt the Gibsons’ life had been plain sailing. Well, that was about to change, he thought, kicking over a large Areca Palm standing in the hallway. He grabbed hold of the dog and pulled him up the stairs and into one of the bedrooms, closing the door behind him.
Then he went in all the other bedrooms, two en-suite and the bathroom, all adorned with the finest furniture and fittings. Lucky him. Billy wanted to trash the place but held back. Suddenly, in his mind’s eye he saw Katie and his mum and dad pleading with him, begging him not to give way to the bad feelings building up inside him. He sank to his knees and sobbed his heart out. He couldn’t do this, it wasn’t fair. Gibson and his family didn’t deserve what he’d been planning. He couldn’t believe he’d sunk so low. Time to get out of there, quickly.
Downstairs to the kitchen and then the back door, which he’d forced open. Billy slipped out and tried to shut the door as best as he could. He was away in minutes, shaking as he got back in his car.
Later in bed, he found himself tossing and turning, thinking about what he’d almost done. It was wrong. Gibson was only doing his job. What was he turning into? Gibson would get a fright when he got back and saw someone had broken into his house. But he’d be relieved when he knew nothing had been taken. If Billy was found out he’d be sent to prison like his dad. And everything he’d achieved so far would be for nothing.
CHAPTER 24
Later that night he thought about Sarah and the children and he yearned for them to be together again. But there was no chance of that. And now he’d quit his job he’d no longer be able to support a family.
Three days later a letter arrived in the post containing a page he had to sign to confirm his resignation. The letter was signed by Jack Gibson on behalf of the Board of Governors. Billy wondered if Gibson had found out who had broken into his house. And was this his way of getting rid of him. Probably best if he left anyway. He signe
d the letter, put it the prepaid envelope and posted it.
Now he realised what he’d almost done at Gibson’s house had made no difference whatsoever. He’d acted on impulse, as he had at first with his aunt and uncle after he’d lost his whole family. His negative feelings were the same then, as they were now, over Sarah and Becky.
As the day wore on, panic spread through his body as he struggled to accept that despite having paid for the flat outright, there would still be bills to pay if he wanted to stay put. Ground rent, service charge, council tax and water rates, and that was before he’d put food on the table. And how would he manage the child maintenance payments? He’d try to get another teaching job, but it would be difficult after what happened. But what else was he trained for? He’d have to sign on and collect dole money.
Unfortunately, even this didn’t pan out as he’d envisaged. The Job Centre told him it would be six weeks before he could claim any allowance because he’d left of his own accord. The adviser’s blasé attitude got to him. Heat rose up from his neck and into his face, but if he caused a scene it would only result in being thrown out.
He would have to pay for his recklessness, of letting his feelings get the better of him. And now he no longer had anyone to turn to. And no matter how much he watched the pennies, he’d find it difficult to get by.
He began to lead a miserable existence. With only his dole money, it was difficult to make ends meet. He had to find work.
In a rural area that would be difficult – the few jobs available were in agriculture, an industry he had no knowledge of. At other times in the year there may have been the option of fruit picking, but now in the middle of winter, his chances were bleak. He applied for anything and everything. After a while, unable to even get an interview, he gave up. There seemed no way out of the situation. It didn’t seem fair. They were all faring better than him: Sarah had Ryan and his kids; Becky, while not in an ideal situation, still had Robert and David. He felt angry at himself but was determined to rise above it.
He’d made mistakes in the past and had overcome them. And would do so again, although this time it would be much harder, since no one would take him on as a teacher. He longed for a family and happiness like he’d enjoyed with his mum and dad and Katie, before Katie’s illness had destroyed them all. With Sarah, in the beginning, it had been good, before she’d taken up with Ryan. And for a few weeks he’d been with Becky and David.
<><><>
The first letter from the bank arrived in the middle of March. He’d been expecting it, but when its reality hit him, he knew he had to do something to put it right. The letter pointed out his direct debits hadn’t been paid – due to the fact you do not have an authorised overdraft facility in place – the words seemed to leap out from the page as he read on – it is likely a penalty may have to be paid. Could you please telephone to arrange an interview?
Billy wanted to rip the letter up along with all the other reminders. But if he could set up an overdraft provision, his monetary problems might temporarily be eased.
Despite being disheartened by his situation when the appointed day came to visit the bank, Billy took the trouble to look his best in a suit. He’d decided to be nice and courteous and hope the man would sympathise with his situation and be willing to help. At the enquiries desk he was told to take a seat in the Customer Service area and someone would be with him shortly.
Ten minutes later, the door marked ‘Manager’ opened and out strode a man of medium height and build wearing a dark blue suit. He walked over to Billy, and with an outstretched hand, introduced himself. ‘Good afternoon, Mr Price. My name is Mr Fisher, the assistant manager. If you’d like to follow me into one of the interview rooms?’ He pointed to a door in the corner of the room.
In the confines of the interview room, Billy wasted no time. ‘You sent me a letter, Mr Fisher, about my direct debit payments.’
‘Ahh, yes, that’s right. As we pointed out in the letter, there are insufficient funds in your account to cover the last two months’ direct debits.’ He looked up as if expecting Billy to answer, and then continued. ‘Although I notice that for the last three months, no salary payments have been paid into the account.’
‘Err, yes, that’s because I resigned from my teaching post at Ashfield College, and I’m currently looking for another job.’
‘Oh, but how are you going to cover these payments?’
‘Good question, I can’t. I’m short of cash at the moment and until I get a job, the only income I’ve got is my dole money. And no matter how thrifty I am, it doesn’t go far. After I’ve paid for food there isn’t much over for bills.’
‘Well, the Bank can’t allow this to go on. We’ve already been lenient. Soon your debts will spiral out of control. You’ve put me in a difficult position.’
To say this wasn’t going as he planned was putting it mildly, prompting Billy to say, ‘Please, Mr Fisher, I’m really down on my luck right now; the bank has the means to help people like me get through sticky patches. I’ll more than likely get a job soon, and then I can pay back everything I owe.’
‘That’s all well and good, Mr Price, but you can’t give me any guarantees. This might go on for months and months, and in the meantime, your debt will get bigger and bigger.’
He felt his face drop. ‘Can’t you arrange an overdraft facility just to tide me over for a few months?’ He looked into the man’s eyes. ‘Come on, give me some breathing space. Good God, man, it’s only been a couple of months.’ By this time Billy’s anxiety had reached fever pitch.
But when Mr Fisher said, ‘The best we could offer you is two weeks’ grace,’ without a flicker of emotion, Billy saw red.
He stood up. ‘How can you be so heartless? I’ve been a good customer, never been in any debt until now. What am I supposed to do? I’m trying to get another job but I can’t force anyone to give me a job.’
‘Well, since you own your flat, you could sell and find somewhere smaller or re-mortgage it and use the money to pay off your debts. Or sell some of your fixtures and fittings to tide you over. If you want to do that, we might be in a position to help.’
‘Yes, I can see you’d love to get even more money out of me, wouldn’t you? No wonder your bank is making such big profits, through fleecing poor customers like me. I’m sorry but I’ve had enough. Just do what you have to do,’ he said, and with that, he left.
If he didn’t find a job soon, the bailiffs would be called in. The idea of being kicked out of his own flat frightened him – he remembered being homeless once before and hadn’t liked it one bit. Sooner or later if he couldn’t get a job, he would have to take drastic action.
<><><>
Billy remained in his flat for the next week, applying for jobs but no interviews were forthcoming. As a rule, reading a book stimulated his mind and helped him lose himself. At present, it just wasn’t so, and he found it hard to keep himself occupied. And his mood plummeted even further on receipt of another letter from the bank. He knew it was coming but when he read the contents he still felt panicky.
It has been three months now since sufficient funds have been paid into your account to cover your outgoings, and I have to point out that a stop has been put on all of your direct debits until such time as your account is in credit. May I also remind you of the sums owed to the bank for previous payments made on your behalf to creditors.
I see from our records that until recently you had a well-paid job as a teacher. Therefore, we must point out what dire circumstances this will lead to if the situation is allowed to continue. If this is not resolved within the next seven days, the Bank will have no alternative but to take steps to recover the amounts owed.
M J Petiford (Securities)
Billy was heartbroken that it had come to this but had been powerless to stop it. Now there remained only one option and that was to sell the flat and start afresh somewhere else. Maybe to a part of the country where no one knew him. He needed money to live and owned th
e flat, which once sold would give him the breathing space he needed whilst he sorted out his life.
<><><>
He slammed the door to his flat for the last time, locked it, then pushed the key through the letterbox. Most of his luggage was already in the boot of the car, and as he headed across the car park he felt relief, light-headed even at the thought of leaving the flat and everything else here behind.
Yesterday morning he’d handed the spare keys to the estate agent and then carried on to his solicitor, who had given him, as promised, a cheque for the sale proceeds less monies owed to the bank. Selling the flat had been easy: it had taken only two months. Billy patted his inside top pocket; the cheque would keep him going for quite a while.
With every mile that passed, Billy felt better. He had expected, it being Friday, that the motorway would be busy. Luckily the southbound carriageway wasn’t too bad, although in his present upbeat mood, time didn’t matter.
There were signposts directing traffic to several large towns but living by the sea appealed to him and before long, in the distance, he saw the grey-blue of the ocean.
He took the next exit, leaving the motorway behind. It was now well after lunchtime and he hadn’t taken a break, so he pulled in at the next petrol station to fill up the tank and get something to eat. On entering the kiosk Billy’s eyes were drawn to a small rosy-cheeked elderly woman, obviously the owner, sitting in the corner.
‘Hello there, my lovely,’ she greeted him. ‘It’s been a grand day, for this time of year.’
He smiled at her West Country accent. ‘Yes, it has, grand.’
‘Let’s see what you owe me.’ She got up from her seat with some difficulty, then chuckling, added, ‘Must be getting old.’ He watched as she turned, placed the knitting she was doing on the chair and hobbled over to the counter where she took his payment.
‘I don’t suppose you sell sandwiches or snacks by any chance?’ he enquired.
