by Pam Smy
Billy found the bucket. It had a brush in it and a cloth draped over the side. He splashed water into it from the tap in the wall. Although there was more than one angel statue in the graveyard, he knew which one the old man meant and set his bucket under the stone carving he had been looking at the first time they had spoken.
He raised the brush and started scrubbing at the green mould on her hair. Streams of greeny-brown water began to run down the stonework. He wet the brush and scrubbed some more and the honey-coloured stone began to show through. Billy cleaned in small, circular movements, rinsing as he went. He worked all down the angel – her hair, wings, hands, the pillar she leant against. But he left her face until last.
Refilling his bucket with clean water, he took the cloth and looked up into the angel’s face. With gentle movements he brushed away the grime and with the cloth he wiped away the dark stains from under her eyes. He thought of all the times his mother had washed his face when he was small, just like this. The memory was like a sharp pain. He rinsed out the cloth again and wiped her face once more and stood back.
There was no beam of sunlight this time and the yellow stone was dark where the angel was still wet. But still she looked better. And stronger. Billy looked more closely. Washing away dirt, mould and lichen had revealed a slight frown to the angel’s face. She seemed to be concentrating or determined. It reminded him of his mother’s expression as she looked into the camera in that police appeal. ‘Things will be different when you come home.’
She had been determined. But what could she do? How could his mum make things different for them both? She had been powerless for so long. They both had. What could she do and how would Billy know?
He loved his mum so much.
But he couldn’t go home until he knew it was safe. And he knew he was running out of time.
The old man and Izzie had said they would keep his secret only until today.
Maybe in the morning it would be time to move on. Another hideaway, perhaps.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
2nd November, 24 Brownsfield Close, 5 p.m.
‘I’m so sorry, Grace.’
The man sat at the kitchen table, photos of Billy scattered before him.
‘That’s not good enough! Look at him! Look!’ Grace stabbed at the table with her finger. ‘It was me who got up with him night after night when he was teething. Me who had to take days off from work when he was poorly. It was me who couldn’t get a well-paid job because I had to care for him on my own! And now, now that he’s GONE you come here asking about him!’
‘I know how it must look, Grace. I had no idea until I saw you on the news. I did the maths and thought it might be possible that he was my son. But even if he isn’t, I wanted to come and offer my help.’
‘It’s too late! You’re thirteen years too late! How could you have left like that? A few postcards and then NOTHING! You just disappeared! You left me no choice but to cope on my own! After everything we had you evaporated into thin air!’
‘I’m so sorry, Grace. I never meant it to happen. I didn’t think it through. I wanted to get away; I could only think about myself. I was selfish and young. We were both so young! I never wanted to hurt you! I just thought I would go away for a while, see a bit of the world – and that I would come back and we would pick up where we left off. But I drifted and didn’t keep in touch and then, when I wanted to come back, I was too ashamed of how I had treated you. Just going off like that. I figured you’d never have me back. That you’d have moved on . . . And then I saw you on the news. Please let me try to make it up to you. Please let me help you find Billy. Tell me what can I do?’
‘Nothing! I’ve managed without you so far. I’m sure I can manage without you now.’
‘Please let me help, Grace! I am so lost. I don’t know what to do for the best.’
One look at Grace’s furious expression silenced him.
‘You feel lost?’ Grace whispered back at him, her voice quavering with fury. ‘You stand here talking about yourself! When you disappeared I lost you. I lost my youth. I lost hope. I lost my family. I lost my friends. Billy has been the only good thing in my life and now he is gone. And you come here and talk about losing yourself? I don’t want to hear it! I don’t want to see you.’
He raked a hand through his hair. ‘Look, here’s my number. Call me if you think of anything I can do. Grace, I really want to help. I really am so, so sorry.’
Grace sat and stared at the table, snapshots of Billy grinning up at her, as the man let himself out of the front door.
It clicked shut behind him and all was quiet again.
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
When Izzie arrived in the graveyard she found Billy and the old man placing empty jam jars under each of the headstones. The two worked silently together, like shadows moving between the graves in the blue of the evening light.
‘What are you doing?’
‘I wish I knew!’ exclaimed Billy. ‘Apparently we’re getting ready for tonight.’
The old man looked at him steadily.
‘Aye. Nearly there now. Are you joining us?’
‘I don’t think so. I just came to show Billy this.’
Izzie pulled a piece of paper from her pocket. A photo of Billy was on it and underneath it said ‘Help Find Billy’.
‘These are everywhere around town,’ she explained as she put it back in her pocket and took out her phone. ‘And look at this . . . they’ve arrested Jeff. Maybe your mum told them all about that stuff you were telling me about?’
Billy’s eyes widened at the headline and the photo of Jeff being led away. The old man rubbed his chin as Billy read the article. It was quiet between the three of them. Billy passed the phone back to Izzie.
‘Your mum said it would be different and now you have proof. Jeff has gone. You could go home.’
‘Well, yes. I guess. But the article doesn’t say why he has been arrested.’
Billy’s mind rushed through the possibilities.
‘He could just answer a few questions and then come home. What if I go back and they just let him out? What if things just go back to normal? Or, what if I have just, like, made it all worse?’
The words tumbled out. Instead of feeling relief he imagined Jeff’s anger at having been arrested. He thought of Jeff arriving back at the house, bristling with rage, spittle flying from his lips as he blamed Billy, blamed his mum for the humiliation of being taken away by the police in front of the neighbours. He imagined Jeff crashing through the house, fists clenched, knuckles white. The fear rushed through him. Billy bit his bottom lip to stop it trembling.
‘But your mum must have done or said something!’ Izzie was saying. ‘They’ve taken him away! Surely you’ll be safe now.’
Billy imagined Jeff blocking his mother into a corner.
‘You could at least call her and let her know you’re all right.’
‘I don’t think I can. Not tonight,’ Billy whispered.
‘What? That’s just cruel! Why wouldn’t you? She must be worried sick!’ Izzie’s voice was rising.
Billy couldn’t say that he simply didn’t feel strong enough.
If he spoke to his mum, he knew this safe time, this safe place, would be over. He had such a longing to see her. He wanted to hear her voice. He wanted a hug. But he was so afraid. Afraid of Jeff. Afraid that nothing would change.
He knew he was staring at Izzie open-mouthed, but no words came.
‘You’re here preparing for some party and your mum’s alone! And you don’t give a—’
‘I do care, it’s just . . .’
‘I don’t want to hear it, Billy McKenna! That’s it. I’m done. I felt sorry for you. I actually liked you. I really liked you! But now I see you’re just bloody selfish! I said I would give you another day and I have. You haven’t kept your side of the deal. I’ve had it with you. With all of this.’
And Izzie turned her back on Billy and the old man and stomped out of sight.<
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Billy watched her go.
He tried to swallow down a sob.
The old man looked at Billy and Izzie, and then followed Izzie to where she was trying to unlock her bike.
From where he stood Billy couldn’t hear what was being said between them but he could clearly see Izzie angrily gesturing over to Billy and the old man trying to steady and calm her. He was leaning towards Izzie, his hands together as if he was pleading with her. They both turned and looked across at Billy, the old man still talking.
Izzie took a doubtful look back at him, shrugged, pulled at her bike and walked off into the evening gloom.
The old man steadily made his way back to Billy. He reached out and awkwardly placed a rough hand on Billy’s shoulder.
‘I think I’ve persuaded her to keep quiet for tonight but I can’t be sure. She’s strong-minded, that one, and a good friend to you whatever cross words she’s just said. And she’s got a point, lad. She’ll be thinking of your ma just like you are but without knowin’ what you know and havin’ seen what you’ve seen, whatever that is. I can see in your face you’ve got your reasons. C’mon, now, let’s set to. Like I said to your friend, I’ll wager you’ll feel differently once you’ve seen what happens here tonight.’
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
2nd November, 76 Highsett, 9 p.m.
Izzie Chorley took a deep breath and called her mum’s number again. Every time the call wasn’t answered her resolve ebbed further. The old man’s words kept repeating in her mind.
A little more time . . . a little understanding . . . it’ll all be clearer in the morning . . . I’m lookin’ out for him. He’s safe for now. I won’t let any harm come to him.
Maybe she was being rash? Maybe she should give Billy and that peculiar old bloke the benefit of the doubt. What difference would one more night really make? Billy seemed safe enough.
Izzie was hesitating as she wondered if she should hang up when the call was answered.
‘Izzie? What is it?’ Her mum’s voice was distracted. ‘Hang on . . .’ The phone was slightly muffled as her mum said, ‘The file is on my desk. And mine was the latte. Ta. I’ll be there in two ticks.’ And then clear again. ‘Izzie. Sorry, love. What is it? I’ve got a lot on . . .’
‘I know, Mum. Sorry. I just wanted to talk to you.’
Izzie heard her mum’s sigh. ‘No. It’s the blue folder . . . the other blue! Hang on, Izzie.’ The phone was put down and as Izzie waited she recalled other things the old man had said . . .
He needs to do it in his own way and in his own time . . . We need to be patient with him.
Then it was her mum’s voice in her ear again. ‘What about, Izzie? I’ll be home soon. Can it wait?’
‘I don’t know. There is something I need to tell you.’
‘Hang on!’ The phone was muffled again. ‘Just give me a mo. I’ll just finish this call, then I’ll come through to your office. Right. Izzie. What is it you wanted?’
‘I didn’t want anything. Just to tell you something.’
‘Gawd! I’ve just spilt my bloody coffee. Was it about school? Can it wait? I’ll be home soon. Can we talk then? You can tell me about your day later, okay?’
‘But . . .’
‘Please, Izzie. I’m sure it can wait. I’ll be home soon. Pop a pizza in the oven. I’ll be able to give you proper time when I’m home, sweetheart, okay? Love you!’ And the phone clicked off.
Izzie stood in the quiet of the kitchen staring at her mobile. Then she walked to the freezer, took out a pizza, put it on a tray and into the cooker. She stared at the light of the oven, watching the cheese slowly melt. Wondering.
After a while she pulled the brown-edged pizza from the tray, cut off a slice and, with a plate in one hand, the poster about Billy and her phone in her free hand, she walked up to her room.
As she looked out of her bedroom window she imagined Grace alone at home, Billy in the graveyard, her mum busy at work. She just couldn’t work out what she should do.
Maybe the old bloke was right, Izzie thought as she pulled on her pyjamas.
It’ll all be clearer in the morning . . .
CHAPTER FORTY
‘So . . . we just sit here like this? This is it?’
‘Yep,’ said the old man. ‘We just wait.’
Billy looked out over the graveyard. Candle flames flickered by every headstone. A cold wind blew around them and rushed through the trees above their heads as the two of them sat on the bench wrapped in blankets. The old man passed a cup of tea from his flask.
‘And is it only us? All this work and this “event” is just the two of us? No one else is coming?’
‘Yep.’
‘Isn’t that a bit . . . odd? This isn’t going to be some spooky ritual or something, is it?’
‘Nope,’ said the old man, his eyes fixed straight ahead on the candlelight dancing on the headstones. ‘It’ll be a night you’ll never forget but you need to be patient.’
So the two of them sat shivering and listening to the roar of the wind in the trees.
Waiting.
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
2nd November, 24 Brownsfield Close, 10.30 p.m.
Grace put down what she was doing and went to answer the door. Lorraine stood there on the path in her slippers, her cardie wrapped about her.
‘Hello, love,’ she said. ‘I just thought I’d pop round. I know it’s late but I saw your light on and thought I’d just check in.’
Grace opened the door wider. ‘Have you heard anything, you know, from Facebook, about Billy? Has anyone seen him?’
‘Sorry, pet. Not yet. Nothing concrete. But I’ve had so many volunteers signing up, especially with you being on the news with that appeal. And that’s why I’m here. Now, a little search group of us are going to be looking over at the old industrial estate for your boy tomorrow, unless we get any sightings posted on the Facebook page. We’re going to head out there early so we can start as soon as it’s light.’
Lorraine looked beyond Grace into the hall and kitchen.
‘I saw what happened earlier and thought that you’d be on your own. So, instead of you sitting here worrying why don’t I pick you up tomorrow and you come along with us? Young Suzie next door will be coming along too.’
Grace nodded slowly. At least she would be doing something practical to help Billy.
She found herself wrapped in a big warm hug and then Lorraine was gone. Marvelling at the kindness of people, Grace returned to the backpack on the kitchen table. She already had the passports, the bank cards, spare keys, their birth certificates and some cash carefully hidden in the back pockets. She took the bag up to Billy’s room and slid open his drawers and took some T-shirts, jeans and a hoody. From his bed she took his neatly folded pyjamas and pushed them all into her bag. She picked up his mobile and the charger and then went into her room.
From the cupboard she took jeans, joggers, a couple of jumpers. She pushed underwear into the side pockets of the backpack and then added toothpaste and toothbrushes from the bathroom.
Downstairs she collected the drawings and photos of Billy from around the house and slipped them into the bag as well.
Then she buried the bag in the back of the cupboard under the stairs so that it would be hidden safely until the morning.
There was no way she would be able to sleep so she went to sit on the sofa and stared out at the street.
And waited.
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
And then it happened.
The wind dropped and a stillness descended over the graveyard. It became quiet.
The old man put a finger to his lips, staring ahead, seeking something between the stones.
‘Shhh,’ he said steadily. ‘Look . . .’
The first one they saw was a small child. He came toddling out from behind the gravestones, wobbling as he took unsteady steps. He stopped and looked about him, as if waiting for someone else. An older girl in long skirts, stockings and boots, running
to scoop up the toddler, chased by two boys in caps. The three of them looked as if they were laughing and calling but no sound came out as they darted and dashed between the headstones. A woman appeared and caught them up in her arms, hugging them all as if she hadn’t seen them for such a long time. Covering them in kisses. The boys broke away and the chase resumed, this time with the woman also dipping behind the stones and trying to catch the children with arms open wide.
Billy watched, open-mouthed, unable to comprehend what he was seeing. The old man nudged him and indicated the other side of the graveyard.
A man, bald on top with long sideburns and tufts of hair sticking out around his ears, stepped out from behind a stone, a book tucked under the arm of his frock coat. He stepped tentatively between the graves until he reached a small headstone, where he stood, as if waiting, rocking gently backwards and forwards on the balls of his feet.
‘Is it . . . is that Reverend Caldwell?’ whispered Billy, thinking back to cleaning the headstone earlier that day.
And where the small stone stood there was now a woman, kind-eyed and full-cheeked. The reverend looped his arm and the woman slipped hers through his and together they followed the path under the yews, their heads close together as they silently talked.
‘That was his housekeeper. They loved each other for years but never spoke of it. So good to see them together.’
The couple passed a bench and on it sat a soldier, his hands cupped round those of his sweetheart, their knees touching. A small boy darted in and out of the trees as a young man in braces strode behind him. Three elderly women sat on headstones close together, knitting and chuckling at some inaudible joke. A young man in uniform swept the fringe from the eyes of his companion and the two leant in, foreheads touching. A young woman, strands of hair drifting from her cap, stood rocking a baby back and forth, gazing into the tiny bundle of blankets. More and more people appeared and soon the graveyard was busy with the shifting shapes of silent people.