Being Billy

by Phil Earle

  But I tell you what. I never got off the bike. Not once.

  I wasn’t going to let it beat me.

  And I wasn’t going to let it beat me tonight either.

  So, as I felt the first gusts rip at my coat, I lifted my collar to my chin and looked it in the eye – completely unaware that I was walking into a storm that I’d never come across before.

  One that might just get the better of me.

  CHAPTER 7

  I clocked her pretty early. As soon as the allotments came into view.

  She was wrapping her coat as far around herself as she could, burying her chin into her chest, hiding her face from the wind.

  Maybe that’s why she never saw them.

  I’d seen them already.

  It was rare for the bench by the allotments to be empty, even on the coldest nights, and there were three of them huddled there, passing a can quickly between themselves. I didn’t recognize them, mind, not the usual crew. They were older, which confused me, because if I’d been them I’d have been in the boozer rather than freezing my nuts off for a four-pack of Bulmers.

  It didn’t seem to bother them, and from the crap they were spouting as I approached on the other side of the road, I knew they’d downed a few already. Enough to fend off the cold at least.

  As I drew level with them, I kept my head up and eyes fixed forward, not wanting to show any weakness they could pick at, and for whatever reason it worked. They continued to ramble some nonsense and I ghosted by.

  I knew it wouldn’t be the same for her. No matter where she looked.

  In fact, I’d only gone a few seconds past them when they caught whiff of her.

  ‘Oi, oi, eyes right, fellas. Eyes right.’

  ‘I’ve got you. Tidy, mate, very tidy,’ followed by drunken snorts of laughter.

  I heard a can spin into the road as they stood, the echo splitting the silence.

  Not that it was quiet in my head. The blood was still pounding in my ears as I fought off the frustration of not getting into Jan and Grant’s. The prospect of another sleepless night in my room wasn’t helping either. If it had been warmer I’d have plonked myself somewhere with a can of something as well. Drowning myself in cider had worked enough times before.

  But I wouldn’t drink with those lads. I’m not squeaky clean, granted, but there was something about them that reeked. As I walked on, I hoped the girl could smell it as well.

  I glanced at her from across the street as we drew level. Her face, what I could see of it, was blank.

  Emotionless.

  Fixed forward.

  Which meant she must have seen them.

  I looked again at her eyes.

  Did I know her?

  I felt like I did but I couldn’t quite place her.

  I slowed, not breaking step, just putting the brakes on a bit.

  She’ll cross in a minute, I thought, quicken her pace, and if she’s got any sense she’ll whip her phone out and make a quick call. Let whoever is expecting her know that she’s only seconds away, even if she isn’t.

  I winced.

  Why was I giving this a second’s thought?

  What did it have to do with me anyway?

  If she was dumb enough to find herself in a situation, then fair dos. Deal with it.

  But as I reached the corner that led back towards the dual carriageway, my feet slowed and I found myself looking back.

  That niggling sense that I knew her stopped me, and instead I hugged the shadows and peered back towards the allotments.

  Their jeering was building, but her pace wasn’t. She just marched on, oblivious.

  ‘Where you off to, then, petal?’

  As if they cared.

  ‘Aye, there’s no rush. Come and have a drink with us.’

  As she drew level with them they fanned themselves across the pavement, leaving her no option but to cross the road. Or plough straight through them.

  Which is exactly what she did.

  With no fuss.

  Without raising her hands, she just marched through them.

  It took them by surprise of course, especially as the meathead holding the can was left wearing the cider rather than necking it.

  ‘You dozy cow,’ he yelled. ‘Look at what you’ve done.’

  The fact that his two mates were wetting themselves didn’t do anything for his mood and so he scuttled after her, waving his finger pointlessly at the back of her head.

  ‘Oi!’ he screamed. ‘Oi! Where do you think you’re going?’

  His voice rose in anger with every step she took. And when she didn’t break stride, two things happened that I didn’t expect.

  One.

  Instead of pulling her round to face him, or running ahead of her, he simply grabbed her by the hair, yanking her head back so hard I expected a load of hair to come off in his hand.

  Two.

  Instead of crying out in pain, like anyone else, the girl spun on her right heel and delivered a right hook to the guy’s cheek, so hard, so clean, that I heard the impact from thirty metres away.

  His hand, still gripping her hair, whipped to his cheek as he crumpled to the floor, and he curled into a ball, as if expecting a flurry of blows to rain down.

  With that, it all kicked off.

  The laughter stopped and was replaced by a manic roar, as the other two lads charged at her.

  Maybe she knew she had no chance of outrunning them, but whatever the reason, she wasn’t bricking it enough to leg it. She just looked at them as they sprinted towards her. In fact, her gaze didn’t drop until the first dickhead backhanded her straight across the cheek, knocking her to her knees.

  All thought of walking away gone, I ran at them.

  Even with one of them on the floor, the chances of me gaining an advantage were pretty small. After all, they weren’t kids. They were handy. This wasn’t new to them by any stretch.

  So I needed any element of surprise possible.

  This worked well with number one, who went down quickly after a meaty forearm to the back of his head. But before I knew it, the other lad was on me, sticking my head into a lock before bending me in half and ramming his knee to my cheek.

  The floor spun as it reached up to greet me, but no sooner had it met my head than I was back on my feet, arms pinned behind my back, as the guy I’d whacked staggered towards me, picking the grit from his palms.

  ‘This just gets better and better. You this dozy cow’s fella, are you?’ he gasped with delight. ‘What’s the problem with the two of you? No manners, either of you.’

  He unloaded a left hand into my belly, before straightening me up with a knee to the forehead.

  My head was buzzing, ears ringing. But I wasn’t done. There was no way, after the day I’d had, that these losers were going to leave me in the gutter.

  He ambled closer, smiling to the meathead still pinning me from behind. But he milked it for too long, allowed me enough time to refocus on him, and as he reached striking distance I swung my leg flush between his, catching him square in the bollocks.

  He stumbled back, grabbing his balls as if they were in danger of rolling away, so I turned my attention to the guy holding me from behind. As he peered over my shoulder in the direction of his mate, I flicked my head backwards, catching him on the nose. Not hard enough to put him down, but enough to make him lose his grip.

  I turned, the adrenalin starting to pulse through me as I shoved him backwards.

  ‘You’ve got a nerve talking about manners,’ I yelled. ‘Three meatheads like you going after some bird. What sort of perverts are you?’

  Without hesitation I put him on the floor. And kept him there, with one kick.

  Then another.

  Another.

  Another.

  The top was off the bottle and there was no way I was stopping.

  Until
I was on the deck again, lumped from behind.

  As I rolled over, hands wrapped around my head, I could see the first guy, the guy who went for the girl, leaning in on me, his face twisted in anger, his cidery breath even angrier.

  ‘Who do you think you are, eh? You think you’re Superman or something? Truth is, sunshine, you should have left well alone. This had nothing, NOTHING, to do with you. But it has now. You’ve made something out of nothing.’

  I saw something flash at his side and knew it was a blade. Didn’t need to see it. Just knew, instantly, that he was going to cut me up without a second’s thought.

  I lay there.

  Still.

  But I didn’t take my eyes off him. There was no way I was letting him know I was scared.

  Because I wasn’t.

  No one had pulled a knife on me before, but I’d been in far darker places and I’d always got back on my feet.

  I felt madly invincible, untouchable. As if I was some kind of Superman.

  I started to laugh. Which threw him, and made him madder. He paused, as if to check what he was seeing, and as he bent over me, something flashed behind him. Not a knife, though, something blunter and heavier. And with that he fell on top of me, blocking my view of the starry sky above.

  CHAPTER 8

  It took so much effort to heave the body off me that I wondered if I’d see a lump of brain stuck to the spade in her hand.

  Not that it bothered her. She stood over his body and chucked the tool on top of him, before turning to me.

  ‘He’s not going to wake up for a while, but I don’t fancy being here when he does.’

  She scooped up her bag from the floor and turned away.

  ‘Hang on a minute,’ I yelled as I got to my feet. ‘You all right?’

  ‘Me?’ she said, without turning back. ‘Nowt wrong with me. I’m not the one who took the pasting.’

  ‘But that lad properly caught you one back there.’

  She still didn’t stop, but did spare me a glance, an angry mark hugging her face.

  ‘I’m fine. I only got caught with one. You’re bleeding, you know.’

  I wiped at my nose, a streak of blood on the back of my hand.

  ‘It’s nothing. He caught me flush, that’s all.’

  ‘Oh, right. Good.’

  And that, it seemed, was that.

  She flicked her bag back up on to her shoulder and strode off, as if I didn’t even exist.

  It took me a second to realize that, as far as she was concerned, it was game over.

  I shook my head quickly, as if the whack had altered my take on what had just happened.

  If I hadn’t waded in, she would’ve been in deep shit.

  I’m not really one for manners, but I reckoned she owed me a ‘Cheers’ at least. So I took off after her, jogging to keep up.

  ‘And that’s it, is it?’ I said, to the back of her head.

  But the back of her head wasn’t up for talking.

  So I said it again. But the silence went on.

  ‘I said, aren’t you forgetting something?’ and without thinking I grabbed at her shoulder.

  Big mistake. She swung on her heel, just as she had minutes before.

  As her arm whipped around, I craned my neck backwards, out of instinct rather than judgement, and felt the wind brush my chin as her fist flashed by.

  ‘Jesus,’ I cried, ‘what’s the matter with you? Don’t you realize what just happened back there? Those lads were going to kick your arse!’

  That seemed to grab her attention.

  ‘What? Until you jumped in, you mean? Am I meant to be grateful or something? From what I remember, the arse taking the biggest kicking wasn’t mine!’

  As she spat the words at me, she looked me in the eye for the first time, and again I was left with the nagging feeling that I knew her. But I still didn’t know why.

  I was sure I’d remember someone as narky as her.

  ‘Hang on a sec. The only reason I took a kicking was you. I was on my way home. I only stopped because that lad left half of his hand welded to your cheek.’

  ‘So what do you want, then?’

  ‘Want? I don’t want anything. Look. Forget it. I hope you get home OK.’ And with a last glance in her direction I shook my head and turned away.

  ‘Wait,’ I heard, at least I thought I did, but not loud enough to make me stop.

  ‘I said WAIT.’

  Loud enough. So I turned back.

  She hadn’t moved. The same blank look, the same glazed eyes. The only thing changing was the size of the bruise on her cheek.

  ‘Look,’ she said. ‘I’m grateful. I am. I’m just not big on saying it. And I didn’t ask you for help either, remember.’

  ‘Fair dos.’

  ‘So let’s just call it quits, then, shall we? You helped me. I helped you. End of story.’

  And then she did something unexpected. She raised her hand, waiting for me to shake it.

  I didn’t take it straight away. I just stared at it, making sure it wasn’t a crappy joke. But grudgingly I stepped forward, extending my own hand in turn.

  Her fingers were cold, but so were mine. And as we shook hands, I could feel her iciness thaw a bit. At least I thought I did. Her face hadn’t changed, she just looked me straight in the eye, but I could tell she was checking me out the same way I had looked at her.

  I’d swear she was looking at me, wondering if she knew me too.

  The moment swept past as she dropped her hand and turned away.

  ‘Hang on a minute,’ I shouted after her. ‘Have you got far to go?’

  ‘Why? What are you going to do? Walk me home and keep me safe?’ A smile flickered across her face.

  ‘Just wondering, that’s all.’ There was no way I was going to offer unless she asked.

  ‘I’m staying round the corner, with mates.’ Although she didn’t look too chuffed about it. ‘I’m sure I won’t need you between here and there.’

  ‘I’ll see you, then.’

  ‘Yeah, maybe.’ And she walked on, hands thrust in pockets.

  As she walked away I realized that in the minutes since the guy had lamped her, she hadn’t once winced or raised her hand to her face. Hadn’t once even acknowledged that she had a bruise the size of a tennis ball growing on her cheek.

  It was then that I realized I hadn’t met her before. But I did know her all the same. I was sure of it. I’d put money on it. If I had any.

  Because she was like me.

  She was a lifer too.

  CHAPTER 9

  Ronnie’s words rang in my ears as I pushed through the classroom door.

  ‘Keep your head down today, Billy, will you? Just try and, you know, blend in.’

  I sighed at the chances of trying to go unnoticed, especially at school.

  It had never been an option before.

  By the time I started infants properly, stumbling as I counted from one to ten, the other kids were practically on to their times tables.

  It was pretty obvious I wouldn’t ever be on Countdown, let’s put it that way. And when you’re struggling, it’s hard to go unnoticed. Most of the time there’d be an extra member of staff with me, explaining stuff again and again, trying to get it straight in my head how it all worked.

  Of course it didn’t take long for the other kids to pick up on it, and even when kids are seven years old, they still know how to wind you up. Still know how to pick a fight with the different kid in the class.

  And it wasn’t only the kids who knew I was different. It was just as bad with their parents.

  I’d see them, stood in their little groups at the gates, wondering who’d be dropping poor little Billy off that day. I’d see them shaking their head as they clocked the fifth different scummer collecting me that week. Obviously, they never felt sorry enough to invite me round to tea, to c
ome and play with their kids. Eat off their plates, run around in their garden. It wasn’t sympathy they had for me. It was pity. And it was easier for them and their kids to try and pretend I wasn’t there than try and get to know me.

  By the time I hit eight or nine, it was worse. The gap between me and them was getting bigger by the day, and I knew it. And of course I didn’t like it.

  But they did. They loved it.

  And by now little Billy, the class idiot, was becoming Billy Finn, career lifer. The older kids back at the home had toughened me up, leaving me ready to pass it on to anyone daring to take the mick. I wasn’t fussy about where I dished it out. Schoolyard, footie pitch, classroom, it was all the same to me. As long as people got what was coming to them, I was happy.

  Teachers didn’t quite see it that way, though. They didn’t agree with my kind of ‘education’ and insisted that one of the scummers was with me at all times. Can you imagine the embarrassment?

  It was like shoving a sign on my desk that yelled KID IN CARE. KID IN CARE.

  Ronnie, naturally, revelled in it. Made a real point of getting to know all the other kids’ names, and when they asked if he was my dad, he’d just chuckle softly and say, ‘No. Not his dad. Just his uncle. Uncle Ron.’

  As far as the other kids were concerned, I came from the biggest family they ever saw. They’d meet a different auntie or uncle pretty much every day.

  At least today I was walking into the classroom on my own, without Ron hovering in the shadows, pretending to be something he’s not, or could ever be. Let’s face it, he’s never had to restrain one of his own kids in the middle of a classroom, has he?

  Arriving on my own still had an effect, though, because as I stomped through the door, the room fell silent. No one in my class, it seemed, had been warned I was on my way back.

  ‘All right, Billy?’ risked a voice from the back, obviously crapping themselves already.

  Everyone else just dropped their heads or pretended to carry on with what they’d been doing.