Billy smiled and slung an arm around his shoulder.
“Gerroff!” said Robert, but he couldn’t disguise his smile.
“Thanks for last night. I’ll never forget all you did.”
“Don’t suppose I will either,” said Robert. “What is next for you?”
“This and that,” said Billy. “If I’m lucky, I might get a Christmas too.”
Robert looked straight at him. “If you need any more help, you only have to ask.”
Billy smiled. “I think I’m on my own from this point.”
Olly’s mother honked the horn and then waved an apology to the boys.
“I think I’ve got to go,” said Robert.
“Merry Christmas.”
Robert looked a bit more serious. “Yeah Merry Christmas, Billy. But you watch your back, OK?”
Billy raised his eyes, nodded, and walked on towards town.
* * *
As he moved closer to the High Street, it was clear that nothing like normality was returning. Large unmanned roadblocks sat pointlessly, preventing non-existent traffic from approaching unusable roads. The ice storm had been brutal, freezing over the flood that Billy and Robert had created. As he stepped onto the lip of the frozen flood, he expected to hear the shrill creaks of cracking ice, but there was no sound at all. The ice had frozen fast and deep; no ordinary storm this. He cut down Glade Road, and then Station Road, retracing his steps from last night.
The level of the frozen floodwater had crept up slowly until it began to swallow cars, and street level was now about the same height as door handles. Billy tried to imagine what it would be like attempting to open the front doors of one of these houses. If they did manage to open, would they see a rush of water, or a clear cross-section of ice?
The town was busier than Billy had expected, but this was good news, as more people meant more cover. Breakdown recovery teams walked up and down the High Street, explaining with amazing patience that “recovery to home” was impossible when the car was encased in four feet of ice. Halfway down the High Street, a tall woman in blue and white Lycra had pulled back the roof of her purple MG convertible, and was waiting patiently for the next free breakdown crew. She was sitting on the folded canopy, staring dejectedly at the block of ice that was the interior of her car. Billy wasn’t surprised to see people dressed this way in Marlow, regardless of the weather; rowers tended to appear oblivious to the elements, and she had the look of a professional. As he passed her, she answered her mobile with a Scottish accent.
“Yes, I know I’m late for training. No, I’m not ill… Well, you know my medals? Yes, the Olympic ones. I left them in the car last night and you won’t believe what has…”
Billy walked past the rower, feeling no small pang of guilt. He looked along the street to see how others were coping.
The shops were making a brave attempt to stay open. Standing in their doorways, shopkeepers were taking orders from customers at the step, retrieving goods out of the shop and passing them up to the new street level. There was a happy noise from the customers as they dealt with the unusual conditions and chatted about how they would not be put off simply because of the weather. The shop owners were smiling and shaking hands with them. Despite feeling responsible for the trouble, however unintended, Billy had to admit that compared to the previous day, when people were fighting each other for every potential present, this felt a lot more like Christmas. You could practically taste the goodwill.
As he moved on towards the bridge, he turned his attention to the police. With both residents and businesses inside the flood-berg, it wasn’t practical for them to cordon off the town. Instead, they patrolled up and down the High Street. Nearer the church, three officers were paying close attention to an object on the ground. It struck Billy that it might be the body of the Gargoyle, encased in ice. Poor Mike would have to answer difficult questions about how it came to leave the steeple of his church. He made his way towards them, while staying out of their line of sight.
He realised what the police were guarding as he drew closer. His mother’s bike was locked in the ice, rear wheel up to the sky, as if it had fallen from a plane and smashed through the pavement. Why was the bike so interesting to them? It seemed suspicious that with the High Street full of some of the most expensive cars in the country, it was his mother’s bicycle that needed three police officers to look after it. His stomach sank further. The identification etchings; it would take them no time to work out where he lived.
“Lost something, Billy?”
Mike appeared at his shoulder, continuing his knack for making him jump.
“My mother’s bike,” said Billy, glad of the cover he offered.
“They seem quite interested in it.”
“Don’t they.”
“If I sort this out, you’re really going to have to start telling me what is going on.”
“I’ll tell you tomorrow. I can tell anyone after tomorrow.”
Mike looked at Billy. “I can’t very well stop helping you at this point. Come on.”
Billy felt a surge of gratitude for the vicar as he followed him across the road and towards the waiting police.
“Ah, you’ve found my bike,” said Mike opening his arms wide. “I was certain it would be at the bottom of the river.”
“Your bike you say, vicar?” said the oldest police officer.
“That’s right. I’d left it beside the church last night, I’d thought it was gone; can you get it out?”
The police officer looked at Billy over Mike’s shoulder. “By the church last night, you say?”
“Well yes, I was actually…well, I was in the pub when the weir broke.”
“We’d had reports of two boys riding a bike like this, and another of two boys on the weir before it went,” said the officer. “And as you can see, this bike hasn’t been locked.” He took a step towards Mike and Billy. “And this bike is a woman’s bike.”
Billy was approaching real panic. He had one task to complete before finishing, and the last thing he needed was problems with the police.
Mike put on his broadest smile. “I think you’ll find that most vicars prefer these bikes. It’s the uniform, you see? Makes swinging your legs rather tricky. And as for the lock, I always let God decide who needs the bike most. And well, it hasn’t strayed far.” The officer was somewhat deflated by this. Mike put a shoulder on his arm. “Perhaps you could see your way to trying to free it for me? I’d really be grateful. I have rather a large beat myself, and this is my busy season.”
The officer regained some of his civic instincts. “We’ll get it back for you, vicar. Just give us a few minutes.”
Mike led a dumbstruck Billy away from the scene, and they paused outside the gate of the church.
“That was really slick.”
“All part of the service,” said Mike with a smile that quickly slipped away. “I see my boat has gone.”
Billy suddenly felt awful. He hadn’t even thought of this, and after Mike had offered him the combination too.
“I hope all this,” said Mike, nodding over his shoulder at the High Street, “is worth whatever it is that you are up to.”
Unexpected tears threatened Billy’s eyes. “I hope so too.”
“Just tell me about it sometime. I have had strange things happen, I won’t judge you.”
“I know, I believe you, I just don’t think I’m allowed to. Not till it’s over,” said Billy. “But I will then, I promise.”
“You still got your key to the vestry?”
Billy nodded; it was hidden with the knuckles and the axe.
“Next time you’re passing, you can pick up the bike. I think I had better take it for now.”
Billy nodded and smiled at Mike, not knowing quite how to thank him.
“And Billy?”
“Yes?”
“Merry Christmas.”
* * *
As Billy walked home, the sky became black and Marlow became whiter still.<
br />
He opened the kitchen door, enjoying the warm air on his face. He shook his head, sending snow left and right. His feet made an unpleasant grinding noise on the stone floor. Billy assumed he’d caught a piece of flint in the tread of his boots. As he looked down, he saw how wrong this was. Shards of broken crystal were strewn over the floor. The empty white box on the side confirmed his fears. His mother must have come back down while he was out. He felt sick. He knew his father hadn’t believed in the glasses, but for his mother to do this after he’d begged her not to made him feel wretched. He went to the cupboard, took out a dustpan and broom, and began to sweep the bright splinters into the empty cardboard box.
“Billy? Is that you?”
He didn’t look up, but kept sweeping.
“Billy?”
At her quiet moan, he did look up. She was clutching at the door frame, wide-eyed and unsteady. He realised instantly that she hadn’t broken the glasses.
“But you said we were to keep them?”
Billy held up the brush in shock.
“I didn’t do this!”
Another thought hit him hard. If neither of them had done this, then who had been in the house? There was no way the glasses could have worked themselves over the edge. Besides, the box was open on the sideboard, top facing upwards. Someone would have had to take them out one by one. But who, or what? Billy pushed past her, into the living room. There was the smell of pine needles, but no Tree. He turned and ran upstairs to his room.
Snow blew in through the open window, and without hesitating Billy lifted the blanket covering the axe, knuckleduster and key. To his huge relief, they were still there. He slipped on the knuckles and paused for a second, thinking hard. The Gargoyle might have survived after all. “She is mine” could still refer to his mother. But if it had got in the house, without himself or Teàrlag here, why hadn’t it simply taken her then? Billy shut the window, and then checked all of the upstairs rooms. There were no signs of intruders.
He slipped the knuckles off his hand, though only as far as an easy pocket, and headed back downstairs. After checking the study and living room, he found his mother in the kitchen, finishing the sweeping that Billy had started. She lifted the box of crystal shards and looked into it, tilting it this way and that. From the doorway, Billy saw the reflected light from the shards play off his mother’s eyes.
“It’s OK, Billy. Really. I mean, I was going to do the same this morning.”
This wasn’t fair. “I didn’t do this. I’d just got in when you came down, and they’d already been smashed.”
“It really doesn’t matter.”
“It matters that you don’t believe me.”
His mother turned to him, now failing to hold back her tears. “I believed you this morning, when you said we should give Tom a year, and we should not smash these glasses.”
Torn between fury and pity, Billy knew his only defence at this point was to let her believe what she pleased. He didn’t look up when she walked past him, or for several minutes afterwards.
* * *
Sitting on the red chair next to the spot where Teàrlag no longer stood, Billy was thinking about his mother’s accusation. He hadn’t gone back upstairs, preferring to keep a floor between them. It was now after six, and he was certain that she wouldn’t be back down until the next day. The knuckleduster remained in his pocket, though he was beginning to doubt that the Gargoyle had been through the house at all. If it had, he was sure there would be telltale signs, such as a large hole in the wall, to give it away. Perhaps he hadn’t put the glasses away carefully enough? The loss of an item that could be traced back to the day his parents married made him feel terrible. All he could do was try to focus on the tasks, on his chance to return his father, but without the Tree how could he be set a task? His eyes were fixed on the slow-burning candle on the mantelpiece; the flame was small but constant.
Time drifted and his thoughts turned back to his father, to the time he’d been sitting in this chair waiting for him to return with the milk. On that occasion, the clock had also ticked slowly; the relentless beats marking the impending descent of his family. His mother kept coming in from the kitchen to peer through the large living room window; growing ever more concerned, making sure that he hadn’t taken the car, making sure he hadn’t said anything of significance.
The questions would soon come thick and fast, from many more people than just his mother. It would still be some time until the awful questions that he would pose himself began to arrive. Was his father with another woman? Had he left them for another family? Had he been run over? Was there a ditch left in Marlow that he could ride past without checking for a scrap of clothing—or worse, a scrap of him? Each question would ratchet the reality of his absence another notch. It was that which sank his mother. He could see the unanswered questions reach up from the ground and bend her back with their impossible weight. He had decided it was up to him alone not to sink, and keep them from the streets, until his father was found, one way or another.
The Tree had changed everything, and while it hadn’t been a comfortable ride, his hope had been ignited with the candle. Hope had been his enemy in those early days, with each false lead becoming a bitter betrayal. It was only now, at nearly nine o’clock, that he began to fear the hope which had returned with the Tree. Hope had pushed him into so many situations in the last few days, and it was focussing and chasing that hope which had helped him survive. The candle was supposed to echo his faith, and now, drawing close to it, he noticed how little remained. He’d survived so much in the time that the wax had become flame. Now he just hoped he would get the chance to attempt to complete the journey.
By ten o’clock, Billy had a route that he was following to mark time. Each rotation took about a minute and a half. Therefore, he would complete seven rotations and the clock would have moved just over ten minutes. The silence was driving him insane. He’d tried humming, but hearing the silence broken only by his own voice was actually worse. So, the rotations became his method, stopping once outside the back door to check the sky, and then at the front for the same reason.
He was coming out of the kitchen when the knock at the door came. Billy paused, frozen; this was it. Another thought held him: Gargoyle or Tree? There was no pane in the door, and no window with a vantage point. He had to open the door to find out who was there. A second knock came, quieter and less sure. Billy checked his pocket for the knuckles, before the door opened.
Katherine stood, pale as the snow around her, blinking in the light. Billy’s smile welled up, amazed to see his friend awake. Almost at once his relief at seeing her was replaced by the strong sense that something was not right; she appeared to look straight through him, and it was only the rarest of occasions that she failed to greet him with her smile. She was dressed up well, in a grey duffel coat and gloves, but while Billy had to look through the steam of his own breath, nothing came from her own mouth; she must be frozen. Perhaps the coma was still having some effect on her?
Katherine took a step back and squinted at him. “Billy, is that you?”
He turned off the light; perhaps it was that. “You’re awake?”
“I’m not sure. I was told to come here, bring my skates and to give you these.”
Katherine held out the tiny decoration skates to Billy and, despite his concern for her, he felt relief wash over him. This was how it was going to happen.
“Did a tree give you these? Have you met Teàrlag?”
Katherine looked over her shoulder at the road. “I don’t know, I’m not sure how I got here.”
Billy put his smile back on. “I think we’re supposed to go skating.”
“In the park. That’s right.
“Come in while I get changed.”
“I think I’m supposed to stay outside.”
Again, this didn’t seem like Katherine, who was always keen to get into the least visited house in Marlow Bottom. He pulled back the door in case she changed her mind
, and then headed in, sprinting up the stairs. He was sure that by trusting in the task he could bring Katherine back.
In his room, he put the key Mike had given him and the knuckles in his zipped pocket, grabbed the axe, and tied the strap of his old school satchel to either end of the axe handle. Then, on a whim, he went to a cupboard on the landing. Reaching for the top shelf, he pulled down his father’s gnarled fleece and put it on. He’d done this before and found the smell of him so real, and the reminder so painful, that he’d ripped it off in shock. He returned to his room, wrapped a smaller towel around the axe head, and slung it over his shoulder. If he came across the Gargoyle tonight, he would make sure it would be for the last time.
At the open door, he tried to contain his sense of panic when he realised that Katherine wasn’t there. He headed into the garden, dragging the door shut behind him. As his eyes adjusted to the dark, he saw that Katherine was underneath the pear tree, looking up at the sky. He walked through the snow, feet crunching, but not getting her attention. For a moment, as she began to turn, he thought he could see straight through her cheek. The moment passed, and he put it down to her pale face matching the snow-covered branches of the tree. She held up the small decoration for Billy, not questioning how he would put them on, which again was quite unlike the Katherine he knew.
“These are for you.”
“Well, you’ve already got yours,” said Billy, pointing at her shoulder bag.
Katherine frowned at the bag, and then at him. “I think we have to go.”
“To the park,” said Billy, not feeling great about taking his friend anywhere but back home.
He led the way down the path, with Katherine following a few feet behind. As he slung the laces of the decoration over his shoulder, he felt the familiar gain in weight and size for the last time.
* * *
The walk was awkward. every time that Billy slowed so that they could walk side by side, Katherine’s pace fell to almost nothing. If he stopped she stopped, gazing up at the sky. So, he’d walk on and eventually hear her steps making time with his. After a while, he took to looking up, if only to see what held her attention. He only noticed when he stopped walking that the clouds above him were racing faster than he’d ever seen before. As they drew nearer to town, even though the power here was out and the streets were dark, it was definitely getting lighter. The whistling clouds were now only whispers, and low in the sky a bright moon began to cast long shadows. They reached the edge of the frozen flood on Station Road.
Billy Christmas Page 20