Bill Bailey

by Catherine Cookson

  It wasn’t until they were home and Mark had been swamped with hugs and kisses from Katie and Mamie and none too gentle punches of affection from Willie, and the four of them had got through a fancy tea set out by Nell and were now up in the playroom that Bill, looking from Fiona to Nell, said quietly, ‘What d’you two think? I know what I think, everything in the garden isn’t lovely at Swandale.’

  ‘He looks peaky.’

  ‘Yes, Nell, he looks peaky. Well, what about you?’ Bill turned to Fiona, and she put the tea tray down on the draining board before turning towards them saying, ‘I feel the same way as you do: he’s changed, he’s not chirpy any more. He used to cap everything you said; in fact, he was quite witty at times.’

  ‘Aye, yes, he was. But not anymore seemingly; you’ve got to ask him a question before he speaks.’ Nell walked over to the sink and, pushing Fiona gently with the back of her hand, said, ‘Leave those, I’ll see to them. The both of you go up and have a game with them; that might loosen his tongue. Get him to read the Ching Lang Loo book again; he was really funny when he read and acted those rhymes.’

  ‘Aye, perhaps there’s something in that.’ And Bill held out his hand to Fiona, saying, ‘Come on, woman.’ Then as he made for the door he looked back at Nell, saying, ‘Life never runs smoothly, does it?’ And the answer was, ‘I wouldn’t know, would I?’

  Outside in the hall, Fiona said, ‘What a thing to say to Nell.’

  ‘Aye.’ Bill wrinkled his nose. ‘I suppose it was tactless. But she understands me by now.’

  They played games for two hours on that Friday night. On the Saturday morning they all went into Newcastle, shopping. In the afternoon they saw a Disney film and when they came out they had tea in a posh restaurant where, yet again, Katie remarked aloud, ‘On white tablecloths.’

  Later that evening they played more games, and after a great deal of coaxing Mark was persuaded to read something from Katie’s Ching Lang Loo book while Katie manipulated the doll. But what they all noticed was, he just read it, he didn’t act it:

  ‘McGinty is the gardener

  And he sometimes swears;

  Pongo is the poodle

  With only half his hairs;

  Father is the parson

  Reading from a book,

  Says I’ll take some saving

  By

  Hook

  Or

  By

  Crook.

  And there’s also my Chinese doll

  Ching Lang Loo

  Who wants to be in

  And says, “How do you do?”’

  They all clapped and laughed, with the exception of Willie who stated flatly, ‘You didn’t do it properly. You didn’t act them, not any of them.’

  But when Mark came back with a shadow of his old self, saying, ‘What do you want, blood?’ Willie joined in the laughter.

  By arrangement Fiona managed to get Katie, Willie and Mamie to bed, and so left Mark with Bill. And Bill, diplomacy not being his strong point, came straight out with, ‘What’s up with you, lad? Something wrong at that school?’

  ‘No, no.’

  ‘Aw, come on. You’re not yourself; somebody been gettin’ at you?’

  ‘Well—’ Mark wagged his head now and in an offhand manner said, ‘Everybody gets someone at them when they first go to school…any school. It’s a recognised thing.’

  ‘What is a recognised thing?’

  ‘Well…well, bullying.’

  ‘A lot of it there?’

  ‘It…it goes on.’

  ‘Have you been bullied?’

  ‘I’ve…I’ve had me share.’

  ‘And…and you found it bad, you couldn’t stand up to it? Is that it?’

  ‘No, no; it isn’t. I did stand up to it, I did.’

  ‘All right, all right, boy, don’t shout.’

  ‘I’m sorry, Mr Bill.’

  ‘Don’t be sorry, lad. Have you made any friends?’

  ‘Yes. Yes, two. Like me, new starters, Arthur Ryan and Hugo Fuller.’

  ‘Fuller? Hugo Fuller? Is that the Fuller who has the good tailor shop in the town?’

  ‘Yes; that’s his father.’

  ‘Oh, you’re in good company. I might get a suit cheap.’ Bill grinned and Mark smiled, but a small tight smile.

  There was silence between them for a moment before Bill asked quietly, ‘Is there anything you’d like to tell me, lad, on the side like, that you don’t want your mother to know?’

  There was another silence before Mark replied, ‘No. Nothing. I’ll get used to it. I…I was homesick at first…very. I…I missed you all.’

  ‘And we missed you, lad. Well, if there’s nothing seriously wrong, come on and get yourself to bed.’ He put his arm round the boy’s shoulders and led him to the door and on to the landing, and there, pointing along it, he said, ‘Listen to them! Those two are separated by a wall and they are still going at it. Sometimes I wish Katie’s tongue hadn’t been loosened so much. Goodnight, lad.’

  ‘Goodnight, Mr Bill.’

  It was some three hours later. They had been in bed for more than half an hour. They had talked and loved, and now, their arms about each other, they were approaching sleep when both of them became aware of the door being opened and the small voice hissing, ‘Mam!’

  Fiona was sitting stiffly up now, having switched on the side light, and, blinking at Katie and Willie approaching the bed, she muttered, ‘What on earth!’

  ‘What’s the matter?’ Bill’s voice was thick and gruff. ‘Got a pain? Why are you both up at this time?’

  It was Katie who answered in a whisper. ‘Willie came into me. I was asleep. He woke me; he said Mark was crying.’

  ‘Crying?’ Fiona swung her legs out of the bed and grabbed at her dressing gown, but Bill’s hand stopped her from rising: ‘Wait a minute. Wait a minute,’ he said; then he was leaning across the bed, his face close to Willie, asking now, ‘Why…why was he crying?’

  Willie not only wagged his head but his whole body as he said, ‘He’d punch me if I told you and Mam.’

  ‘Tell.’ Katie now dug her brother in the side with her thumb. ‘They’ve got to know.’

  ‘Well come on, spill it.’ Bill was now out of bed and sitting on the edge holding Willie’s hand, and Willie, looking up at him, said with a quivering lip, ‘It’s his bum…bottom.’ With the last translation he cast a glance up at his mother. And it was she who said, ‘What’s wrong with his bottom?’

  ‘It’s all burnt…and his leg.’

  ‘What!’

  The word was so loud that Fiona said, ‘Shh! Keep your voice down, Bill.’

  Bill now said, ‘Go on. What d’you mean, burnt?’

  ‘Well, I was going into the bathroom and he was standing with his pyjamas down looking at his bottom in the glass, and it was all down one side…burnt. And he said I hadn’t to tell you, or else. They put a lighted firework down it, his trousers, on Guy Fawkes night.’

  ‘My God! God in heaven!’ Bill was now on his feet and making for the door. He hadn’t bothered to put on a dressing gown. And Fiona, following him, said, ‘What are you going to do?’

  ‘What d’you think I’m going to do? I’m getting to the bottom of this.’

  ‘He’ll hammer me.’

  Bill now turned towards Willie and in a more gentle voice, he said, ‘No, he won’t, Willie. Don’t you worry; you were right to go to Katie; and Katie was right to come to us. No Katie’—he pointed at her—‘you go back to bed. We’ll tell you all about it in the morning. That’s a good lass. And you, Willie, come on and get into bed an’ all under the clothes and pretend you’re asleep.’

  ‘I can never pretend I’m asleep, Mr Bill.’ This was a whispered comment, and Bill, bending down on him, hissed, ‘There’s always a first time. Now go on in ahead. Don’t let him hear you.’

  He now stood looking towards Fiona who was pressing Katie before her into the bedroom; and when she returned he said to her, ‘It’s no use hanging
on till the mornin’ to get to the bottom of this, his defences will be up again, so come on.’

  One thing was immediately evident as they stood by Mark’s bed, and that was he, unlike his brother, could feign being asleep.

  ‘Mark.’ Fiona’s voice was soft. ‘Come along, you’re not asleep, sit up. Now don’t worry. Come along, sit up. We know all about it. I’m going to put the light on.’

  ‘No, don’t, Mam. No, don’t.’

  Fiona switched the light on to reveal the tear-stained face of her son. And it was Bill who said, ‘Turn over.’

  ‘No, Mr Bill.’

  With one movement Bill stripped the clothes down the bed; then gently he lifted the boy up and turned him onto his face. But when he went to pull down Mark’s pyjamas he found them fastened, and he motioned to Fiona, saying, ‘Untie them.’

  Fiona now put her arms around her son’s waist, untied the cord of his pyjamas and gently pulled them over his buttocks. Then both she and Bill stood staring down in disbelief at what they were seeing, for there, on his left buttock, was evidence of a bad burn about four inches long and three inches wide, and, like drips from a candle, smaller ones linked up halfway down his thigh.

  A muttered blasphemy from Bill broke the silence; but such were Fiona’s feelings at the moment that she made no comment on it; instead, throwing herself on the bed, she laid her head on the pillow near that of her son. And when his arms came around her neck she held him close to her; but she was unable to speak any words of comfort: her throat was full, her whole body was full of rage and indignation. And it was Bill who voiced her exact thoughts when he said, ‘That flaming lot saying he had a cold! It could have turned septic. It could, even yet. By God Almighty! They’ll pay for this. You’ll see if they don’t.’

  On the last words, Mark loosened his grip on his mother and swung round, only to wince as his raw buttock touched the bed. And now, looking up at Bill, he pleaded, ‘Don’t…don’t do anything, Mr Bill, ’cos…’cos the masters and the matron and all them, they…they are all right, they were good. It was only him and…’

  When he stopped and hung his head, Bill sat down on the edge of the bed and, taking the boy’s hand, he said, ‘Who’s him? Come on, you might as well tell me because I’ll go to that school and I’ll get to the bottom of this. By God! I will.’

  ‘I…I can’t, Mr Bill, ’cos…’cos when I go back…’

  ‘Listen to me, boy; you’re not going back.’

  ‘No? I…I won’t have to go back?’

  ‘No, not to that place. By God! no. So come on, spill the beans.’

  Both Fiona and Bill watched the boy now lean back against the bedhead and look up towards the ceiling and slowly let out a long breath. Then his eyes once more on a level with Bill’s, he said, ‘He’s the dorm captain. He’s the biggest and…and a year older than the others. There are seven of us in the dorm but…but he made me fag from the beginning.’

  ‘What d’you mean fag?’

  ‘Well, I had to clean his shoes and make his bed.’

  ‘You what? I thought all that was finished with.’

  ‘They all have to do it, fags. But…but he kept picking on me. And…and he took most of the tuck box…’ He now looked at Fiona.

  ‘Never!’

  ‘Yes, Mam. You see, they get the pick of the tuck boxes in each dorm, the captains. But he took the best bits, the big cake, and the shortbread…’

  Bill rose from the bed and walked towards the door, then back again, saying, ‘I can’t believe this. I just can’t believe this.’

  ‘It’s the rule, and…and it doesn’t matter.’

  Bill was now bending over Mark, saying, ‘Didn’t you stand up to him?’

  ‘Oh, yes, yes, Mr Bill, I did…I did. One time when he called you…I mean, me names.’

  Bill lowered himself down to the edge of the bed again and he brought his chin into his chest as he said, ‘He called me names? Why did he call me names?’

  ‘That was…what I mean, is…’

  Bill now held up his hand, ‘What you mean is, that was a slip of the tongue. But slips of the tongue nearly always speak the truth. Now what name did he call me?’

  ‘Well’—Mark bit on his lip—‘it…it wasn’t really what he called you, he called me Brickie Bailey.’

  There was a short silence before Bill said, ‘He said I was a brickie then?’

  Mark didn’t answer and Bill said, ‘Did you tell him I wasn’t a brickie? Anyway, how did he know I had anything to do with buildings? Did you tell him?’

  ‘No. He…he told me his father knows you.’

  ‘His father knows me. What’s his name?’

  ‘Brown. Roland Brown.’

  Bill’s mouth went into a gape. He looked at Fiona, and she returned the look and nodded knowingly, and Bill said, ‘Now there’s light upon the subject. When did all this happen?’ He was addressing Mark again. And the boy said, ‘Last Sunday after his father brought him back. He came with some friends and they took him out for the day. I saw them when they first came. I was passing through the hall, and I’d met Mr Brown before, you know when we were on the site, and he looked at me but he didn’t speak. And it was when Roland came back that he called me Brickie Bailey and said things about…’ His voice trailed off, and Bill said, ‘I’ve a good idea who he said things about, laddie. And you stood up to him?’

  ‘Yes…yes, I hit out at him; but it wasn’t hard enough to knock him down, yet he tripped over something. It was really Arthur’s foot, he had stuck it out, and everybody laughed, even Roland Brown’s pal Roger Stewart. And then it was on the Monday night they caught me, and they pushed the lighted firework down my…my trousers. I…I couldn’t get it out and I…screamed. The doctor came on the Tuesday and they kept me in bed.’

  It was Fiona who asked now, ‘But why didn’t you tell us this before?’

  ‘Well, because the head said you would only be worried and Mr Leonard said the same, and Matron said that nothing like that had ever happened before, well not as bad, in the way of pranks, and it would get the school a bad name. She’s very nice, the matron.’

  ‘Get the school a bad name. Don’t tell your parents because it’ll worry them. The shifty lot of buggers.’

  ‘Bill!’

  ‘Oh, to hell!’ He waved his hand back at her. ‘That’s how I feel, an’ that’ll be nothin’ to the language I’ll use on Monday mornin’ when I confront that lot. But it’s all right.’ He turned swiftly to Mark and, thrusting his arm out and pointing his finger at him, he said, ‘You’ll never darken that door again, I’ll promise you that, laddie. Nor will you go to any bloody boarding school. There are good schools in Newcastle, and you can come home at night. But that’ll be after Monday. Here, get yourself up and come across into the bathroom, I want to see that in better light.’

  In the better light they were even more shocked at the sight of the scars. When Bill said, ‘Have you any ointment that you can put on?’ Fiona answered, ‘No, better not; just let the air get at it as much as possible. And it’s drying.’

  ‘Well, we’ll see tomorrow morning. I’ll get on to Davey Hall.’

  ‘It’ll be Sunday tomorrow.’

  ‘I know it’ll be Sunday, Mrs B’—he nodded towards her—‘but Davey will come out on a Sunday, or in the middle of the night if he’s needed, you know that. He’s not a nine to fiver. So come on, let’s all get back to bed because I want some sleep afore the morrow; I’ve got a lot of thinkin’ to do.’ He put his arm around Mark’s shoulder and walked him out of the bathroom. And at his bedroom door, he said, ‘Go on now, you don’t need any tucking in. You’ll sleep now, won’t you?’

  ‘Yes, Mr Bill.’ The boy really smiled for the first time since he had come home. Then turning swiftly to his mother, he put his arms about her and kissed her before running from them and into his bedroom.

  Doctor Hall said, ‘Fireworks! They want banning altogether, as does the one who did that.’ He jerked his head upwards towards th
e ceiling. ‘It’s healing all right, but it’s still nasty. He must have gone through it having to sit on that side and not let on. You think he would have gone back and not said anything?’

  ‘More than likely. You know something? I can’t wait until the morrow mornin’.’

  ‘I understand how you feel; but if I were you I’d have a photograph taken of it.’

  ‘That’s an idea. I’ve got a good camera and I’m not a bad hand at snaps. Yes, that is an idea.’ As Fiona entered the room carrying a tray of coffee and as Bill went to take it from her, the doctor rose to his feet, saying, ‘How’s that pain? Any more twinges?’ But before she had time to reply, Bill, looking from one to the other, demanded, ‘What pain?’ And when neither of them answered he said, ‘Come on. Come on.’ And he banged the tray down on the table, spilling the coffee here and there as he said, ‘Come on. What’s this about a pain? You’ve never told me.’

  ‘It’s nothing. It wasn’t worth mentioning. Grumbling appendix.’ She looked towards the doctor, as, too, did Bill as he demanded, ‘Is it?’

  ‘Yes, it could be; or, on the other hand…’

  ‘Yes, on the other hand, what d’you mean?’

  ‘Look, Bill, stop it!’ Fiona’s voice was sharp. ‘This happened long before you came on the scene. I was in hospital for a few days because I had a pain in my side and they could find nothing wrong.’

  ‘But that must be over eighteen months ago if it was afore my time. Has this been a recent visit?’

  He was now looking at the doctor, who, obviously slightly embarrassed now, was about to speak when Fiona said, ‘Yes, yes. I popped in the other morning just to see if everything was all right.’

  ‘Because you had a pain, woman, that I knew nothin’ about? Eeh! My God! This house.’ He turned from them. ‘You talk about a secret society: first the son and then the mother.’