by Phil Earle
‘We told them the truth, about the twins going back to Annie and how devastated you were, about how you’d changed over the last few months, about how you wouldn’t last five minutes in secure, no matter what you think!’
I felt a wave of shame rush over me, as the extent of what Ron had done hit home. He was right. I couldn’t cope with going away, I’d known that all along.
Ronnie pulled me back from my thoughts.
‘Don’t you think for a second that you’ve got away with it. Because the first thing you’re going to do is write them the longest, most sincere letter you can, explaining why you did it and, most importantly, how you’re going to put it right.’
I looked quizzically at him.
‘You’re going to pay them back, Bill. For the broken camera, for any damage to Daisy’s room and their car. And you’re going to pay for a new set of locks to their house as well. Do you understand?’
I felt like a recruit on the training ground as he ripped into me, and I nodded, wondering how long it would take me to get that sort of money together, but knowing anything was better than secure.
‘Is that it?’ I asked, knowing I had a long letter to think about.
‘No. There are three more things,’ he barked. ‘First, you’ve still got to come to the police station with me. The charges may have been dropped, but they want to have words anyway about your joyriding. This is a last chance, Billy. You understand that, don’t you?’
I nodded silently.
‘The second thing,’ he added, his face still grim as he stepped forward, ‘is about something Annie told me.’
I frowned, hoping this wasn’t the start of more mind games as she tried to get the twins home again.
‘I know all about the lamp, Billy. I know you were going to hit Shaun with it, but I also know you decided against it. I just wanted to tell you I’m proud of you for making that choice.’
I felt the heat rise in my cheeks.
‘Do you know what makes me most proud?’
I didn’t have a clue.
‘It’s that six months ago I think you’d have gone through with it. I don’t think you’d have thought twice about cracking him with it. And that shows me how much you’ve changed. I know you might not see that yet, and I wouldn’t blame you, it’s been a mental few months. But believe me, you will.’
I turned to leave, hoping he was right.
‘Oi. I haven’t finished with you yet.’
I faced him again, wondering what else there was to say. But he didn’t say anything.
Instead, he held out his hand and passed me an envelope.
I looked at it, confused. There was no writing on it. Nothing.
‘What’s this?’ I asked.
The Colonel just smiled and gave me a gentle, playful shove towards the door.
It was silent in the garage. No other lifers tearing round. Or scummers clock-watching as the final minutes of their shift crawled by. It was just me and the little world that Ron had built. I’d spent a bit of time in there since it all kicked off, working at the bag, punching out the frustrations that were nibbling at me.
The only difference was Shaun.
He hadn’t vanished.
He was still there when I hit the bag, but he didn’t seem to sneer as hard as he had, and I didn’t need to punch myself into submission before he faded away.
But tonight wasn’t about punching. Or training. It was all about the letter. About whether I wanted to open the envelope.
I knew what it said. It had to be from Grant, warning me. Keep away from my family and all that, and to be honest I didn’t need to hear it. But I knew chucking it wasn’t an option either. Not when Ronnie was bound to ask me about it.
So I slid my finger into the fold and ripped it open, my eyes falling on to writing that wasn’t Grant’s.
No, I’d seen this handwriting before. In class.
Dear Billy,
I can’t believe I’ve resorted to writing to you. I think the last letter I wrote was to Father Christmas, and he never brought me what I asked for. So why I think this is going to work with you – well, to be honest, I don’t. But I had to try, you know?
I just need you to understand one thing, Billy.
There’s one thing that I need you to believe.
I didn’t know about Jan and Grant. That you even knew them, never mind had been fostered by them. I mean, I don’t know how you expected me to know.
Whenever you talked about ‘that’ family, you never mentioned names. It was hard enough for you to even acknowledge they existed, never mind go into details.
I promise you, Billy, if you had said their names, or if I’d cottoned on to who they were, don’t you think I would have mentioned it? Do you really think I could’ve kept the shock off my face?
And besides, having you around has been good.
I mean, you’re a pain in the arse, always bugging me, asking me questions about what’s gone on in the past.
But you know what?
If it means you’ll believe me, I’ll tell you.
All of it.
My mum and dad are dead.
Mum died giving birth to me, and all my life, as long as I can remember, I’ve felt it was my fault. Don’t bother telling me I’m being daft. My dad told me the same, but I could never shake it off, you know? How could I?
So it was always just me and Dad.
And then he died, in a car crash. And the only reason he was in the car was me.
So it felt like I killed him too. Just like I did Mum.
And now I’m on my own. All right, I have Jan and Grant, but that’s not enough. Never will be, no matter what they do.
So you know, it would be good if you read this to the end, and then you might get it into your head that I might be worth trusting. That I might be telling the truth. Because the way I see it, Billy Finn, we could do with being mates, me and you.
But I’m not going to beg.
And I’m not going to text you any more.
It’s up to you.
Get in touch if you can,
Dx
I don’t think I breathed all the time I was reading.
Or for the minute after.
Instead, I sat and tried to make sense of her words, applying them to conversations we’d had. To the times when she’d looked so vacant.
Minutes passed. It might even have been an hour. But suddenly it came to me.
What I needed to do.
It wouldn’t take long. But I needed to be in my room to do it.
So I slipped out of the garage, locked the door and headed back across the lawn.
There was so much to think about as I lay in bed that night. Everything had changed, but in some ways everything had stayed the same.
The twins were back, but were probably going. The Colonel was here and I knew that he cared, but in hours he’d be going home to his family.
And as for me, well, nothing had changed.
I was still Billy Finn, lifer.
I was still a resident at Oldfield House and would be until they kicked me out at eighteen.
But I knew that I’d been given a chance. I had no idea what I was going to do with it, but I knew it was there all the same. I had to prove something, to the twins, to Annie and to Ronnie, and although it scared me, at least it was in my hands.
I’d started my letter to Jan and Grant earlier, and as per usual Ronnie had stuck his nose in, complaining it didn’t ‘kiss nearly enough arse’. So it was back to square one.
Although I knew that was the letter I had to write first, the message I really wanted to send was to Daisy, and as I lay on my back in the darkness, I didn’t have a clue where to start.
What I did know was that I would have to work it out.
I didn’t need reminding that I needed to find the words to say s
orry.
After all, there was now a single star, shining from my ceiling, that wouldn’t ever let me forget.
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
Thanks for reading about Billy. The anxiety and isolation that he endures during the book are feelings that many people, young and old, experience. What’s important is not to suffer alone. There are people out there who can help, and great websites like www.thecalmzone.net that offer superb non-judgmental advice and support.
So many people have encouraged and cajoled over the years, and I owe you all a great deal. Big old thanks to Boz, Cally, Philippa, Lel, Charlie Sheppard, Ali Jensen, James Heneage and ‘Slasher’ Gash.
Cheers to my friends who put up with my grumpiness and agoraphobia with a humour that belies belief. In particular, Esther, Haydn, Oscar, Robyn, Waggy, Finigan, Katy, Matt, Charlie, Kisia, Scott, Big Bad Brown, Charlotte, Emma (paperweight champion of Peckham), David Philips and JJ, Pee Dee, Vic, Zoe, Lou, Matthew, Nicola, Henry and Anna, Will, Burto, Benton and Burb.
Huge thank you to my brilliant parents, Ray and Neet, to Jonathan, Hen, Yasmin and the other members of the clan up in the frozen North. Much love also to my outlaws, Sheil and Pete, Paul and Jacky for their unwavering support, and to Bob, Jo, Edie, Pooch and Shreeve-o for not ripping it out of me too mercilessly.
Everyone at work has been incredibly supportive and patient. HUGE thanks to Rob Cox, whose endless encouragement spurred me on to not only get started but keep going (‘That’s right …!’), but also to the fabulous Dawn Burnett, Ally, Shipp, Shell, Charlotte, Jones Christine Jones, Dominic, Grainne, Gill, SJV, Sarah, Sophie, Emma (and Ed) for the red pen, Nick Stearn, and the ever-wise Mr and Mrs C.
To Becky Stradwick, who didn’t groan when I asked her to read early chapters – I thank you. We’ve cooked up some schemes over the years, but this is the best one yet. Thank you for getting me this far before jumping overboard!
I’m so grateful to everyone at the Darley Anderson Agency, especially my agent Madeleine Buston for the title, and for sneaking Billy into places he never thought he’d reach.
Thanks also to Richard Mac, Helen MS, The Hough, Kevin, Jen, Emily, Annie, Barry, Rachel Airey, Kate Hancock, Claudia Mody, John Newman, Helen Masterton, Trish and Jacky, Graham Marks, Sophie Mckenzie and Jenny Downham. All of you have been so supportive. I hope you know that I appreciate it.
To the publishing team at Puffin – thank you. In particular, Sarah, Jennie, Lesley, Kirsty, Jacqui, Katy, and especially to my editor, Shannon Park, who from noodles onwards, has been nothing shy of magnificent.
Much love and thanks also to Dawn, Claire, Dominic, Mally, Dave, Janice, Frank and all my old friends from the Sailors’ Families’ Society, and to Eric de Mel, whose friendship meant so much.
My love as well to Jonny and Astri John-Kamen, who know why, and I hope will never forget.
But most of all, thanks to my missus, Laura, for reminding me there’s still the washing-up to be done.
And to Albie Johnson and Elsie Jeane, I love you. No matter what time of night it is …
Gipsy Hill, June 2010
