In the Face of Adversity

by Peter Martin

  One Friday afternoon three weeks later, with the prospect of spending another weekend in the cold, damp bedsit, Billy’s mood dipped appreciably. The decrepit room did nothing to raise his spirits. When he arrived at the garage, a colleague told him, ‘Tom’s not here at the moment, he’ll be back shortly’. He didn’t appear until an hour later and gave no explanation.

  Later, travelling together, Billy guessed something had bugged him as he was so quiet; perhaps he felt the same about spending the weekend here. The guests were a rum lot too, with their haughty ways, looking down at him and his father. Mealtimes were an ordeal, but they’d paid for the food and had to eat, and had no choice but to face them.

  Now back at their digs Billy sat on the bed, book in hand, watching his dad who, after staring into space, got up, went to his coat hanging on the door and took out a whisky bottle from the inside jacket pocket. Twisting the top, he broke the seal and held the bottle to his mouth, taking a long swig.

  Why had he drunk whisky, when he normally enjoyed a pint of beer? Only at Christmas time did he drink spirits – and then not from the bottle.

  Almost as if the spell had been broken, he laughed. ‘What are you looking so worried about? Me having a drink? Well, don’t be. A couple of drinks never hurt anyone, and it makes you feel a whole lot better too. Besides, I deserve one after the day I’ve had.’ He dried his mouth with the back of his hand.

  ‘What now, Dad?’ Billy asked, unable to comprehend what he meant.

  ‘Had an argument at work, that’s all.’ He held the bottle to his lips, took another quaff, and said, ‘Somebody got what he deserved.’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Dave, that’s who. Lecturing me when it was his fault in the first place, letting us down like that. I taught him a lesson, well and good – after what he did. Trouble is the gaffer took Dave’s part, the bastard. Sacked me on the spot, and bloody Dave got off with a warning. Can you believe that?’

  ‘Oh no, Dad,’ Billy said. Just when he thought things couldn’t get worse, they did.

  ‘Don’t worry. I’ll get another job, no problem. Lots of places need someone like me.’

  But did they? A lot of the mechanics working in local garages knew each other. If his dad’s reputation preceded him, he’d have difficulty getting anyone to take on what they’d see as a hothead. Billy watched him have yet another drink, not knowing what to do.

  He must have been drinking in the pub during the afternoon and the weird I-couldn’t-care-less grin on his face was the booze talking.

  ‘What’s so funny, Dad?’

  ‘Nothing much,’ he sniggered. ‘Except tonight’s the night I’ll tell somebody a few home truths. That dragon Mrs Dyson for a start, with her stinking room and her shitty food.’

  ‘Please, no –’

  ‘Ssh. Don’t fret. She won’t do anything. Where else will she get the money I’m giving her?’

  Billy didn’t like the sound of this. If his dad did as he’d threatened, they’d be thrown out. And then what? Back to square one, and sleeping in the car? Dear God, no.

  Later, going down for their evening meal, Billy followed his father into an empty dining room. Mrs Dyson came in seconds later carrying three plates of dried-up shepherd’s pie, baked beans and chips. She put the plates down in front of them.

  ‘Lovely to see you, Mr Price, Billy. We’re on our own again tonight I’m afraid, but never mind. It’ll be nice and cosy, just the three of us,’ she said, fluttering her false eyelashes.

  His dad gave her a faint smile, picked up his knife and fork and did battle. He tapped the top of the pie with his fork and looked up. Billy, heart in his mouth, sat willing his father not to speak. He glanced at Mrs Dyson to see the puzzled look on her face change to anger and she became flushed. Her lips quivered. Any moment now she’ll shout, Billy thought.

  ‘Something wrong, Mr Price?’ she asked, her breathing laboured.

  ‘Wrong, you ask?’ He looked her straight in the eye; the drink had taken hold. What would he say or do next? ‘It’s this so-called meal of yours, I wouldn’t feed it to a pig. Burnt, dried-up and stuck to the plate. No wonder your teeth are in such a state, if you’ve been eating this muck all your life.’

  A gasp from Mrs Dyson. Billy’s head jerked, looking from one to the other, knowing that last comment had overstepped the mark.

  For a moment their landlady’s hands trembled in rage, and then she slammed her fist on the table, saying, ‘If you’re not satisfied with my cooking, Mr Price, leave. But let me tell you I’ve worked my fingers to the bone to make sure you and your lad are happy here.’

  ‘Bullshit. The state of our room is disgusting too. Damp and decrepit; you ought to be bloody ashamed of yourself, the prices you charge. Why, it’s daylight robbery. I’ve a good mind to report you to the council.’

  Billy thought his dad too ridiculous for words.

  But what came next shocked Billy. Without warning, his dad picked up his plate and threw it against the wall behind where Mrs Dyson was sitting. It fell to the floor, leaving bits of mince and jellied gravy splattered across the paintwork.

  ‘That’s it! I want you out of here right now or I’ll call the police,’ she threatened, getting to her feet. She stormed across to the door, opened it and folded her arms, waiting for them to get up.

  Keeping schtum, Billy waited for his dad’s reply.

  ‘There ought to be a law against women like you, taking money off people for a shit-hole of a room.’

  They moved over to her, and his dad stopped and stared at her straight in the eye. At first it seemed he might strike the poor woman.

  Instinctively Mrs Dyson ducked out of the way, saying meekly, ‘What are you doing now?’

  ‘What do you think I’m doing, you stupid cow? You told us to go, didn’t you?’ he snarled, and then did a loud burp.

  In Billy’s opinion he’d gone too far. Okay, everything he’d said was true; but there was no need to ridicule the poor woman. Was his father taking his woes and sadness out on Mrs Dyson? Or did this go deeper, and have to do with something else Billy didn’t know about?

  Upstairs in their room, they packed their things. Billy sat down on the bed and closed his eyes, wondering what his father was planning, and where would they go now? Better here than nowhere. But it was too late.

  ‘Got any idea where we’re off to, son?’ his father asked, seeming pleased with himself all of a sudden. But Billy wasn’t in the mood to play guessing games, and chose not to answer.

  ‘Don’t you even have a tiny inkling? Come on, you must have thought about it loads of times. Good God, do I have to spell it out for you? We’re going home, son, to your mum. That’s where we all belong – together,’ he said with a strange, demented half smile on his face.

  What was his dad on about? Surely, he hadn’t been secretly meeting his mum? No, that couldn’t be it, he’d have said before now. And besides, that would never happen – they were divorced.

  ‘You mean we’re going back to our old house, Dad?’

  ‘No, you idiot. Somebody else lives there now. No, we’ll be living in your mum’s new house …’

  ‘How did you find her, Dad? Are you friends again?’

  ‘Sort of. It wasn’t hard, and it’s only a few miles away from where we used to live. I told you we’d get back together – it was only a matter of time.’

  ‘That’s great, Dad, I’m so pleased.’ There was no point saying anything else, the mood his dad was in. And it wasn’t about the amount of whisky he’d consumed, but more likely his pig-headedness.

  ‘Right. Ready?’

  Billy nodded, picking up the smaller of the two suitcases, leaving the other for his father. They tramped down the stairs noisily. Fortunately, no one appeared in the hallway, allowing them to leave without further argument. Billy felt relieved; he’d imagined Mrs Dyson confronting them with a good-riddance speech. But no, his dad had half scared the woman to death. But, with this problem over, he feared an even bigge
r one faced them.

  Added to this was the sight of his dad, a smile on his face, packing the suitcases into the boot of the car and banging it shut. Did he really believe he’d be getting back together with Billy’s mum?

  They drove off at breakneck speed, veering around bends on the wrong side of the road and almost hitting the gutter, while his dad sang I Will Always Love You. Billy wondered what would be the best ending for the night, a clash with the police because of his dangerous drunken driving, or facing his mum and Simpson? There wasn’t much in it.

  Luckily the roads were quiet and before long the car slowed down, his dad’s eyes searching for the right house. The car halted in front of a row of newish town-houses with small gardens at the front. Billy wanted to cry, as there was no talking to his dad. It had been coming for a while. His father remained calm, as if everything would be fine again.

  ‘Well, here we are, son. Your mum’s about to get one hell of a surprise,’ he said as he got out of the car.

  ‘Dad, you sure about all this?’

  ‘What’s the matter with you? I’ve already told you, soon things will be back to normal, you’ll see.’

  He pressed the bell at the side of the door, not once but three times. He grinned, saying, ‘Now stop worrying.’

  CHAPTER 5

  When the Simpson woman answered, Billy doubted his heart could beat any faster. From the shock on her face he guessed this was the last thing she’d expected. Her eyes narrowed in anger.

  ‘What the fuck do you want?’ she began, and tried to shut the door in their faces, but Billy’s dad was too quick: putting his foot in the way, he shouted, ‘Maggie!’

  His dad gritted his teeth, determined to hold the door rigid to stop Simpson shutting it. Although in this mood, he wouldn’t think twice about breaking it down.

  ‘Piss off and leave us in peace!’ Simpson shouted, pushing as hard to close it without success. Fury came on his dad’s blood-red face as the door eased back, causing Simpson to fall onto the floor. He barged in, rushing past her, his eyes searching frantically for Billy’s mum.

  ‘Where is she?’ he yelled, looking at Simpson, who was getting to her feet.

  ‘Why should I tell you?’ She glared at them.

  ‘I’ll find her if it kills me.’

  Billy followed his dad through the front room to a kitchen-sitting room at the back. From there he peered out of a door leading to the garden. Nothing. And then his dad turned and pointed to the corner of the front room, saying, ‘Upstairs.’ But as he approached the stairs, he saw her coming down. Her appearance had changed drastically. Her long hair was now cut short into a pageboy style; drab jeans and a polo-neck jumper replaced the colourful dresses he remembered her in. As she stepped forward with her head up, her bottom lip quivered, and she whispered, ‘Thomas. Billy.’ Her face softened, almost as if she was glad to see them.

  Billy glanced at his dad, seeing him clench his fists and take a deep breath. He said, ‘I’ve come to take you home, Maggie.’

  A strange thing to say, considering they no longer had a home.

  ‘Oh no ...’ she said, closing her eyes.

  ‘Tell them to clear off, Maggie; you don’t need them – do you?’ Simpson said.

  But she didn’t, and her eyes never left them. And when Billy’s dad held out his arms and walked towards her, she went easily into them, tears streaming down her cheeks, causing Simpson to scream, ‘Maggie! What are you doing?’

  Billy was pulled into their embrace by his mum’s outstretched hand. He hugged his parents. Everything would be fine now, he thought. He wept with joy.

  ‘I’m so sorry, Thomas, Billy!’ she cried.

  But Jane Simpson showed she wasn’t done yet when she grabbed hold of Maggie’s arm and violently dragged her away from them. His dad moved over to try to part the two women, but Simpson wouldn’t release her hold, causing Billy’s dad to say though clenched teeth, ‘She wants to go with us.’ He let go of Maggie’s arm and pushed Simpson forcefully to the ground. ‘Maggie, pack your things, we’re leaving,’ he added, guiding her upstairs.

  Billy felt elated. The fact they were homeless didn’t seem to matter, it was seeing his mum’s willingness to leave that counted. He watched Simpson get to her feet, a look of sheer terror on her face. But what could she do? His dad was twice as strong as her.

  To his surprise, she didn’t go after them. Instead she dashed into the kitchen. But hearing the rattle of cutlery in the drawer, Billy sensed she was up to no good. Within a matter of seconds, she returned holding something behind her back. She rushed right past him up the stairs and as Billy turned around, he glimpsed what she was trying to hide. He screamed, ‘Mum, Dad, watch out – she’s got a carving knife!’

  He darted after her and saw his father coming out of the bedroom, the colour draining from his face. Simpson approached him, brandishing the knife in front of her.

  ‘You’re not taking her away from me. I’ve lost too much in the past to give her up to you. You who let her suffer alone when Katie died! You think I’d let you destroy her life again?’

  As she pushed the knife towards him, Thomas tried to get out of the way, but wasn’t quick enough. It caught him on his side and at once blood soaked through his clothing, spreading like ink on blotting paper. He fell backwards. Billy rushed to help his dad, but as he turned, the sight before him shook him to the core. His mum tried to run away from Simpson, but she thrust the knife into his mum, digging it deep into her stomach again and again. A low grunt came from his mum’s throat as she slumped over onto the carpet.

  ‘Mum!’ Billy screamed.

  He couldn’t lose both of his parents to this monster. He tried to pull Simpson away, but in her frenzied state she was too strong and shoved him aside. Out of the corner of his eye he noticed his dad had struggled to his feet; dark-red blood seeped through his fingers as he held the side of his body. He shuffled towards Simpson standing next to the inert body, still holding the bloody knife in her hand. Would she go after his dad again? To his amazement his dad surged forward, grabbing hold of Simpson’s wrist. Slowly he loosened her grip until the weapon clattered to the ground, out of Simpson’s reach. But she swung her other arm round and with a bunched-up fist hit his wounded side, causing him to cry out in agony and fall down. Simpson began first to kick his head and then his back when he curled up into a ball.

  ‘Stop it, stop hurting my dad!’

  But she didn’t stop, she continued to hit him over and over again. Billy looked about the room, and there in the corner lay the blood-stained knife. Instinctively he reached for it, and plunged it into her back.

  She froze for a split second, letting out a muffled cry of pain before falling to the ground away from him, the blade still in her body.

  Stunned, Billy flopped down on the floor close to his father. But straight in front of him, lying in a pool of blood, lay his mum’s motionless body, her eyes wide open.

  ‘No, no. Why, why, why?’ he screamed.

  ‘Billy, stop it, stop it,’ his dad said weakly. ‘It’s no good, she’s gone.’

  But he didn’t stop: the shouting continued into an uncontrolled frenzy. With a great deal of difficulty his father edged his way towards him, and between breaths, said, ‘Billy … there’s nothing we can do, stop it.’ But Billy couldn’t stop crying.

  ‘Come on … Please ... It’s useless.’ Eventually Billy pulled himself together. ‘That’s better. Get me a wet cloth. Quick.’

  His dad crawled over to Simpson’s body and after wiping the handle of the knife, he gripped it without trying to pull it out.

  ‘Oh my God, what have I done?’ Billy muttered. His hands dithered like an old man’s.

  ‘You haven’t done anything. It was me – and don’t you forget it.’

  ‘But –’

  ‘It’s retribution! After all the hurt she caused us. She broke up our family, killed your mother and would have killed me, if it hadn’t been for you.’

  Utter despai
r filled his chest as the realisation of what he’d done hit him. Whatever hope he might have harboured for the future had now vanished.

  CHAPTER 6

  Wincing with pain, Billy’s dad shuffled across to Billy’s mum, easing her onto his lap to cradle her in his arms, and wept softly.

  Billy crawled over to them to sit beside his dad on the floor, and encompassed him. With all the hopes of a few minutes ago gone, tears ran down his cheeks. He’d never seen so much blood in his life, and felt sick.

  The situation was horrendous. Billy trembled with fear. ‘Oh my God, what are we going to do?’

  He looked towards his father who, shaking his head, eyes closed, said, ‘She was coming back, Billy. She was. I told you she would.’

  ‘Yes, I know, Dad. You were right all along.’

  ‘But it was all for nothing. Simpson got what she deserved for what she did to us, yet we’ll get punished. They’ll lock me up and throw away the key, and you’ll be on your own. All because of her.’

  ‘Dad, you’re bleeding all over.’

  His dad shrugged this aside, but common sense should have told him he couldn’t hang on much longer. His clothes were soaked with blood, but he still rambled on, ‘It’s hopeless. No one will believe me. It was self-defence because she killed your mum. But it’ll count for nothing.’

  ‘Dad, shouldn’t we get you away from here?’

  ‘No, I can’t run away. Don’t you forget, it was me that did this. You tell them you never touched her – you hear?’ He took hold of his son’s shirt.

  But seeing how heavily he was breathing, Billy missed the significance of his dad’s words, saying, ‘Dad, you need a doctor –’

  ‘All right, all right,’ he said, almost in a whisper. Pulling Billy’s arm, he pleaded, ‘Remember to say it was me, can’t let you carry the can … You have your whole life ahead of you … even if it is without me.’

  ‘Oh no … Dad ...’