Billy Christmas

by Mark A. Pritchard

  “Well basically, she says we can sing tonight.”

  Katherine gasped and kissed a flabbergasted Billy on the cheek. At least he thought it was a kiss, his brain was so busy flipping and trying to remember the moment that he was lost to the world. When he came to, Katherine was dragging him back to the music room to practice.

  * * *

  The choir had assembled behind the curtain on the stage and were preparing to sing “Good King Wenceslas” as an encore. Billy and Katherine were standing slightly apart from the group ready to sing the bass and soprano solo sections of the carol.

  “Oh god, I’m not sure I can do this,” said Katherine, turning a little pale.

  “We sang it forty times this afternoon. Once the music starts, you’ll be fine.” Billy hoped he was right. He was all too aware that this was the first time Katherine had attempted a solo part. It was entirely possible to go dry and mumble through a whole verse with a few hundred pairs of eyes on you. He lent Katherine his most confident smile and looked up at the curtain. The applause had started to wane, the song had to happen soon or they wouldn’t be needed. Billy looked down at his sheet music, now fully grown, and wondered if there was anything else it was supposed to do. Katherine reached over and put a hand on his wrist.

  “Oh god. I really don’t…”

  “No time now.”

  The curtain had flinched, the cue to the choir to stop picking their noses. Then it swept back to reveal a large collection of families, waiting for their set-piece encore of “Good King Wenceslas.” The vicar, Mike Hayter, was beaming up at them from the front row, clapping for all he was worth. As his eyes had adjusted to the stage lights, Billy could make out Katherine’s father, in uniform, standing by the theatre door. He glanced to his left. It was clear that she hadn’t spotted the General, or even taken the time to look up. She was poring over the music, fingers looking for the points where she came in; not a good sign. He moved towards her and gave her a gentle elbow. Katherine yelped and looked up, eyes widening.

  “Just follow me,” said Billy through his teeth.

  There was no reply.

  The orchestra, consisting of two pianos and a drum kit, struck the first chord and then they were off. Katherine’s head snapped up and she came in perfectly for the first verse. Billy let himself relax. Time to sing. He hadn’t always hated attention, and the curious calm he’d experienced on stage before found him again. Striking the notes clearly and calmly, Billy poured his new older voice into the audience.

  Hither, page, and stand by me,

  If thou know’st it, telling,

  Billy turned to Katherine, hoping that the story in the song, and his approach, would carry her on through the rest of the verse. Katherine appeared to be listening to him.

  Yonder peasant, who is he?

  To his horror, he realised she was really listening to him. Just as the audience were.

  Where and what his dwelling?

  Katherine opened her eyes. She caught sight of her father by the door, and the band played on without her. Billy thought fast and threw her a lifeline.

  “Does he live a good league hence?” sang Billy, as Katherine’s face fell.

  “Underneath the mountain?” Billy snatched the score that she had been singing from, motioning to the audience that he had accidentally taken Katherine’s sheet, and rolling his eyes by way of apology. He passed her the sheet music which had come from the Tree, praying something would happen.

  It was blank. Katherine shot him an anguished glance. At precisely the same moment, large blue words floated up out of nowhere onto the page, scrolling and indicating time. She saw them clearly and sang out.

  Right against the forest fence,

  By Saint Agnes’s fountain.

  Billy was so proud of her that he almost missed his own cue.

  Bring me flesh, and bring me wine,

  Bring me pine logs hither:

  Thou and I will see him dine,

  When we bear them thither.

  The choir, who had been watching the drama unfold, dived in and allowed the leads a moment of rest. Katherine, still amazed that the music was apparently moving over the paper, looked at Billy through grateful, if incredulous, eyes. Billy shot back his best impression of her own no-nonsense stare. They still had to bring this carol home. To his relief, they did it with something approaching panache.

  Backstage, Billy took a moment to compose himself. It was the first time he’d put himself on display in over a year. He was surprised that it didn’t feel more awful. A blank sheet of music appeared in front of his face and tapped him gently on the nose. Katherine’s eyes were sparkling. Billy hoped she didn’t have any awkward questions.

  “Thank you,” said Katherine. “Now please explain how this works.”

  “Special effects?” said Billy, grinning.

  “Half the choir just saw me singing from a blank page. They think I’m crackers.”

  He giggled, the adrenaline from performing leaving him all at once.

  “Don’t you dare laugh at me.”

  But he continued, and soon they were both laughing. It felt good to be on the other side of this.

  “My dad would like to meet you. Have a lift home?” said Katherine.

  Billy smiled, torn. “I have my bike.”

  “Oh come on. We can walk in tomorrow.”

  “I can’t risk it. My dad gave me the bike. But thanks.”

  Katherine gave him a look, then a hug and then went to join the throng of parents and friends. Billy had been tempted. The bike was well locked, but in truth he hadn’t felt like any more attention from assembled families that evening. He had ventured out enough.

  He headed out into the cold night, and over to the bike shed where he began unlocking his favourite present. Throwing the locks into his black rucksack, he put both lights on his bike and rolled it out of the shed. There was a bump above him, and he heard the sound of spitting just before the wet saliva hit his face. It rolled down his cheek and under the collar of his shirt. He threw his shoulder up trying to wipe it away. He could still feel the gob against his chest as he looked up in fury.

  Robert Lock was grinning from the roof of the shed. “Nice singing, Billy.”

  Rubbing his shirt into his chest, Billy felt a cold rage rise within him. Could nothing ever just go right? He stared up at Robert. Unless he came down, Billy would be at a severe disadvantage. If he tried to climb up, he was certain Robert would stamp on his hands. He decided he would not let this idiot ruin his night.

  “Don’t you have a home to go to?” said Billy, and wheeled his bike away into the darkness.

  “See you at school, Billy,” said Robert, but this time his voice was faltering.

  Billy cycled home as fast as he could, letting the night air flush the rage out through his lungs. As he slowed for his house, he looked along the road to the corner that went up the hill. He often wondered what Katherine was thinking about when she was up there. Tonight, he hoped with a touch more confidence, he might just be tucked in her thoughts.

  After going through the routine of locking his bike, Billy headed back to the kitchen. The windows were steamed up, which only happened when someone was cooking. He opened the door, hoping he hadn’t left the oven on. His mother was at the hob with a pan, something Billy had not seen in over six months. He realised he hadn’t told her he was going to be late; she must have been starving. His mother looked up and spoke first.

  “I fed Saul, because he was hungry. Then I felt hungry too.”

  Billy took a moment adjusting to the deerhound’s new name. “I’m sorry I’m late. I can take over if you like?”

  “It’s OK,” said his mother, turning back to the pan. “I think I’ll finish it. Would you like an omelette?”

  Billy walked through the kitchen in a pleasant daze. “Yes Mum, that’d be great. I just need a quick shower.”

  “Where did you say you got Saul?”

  He turned back to her. “I didn’t say. He
just arrived.”

  “That’s what I thought,” said his mother, her eyes drifting in a much happier way than usual.

  After a moment Billy left the kitchen, shaking his head. If he had known a dog would bring his mother back this quickly, he’d have found her one ages ago.

  December 17th

  A WEARY BILLY WALKED INTO the living room at a minute past twelve and flopped into the large red chair next to the Tree. Letting out a sigh, he let his chin roll forward onto his chest. The broken nights were beginning to tell. He flinched, not sure whether he’d drifted off or not. The Tree was still inert, so he couldn’t have been out for long. He fished his mobile out of his pocket. It was seven past twelve. He looked up at the branches above him and wondered what the Tree would want of him next. The axe glinted, turning slowly in the moonlight, throwing a tiny but bright reflection on the wall. What purpose would it serve? What were the four joined gold rings intended for? The black iron bar was barely visible, but he was still struck by its strange S shape. The Tree shuddered, snapping Billy away from his thoughts. All the Tree’s branches lifted up as if it were stretching or yawning, before it hopped neatly onto the carpet and turned to Billy.

  “So how did you get on?”

  “You knew I’d do it?”

  “You’re still smiling. I take it things worked out?” said the Tree.

  “Thank you.”

  “Don’t thank me, Billy, you may find yourself taking it back before much longer.”

  He shifted his weight a little. “Any news for me?”

  “Tomorrow Billy,” said the Tree. “To that end I have to go out tonight, so we must get on.”

  Billy saw that the Tree was a good foot taller than he was now, and the needles looked fatter than last night. It was almost muscular in posture. What he wouldn’t give for a few muscles on his own long bones. The Tree appeared to breathe in before the familiar green light pulsed out as before. It shuddered and started to bow towards Billy, who peered in eagerly to see which decoration had been chosen. As he did, the Tree lurched back and the pulsing light flickered, trapped as though it were one of his father’s records which had got stuck. After a moment, the Tree bowed once again, but this time Billy was faced with not one decoration but two: the lipstick and the axe.

  “Well, which am I supposed to take?” said Billy in confusion.

  “The tasks are yours, Billy.”

  “Am I supposed to take both?”

  The Tree’s voice was so quiet it was hard to make out. “Just one.”

  He felt it was as though the Tree had used its remaining breath to whisper to him and now couldn’t breathe until the choice was made; the pressure was incredible. He looked at the lipstick, a tiny perfect cylinder, and then the axe, remembering its sharp edge. Clenching his teeth at what it might mean, he leant forwards and took the lipstick. The Tree did indeed seem to heave a sigh of relief. After a couple of breaths, it spoke.

  “I was sure you’d pick the axe…”

  “Was I supposed to pick the axe?” said Billy, groaning at his choice.

  “There is less ‘supposed to’ in all this than you might imagine.”

  He examined the lipstick again. It appeared to be another slow grower, showing no sign of movement. “I’m afraid I don’t know what to do with this one.”

  “You are, of course, required to get a kiss from the girl you love,” said the Tree. “Clearly, there is a girl you love. You can think yourself lucky I found you in the twenty-first century.”

  “And why is that?”

  “You wouldn’t believe how hard it would be to get a kiss from an eighteenth-century girl,” said the Tree with the hint of a smirk. “It cost one young man the keys to a castle he’d wished for.”

  “This is not easy at all,” said Billy, getting cross. “She’s my friend, and this will ruin it. In fact, if I try to kiss her she’ll probably punch me. She grew up in the Army.”

  “The tasks are no trifling matter,” said the Tree suddenly, catching Billy off guard. “Perhaps the lipstick will have an effect. Perhaps it draws kisses by being worn. Perhaps it draws the person wearing the lipstick to the one who gave it. Do try to think laterally, Billy. You’re in the midst of a magical quest, and you’re concerning yourself with minutiae. Remember the goal, always.”

  Billy sank back into the chair, torn between wanting to fill his empty house and wanting to keep on good terms with Katherine, his only real friend. The Tree shook itself down and hopped out of the room. Billy remembered it had said it needed to go out tonight; he would have to unlock the front door. As he got up, he could feel the cold draft of night air. The Tree had somehow managed to open the mortise lock. He went out to the hall.

  The Tree turned back on the doorstep. “My kind are not blessed with many friends, Billy, but it occurs to me that if you were a true friend you wouldn’t keep such a secret as love from her.”

  With that, the Tree turned and sprang into the sky. Billy ran out and looked up into the darkness. It had vanished. After a moment, he turned back into the house, shivering slightly, hoping it would return, and knowing all the advice in the world would not make tomorrow anything other than appallingly awkward.

  * * *

  As soon as he woke up, Billy started to plan. It was Wednesday; Katherine would be back on after-school activities. Whatever it was, he would have to wait until she was finished. He had no experience of persuading girls to kiss him, but there was no way he was going to attempt this at school. He had been waiting at least half an hour that morning by his own gate. Normally it was Katherine waiting for him on his back step. His mother walked past him, this time, thankfully, wrapped up.

  “Just nipping out to walk Saul,” she said quietly.

  He still wasn’t used to his mother just nipping out anywhere. Despite being fond of most animals, he had to admit a certain amount of resentment towards Saul, who had simply ignored him from the outset.

  Billy gave up waiting, and with a last glance to the corner of the hill, he sped off to make homeroom registration. Perhaps she had got a lift in with her father?

  * * *

  Katherine didn’t appear at registration. Not wanting to ask the teacher out loud, for fear of the reaction of the class, Billy hung back until everyone had left. Once they had, he approached his form tutor, Mr. Rowe.

  “I hear you had a good night at the concert, Billy.” Mr. Rowe was a decent teacher who had allowed Billy the latitude to survive school over the last year.

  “Yes sir, I just wondered what had happened to…”

  “Miss Jennings? Her dad called to say that she’d be in at lunch.”

  “Did he say why?”

  “She’ll be in at lunch, Billy. Off to class now.”

  Billy struggled through the morning, wondering what had kept Katherine from coming to school. He hated the prospect of this task. Before today, he had simply ignored the thoughts he’d had of kissing Katherine because they seemed so ludicrous. Now the Tree had forced him into attempting this impossibility, with the cruel twist that if she turned him down he’d never see his father again. He was all too aware that this could ruin the only friendship that had stood up to his dire year. However, the Tree’s parting words had struck a chord with Billy. What kind of friend was he that he’d pretend not to feel so much for her? With that, he broke off the train of thought and tried to return to his geography lesson and the machinations of meandering mountain rivers.

  Katherine arrived at lunch break, and immediately Billy knew there was trouble. Despite her best effort to paint the evidence away, she had clearly shed many tears that morning. What could possibly have happened? He wanted to go up and find out, but the ever-popular Katherine was swallowed by a throng of girls fussed around her, questioning and then gasping. He was fighting the urge to go and throw these foolish girls off her and set about righting whatever had upset her. Beyond the gaggle of girls, Robert Lock stood grinning at him, almost daring him to risk communicating with the smarter set; ample excus
e for a session of “Christmas time,” as he had coined the attacks on Billy. Deciding not to add to whatever burden she already had, he leant back against the brick wall and waited.

  The bell sounded and the reluctant return to classes began. Billy held his ground as the girls around Katherine faded away. After agonising moments, she looked up towards him. She raised her eyebrows, forced a small smile and nodded towards the bike shed. He got the message. The usual place, later. Though worried about what had happened, Billy couldn’t stop his heart from soaring. She had turned to him.

  Games provided a welcome distraction for a large part of the afternoon. He threw himself into the rugby, and managed to tackle Robert on two occasions. On the second, Robert had kicked up his boots, but Billy was all determination and fury; remembering Mr. Rodway’s training, he dived and bound his long arms about Robert’s legs, just above the knees, collapsing them totally. Not turning to allow a reaction, he was up like lightning, supporting his team to the try line and gaining victory from Robert’s fumble. Enjoying the claps on his back on the way to the changing rooms, Billy barely noticed Robert, kneeling where he’d fallen, pounding clenched fists into the mud.

  Back in the classroom, with his adrenaline sated, Billy was absorbing a grim reality check. If he failed to kiss Katherine, he would forfeit his father, as well as lose his only friend. He ran his thumb over the lipstick in his pocket. How was it supposed to help him? He had toyed with the idea of putting it on, in case it was supposed to be magnetic or something. He was at a complete loss as to how to approach this, so far was it from his experience. He thought of the Tree, and then of Katherine, and tried to put his own needs and desires aside. Katherine needed a friend. The bell sounded.

  To his surprise, Katherine was already waiting for him with her bike.

  “I left it here after the concert. Dad hadn’t been expecting to make it last night.”

  Billy unlocked his racer, and they hurried away from the emptying school before anyone would spot them. Once they were along the river path, Katherine hopped off her bike and began to walk with it, her feet swishing in the weak, wet snow. Billy followed suit. This time, he chose to break the silence first.