But Billy Can't Fly E-Book

Angi Fox

• Herausgeber: Next Chapter
• Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
• Sprache: Englisch

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2022

Beschreibung

Over six feet tall, blonde and blue-eyed, Billy looks like an Adonis. But he is not the full shilling; one slice less than a sandwich. When you meet him, you might not notice at first, but after a couple of minutes it becomes apparent. He’s not the brightest bulb in the chandelier. 

In Billy’s mind, he’s a superhero: a righter of wrongs, a saver of souls, and that’s where it all goes wrong. At the bus stop, he meets and talks with people as he goes to work - and they all look at Billy a different way.

Discover Billy's story through the minds of his observers - at times darkly funny and poignant; at times full of stereotypical prejudice.

This book contains adult content and is not suitable for readers under the age of 18.

Leseprobe

BUT BILLY CAN’T FLY

ANGI FOX

ELLY GRANT

CONTENTS

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Chapter 40

Chapter 41

Chapter 42

Chapter 43

Chapter 44

Chapter 45

Chapter 46

Chapter 47

Chapter 48

Chapter 49

Chapter 50

Chapter 51

Chapter 52

Chapter 53

Chapter 54

Chapter 55

Epilogue

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About the Authors

Copyright (C) 2019 by Angi Fox & Elly Grant

Layout design and Copyright (C) 2022 by Next Chapter

Published 2022 by Next Chapter

Edited by Marilyn Wagner

Cover art by CoverMint

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the author's permission.

CHAPTERONE

BILLY

"Billy - Billeee, get a move on or you'll miss the bus and pick up that note or you'll forget something."

Mum's voice is irritating, constant, like a fly buzzing too near my face. I want to smack it away, smack it away.

"Can you hear me Billy? Get moving!"

‘No gentleness, no kindness, bloody cow,’ that’s what my Dad used to say, ‘Bloody cow.’

He said it one day, when we were in the kitchen. Then he smacked her on the mouth, to stop her nagging voice. He smacked my mum then he left. He ran away, somewhere safe, somewhere far away from the voice, but he didn't take me. He said he would, said he'd come back for me, but he didn't.

"Billee, will you please leave now?" the voice demands.

My mum is driving me mad. She's driving me nuts. She simply has no idea how important my work is. I have to cross the city sometimes four or five times a day carrying important papers. She just has no idea. Every morning I come down to breakfast and the dreaded note is there propped up against the milk jug, waiting for me, it's worrying. She seems to think I can make time to pick up her dry cleaning or get her prescription filled at the chemist. She can’t do these things for herself because she’s far too busy having tea with Aunty Mabel.

‘How on earth do you expect me to keep up to date with what's going on if I don't have a natter with your Aunty Mabel?’ she asks. I feel like saying to her, ‘Go to the shops and buy a paper or watch the news on the telly,’ but of course I don't because she simply has no idea how important my job is or how busy I am. If I try to explain to her, she'll say, ‘Don't make a fuss Billy, you're going past there anyway,’ and then her eyes fill with tears and she says I don't love her any more. It’s not true of course, I do love her because she's my mum and everybody loves their mum. So I pick up the note, as always, and I’ll eat my lunch while walking, as always, and I’ll miss the morning tea, as always, and Mum never says thank you. At least my boss appreciates me. He knows that without me Henderson's would come to a complete standstill, no-one would get their mail and the work wouldn't get done. In fact, Mr. Henderson often says, ‘Billy, you're invaluable.’ Invaluable, imagine that, me Billy McDaid, invaluable. He often tells me that, especially if I'm doing him a special favour like making a detour or working a bit late. I don't mind helping him out, at least he appreciates me. Mum has no idea.

I'll be going to Clarkston today with a delivery for Brannigan's. All the way to the West End just to pick up a letter then all the way back to two bus stops from my house, typical. Melanie lives in Clarkston, somewhere. She's always on the bus when it reaches my stop. She's beautiful. Sometimes I ask her the time or talk about the weather and she always says, ‘Oh Billy, not again,’ as if she's annoyed, but I know that’s just her way. I know she really doesn't mind. She likes me. Everyone likes me. I'm invaluable.

I step outside into the rain and pull the door shut. The rain cools my hot cheeks and I breathe out with a loud sigh and head for the bus stop. As I turn the corner into Nethervale Avenue, Stamperland becomes Netherlee. I like this street with its pretty bungalows and tidy gardens. They remind me of dolls’ houses. Lovely little houses, cleanly painted with lovely little gardens full of colourful flowers, homes for lovely families with smiling faces. It's like a picture from a cartoon and I wish I could stay here forever and be part of it.

Well, enough of this daydreaming, I say to myself. I'm almost at the bus stop, time to concentrate on the job in hand, time to don my Henderson's hat as Mr Henderson would say. I hope Melanie's on the bus, she's so beautiful and I look forward every morning to seeing her. She looks exactly like Pamela Anderson from Baywatch. I'd love to sit beside her, but when she sees me getting, on she puts her bag on the seat and spreads herself out so there's no room. I don't suppose she likes company first thing in the morning or after work when she's tired. I always try to find a seat behind her so I can watch her without her noticing me and, if I'm lucky enough, there'll be a seat directly behind her then I can smell her perfume and, if I’m very gentle, I can touch her lovely hair and she doesn’t notice.

I wish I had a girlfriend like Melanie but I know my mum wouldn't approve.

‘I don't approve, Billy,’ she'd say. ‘That girl is nothing but a tart, a common little slut,’ she'd say.

Mum thinks all beautiful young women are sluts and that’s because of the `incident' with Molly Gibson. I know Molly was thirty-seven and I was only sixteen, but she wasn't hurting me, I liked the things we were doing together, she was soft and gentle. I liked touching her. She said I was handsome and built like an ox. She said she was lonely and her husband didn't know how to love her. Her bedroom was pink and soft and fluffy like candy-floss and her bed smelled like flowers, but it was probably ‘Febreze.’ Mum uses ‘Febreze’ on my trainers and it smells the same. It was terrible when Mum came in with Molly's husband. It was so embarrassing. Mum started shrieking, calling her a whore and a slut. She said I was a poor, simple soul who didn't have the brainpower to know any better. It was so embarrassing. Then Mum dragged me out of the house with my clothes unbuttoned and my shoes in my arms. Molly was crying and I began to cry too. Poor Molly had to move house and her husband left her, just like Dad left us. Mum shouldn't have interfered. It was all her fault. It's always her fault.

I'm first in line at the bus shelter. I like being first in line because I can see everything coming along without someone's head getting in the way. Mr. Henderson will drive past soon in his blue Mercedes. Mum always says, ‘He should stop and give you a lift, Billy. Stuck-up snob thinks he's better than us, but he isn't. I remember wee Johnny Henderson when he was running about with dirty knees and snot dripping from his nose. He's no better than us. My father used to help his father home from the pub you know. His father was always drunk.’ Then she gets that look on her face and snorts. ‘I went to primary school with Johnny Henderson you know.’ I say nothing because I don’t know if I should answer her. Mum forgets that Mr. Henderson gave me a job when I was having trouble finding one. She's got a very short memory when it suits her. Anyway, I know he doesn't give me a lift because it wouldn't be appropriate. He explained that to me and I understand. I wish my mum would try to understand. Besides, if he stopped for me, he'd have to stop for everyone. He'd have to pick up Melanie and that definitely wouldn't be appropriate. You know what office gossip is like, everyone would talk about it. ‘Mr. Henderson is having an affair with Melanie,’ they'd say. ‘Dirty old man should know better,’ they'd say. And it wouldn't be true, but they wouldn't care and it would be terrible and Melanie would have to leave.

I feel my eyes fill with tears and I know I have to stop thinking about it. Mum says when I get melancholy, I must think only good thoughts and the sadness will go away. So I think about Molly and her pink, fluffy bedroom and I can almost feel her hands touching my private place. It makes me feel good inside. It makes me feel warm, and I wish the bus would hurry up and come, so I can sit behind Melanie and smell her perfume and, maybe if I'm lucky, touch her pretty hair.

CHAPTERTWO

MELANIE

"That skirt’s a bit short for the office, Melanie. Hadn't you better change?"

Here we go again, I think. Why can't Mum say, just for once, ‘You look lovely, Mel, you're pretty, Mel, have a nice day, Mel?’

"I've worn it several times before Mum, nobody's commented."

"I bet the men like it," she says, scornfully. "Your top is a bit low cut too. If you bend over in that skirt, they'll see your knickers."

"They might if I was wearing any," I mutter, too quietly for her to hear.

She's just jealous because she's stuck here, a bored, middle-aged, dried-up housewife, while I'm young, free and single. The truth is, it doesn't need to be this way for her. I'm an adult now, all grown up. She could tidy herself up, go to college and learn some new skills. Get a job. Get a life. She's only forty-two, surely there's something she could be doing instead of nagging me. Mind you, I suppose it’s much easier for me to get on in the world. I'm only twenty-two, I’m in my prime. I have stunning looks, a great body and I know how to use them. It's much easier and quicker to get to the top when you’re beautiful, not that I don't have brains as well, you understand. My mum simply doesn't have a clue about such things. She just has no idea.

It certainly worked for me with Alan, the office manager. You'd think a married man would have more experience, be less naïve, and yet it was so easy to reel him in. He was a pushover. His brains are in his pants, what a jerk. I waited until lunch time, until the other girls in the typing pool were out of the office.

"Alan," I said, smiling and fluttering my eyelashes. "I have to put some papers on the high shelf in the filing cupboard and I'm afraid of heights. Would you come with me and hold the ladder, please?" Then I smoothed my skirt with my hands showing off the shape of my bum and the fact that the skirt barely covered it. Alan licked his lips in anticipation.

"Of course I'll help you, Melanie," he agreed, as I knew he would. Got you, I thought to myself, now you'll belong to me.

He followed me to the cupboard and I knew that he was walking behind me so he could watch me move. I didn't let him down. I swung my hips provocatively then, when we were almost at the cupboard, I looked over my shoulder, gave him my best smile and I winked at him. He followed like a dog after a bitch on heat. He was practically panting when I climbed the ladder to reach the shelf. I positioned myself on the top of the small ladder then stepped one foot forward to rest on a ledge. My legs were spread wide open and of course my tight skirt rode right up over my bare thighs. Alan's nose was level with the top of my leg. He only had to glance up to realise I wasn't wearing any underwear and he didn't let me down. His face was as red as a beetroot and, for a moment, I thought he was embarrassed and I'd gone too far.

Then he said, "Oh God, Melanie, you're so beautiful," and I knew then his red face was from lust not embarrassment. "Please may I kiss your lovely lips?" he begged in a throaty sort of voice.

"Oh, yes Alan, I'd love that," I gasped, as if overcome with passion.

When you're good, you're good, and I'm the best. I was about to step down when he suddenly buried his face in my crotch and I felt his tongue darting about. It was quite a surprise. Oh, those lips, I thought, maybe he's not as naive as I'd imagined. Men are so easy when you know how to manipulate them and Alan was no exception. That little fling has given me a lot of power. He was so easy to reel in, a pushover really.

"Melanie, you're going to be late. You'd better get a move on."

Mum's voice interrupts my chain of thought.

"It's all right, Mum," I reply. "Alan's my boss and he doesn't mind if I'm a bit late. He'll cover for me because I'm so good at my job."

As I step through the door, I see it's raining. Damn, damn, damn, my hair will get wet and I'm going out with Ben later. I risk missing the bus and run back for my umbrella. I must look my best tonight. Ben drives a Porsche and his father owns a furniture warehouse, he'll take me somewhere good, like Sparkle's Nightclub. Footballers and pop stars go there when they're in Glasgow. It is THE place to be seen. I might meet someone really important so I’ve got to look my absolute best. After all, just because I'll be arriving with Ben, doesn't mean I have to leave with him.

Oh no, there's the bus. I'll have to run. It’s moving slowly, the doors are open, phew, just made it, lucky the driver waited for me. I won't be late after all. I sit on my seat and try to catch my breath. We're nearly at Billy's stop. If I lay my umbrella on the seat next to mine, that gormless moron won't be able to sit beside me. I can move it if someone good looking, or at least normal, gets on. Actually, Billy is quite good looking, tall and muscular with the bluest eyes and the blondest hair. If it wasn't for the emptiness in those blue eyes I might even fancy him. If only he had Alan's brains and Ben's money, but as he is, he makes my skin crawl. I wish he wouldn't talk to me because someone might think I actually know him. I'm sure he sits behind me so that he can watch me and sometimes I can feel him touching my hair. Ugh, he gives me the creeps.

Here he comes now, he never misses the bus. I suppose he's been taught to carry out simple tasks mechanically. I suppose it’s the sort of thing they teach at those special schools. I'll look out of the window and pretend not to see him then maybe he'll walk past me. At least the seat directly behind me is already taken. Thank goodness.

"Hello Melanie".

Oh God, here we go. I won't talk, I'll just nod.

"Nice weather, not too cold."

"If you like the rain, I personally hate it."

Oh no, I've done it now. Stupid, stupid, stupid, I've spoken to him now I'll never get rid of him.

"I saw Mr. Henderson drive past in his blue Mercedes," he says.

I nod at him then return to looking out of the window. Maybe he'll get the message. Oh, go away, I think. Walk on. Find a seat at the back of the bus, far away from me. Why doesn't he move stupid, gormless moron? I wish Mr. Henderson would give me a lift in the mornings, he drives right past my door. I know he fancies me. He probably doesn't trust himself. I bet the dirty old sod is just dying to put his hands up my skirt or inside my blouse. His wife's on the same Cancer Research Committee as Mum. She seems quite nice, but all men would stray, given half the chance. When the time is right, when I'm in a position to gain something from him, I'll give him that chance. It won't be so bad. I'll just shut my eyes and pretend he's Brad Pitt. He's about the same age and build. It shouldn't be difficult and besides, it won't last long, these old guys never do.

CHAPTERTHREE

BILLY

"Right Billy, these are your deliveries for the morning. I suggest you make Brannigan's your first call, then work your way back to the office."

Betty has sorted out my mail run for me, she always keeps me right. I give her my best smile. Mum always says, ‘A smile costs nothing Billy, but it's worth more than gold.’

"You might like a wee cup of tea before you start," Betty adds. "The kettle's just boiled and I've brought you a cake, it’s in the bag on the table."

I wish my Mum was more like Betty. She's always kind to me and she smiles a lot and she bakes me cakes to have with my tea. Mum never lets me have sugar in my tea because she says it makes me too excitable. Betty says I'm sweet with or without sugar, but she always puts two spoonfuls in anyway. I love my work. I have a briefcase with a lock and a special key that I keep on my keyring. I’m the only person who gets to open the case. Some of the documents I deliver are top secret and I'm in charge of them. If only Mum would understand how important my job is, she wouldn't ask me to run her stupid errands.

When I reach Brannigan's, I place my briefcase on Susan's desk and open it with my special key.

"Hiya Billy, what have you got for us today? Something secret?" Susan asks, and she smiles and winks at Clare.

"Of course, it's secret," I answer, "Otherwise I wouldn't have to keep it under lock and key."

"Will you trust me to give it to Mr. Caldwell, Billy, or do you have to deliver it personally?" Clare asks, returning Susan's wink.

"I suppose I can trust you," I answer. "But you'll have to sign for it, of course."

"Of course," Clare says.

"Of course," mimics Susan, and they both giggle. I really like Susan and Clare. They’re very friendly and so efficient.

"So, Billy," Clare asks. "Have you got yourself a girlfriend? It's nearly St. Valentine's Day."

"Of course I have. Of course I have a girlfriend. All men have girlfriends," I reply.

I know I've told a lie. I don't really have a girlfriend, but I could have. Melanie could be my girlfriend. She likes me. Everybody likes me.

"What's her name then, Billy?" Clare asks.

"Is she pretty?" Susan asks.

"Have you kissed her yet?"

"Does she live near you?"

Too many questions, I can't think straight.

"Her name's Melanie," I reply. "Melanie Coulson. She lives near here, in Clarkston. She's beautiful. She looks just like Pamela Anderson from Baywatch."

"Oh really," Clare says.

"Is that right?" Susan adds, "Whereabouts, in Clarkston?"

"I can't remember the street name, but I know where it is. I could show you if I wasn't working."

"Is it Melanie Coulson from Hillview Drive?" Susan questions. "I think I went to school with her. Wasn't she going out with Ben, ‘the Porsche’?"

Clare has now signed for the document so I close my briefcase and leave without answering. Too many questions, I can't think straight. When I step outside, my mind begins to clear. I've told a lie. Melanie isn't my girlfriend yet. I've told a lie. God will punish me. I must send her a Valentine card and explain that I want her to be my girlfriend. That’ll make it all better. I could buy one at the newsagent's across the road. If I follow her home after work, I can see where she lives, then I'd know where to send the card. I'd know her address.

After I buy the card, my next call is to deliver court documents to Mr. Stevens, so I get the bus back towards town. I sit beside a lady soldier. She's an old lady with grey hair but she's wearing a uniform like a soldier. She has a hat and lots of badges on her jacket. She keeps staring at me and she doesn't smile. Maybe she knows I’ve told a lie about Melanie. Mum always says, ‘Billy, when you tell a lie, it's written all over your face.’

I lean across the lady to look at my reflection in the window. I can't see any writing on my face.

"Do you mind?" the lady soldier says. "Please keep to your own seat."

I apologise and clutch my briefcase to my chest. If only she knew I was carrying top secrets. If only she knew how important my job was, she might not be so grumpy. Surely a lady soldier would understand.

When I get off the bus, I’m relieved the lady soldier stays on because she makes me feel uncomfortable. I wonder if she's got a gun in her handbag, like they have on the telly? I wonder if she could arrest someone for telling lies? I hope I don't meet her again. She frightens me.

CHAPTERFOUR

BELLA

I am so glad that man got off the bus. He really was most strange, leaning across me like that. I wonder what on earth he was up to. I didn't give him a second glance at first. I thought he was normal at first, until I saw those blank eyes and his slack jaw. Poor retarded soul, clutching his briefcase as if it held diamonds.

We mustn’t call them retarded these days because it’s no longer appropriate it seems. Now we use euphemisms like, `learning difficulties' or `special needs'. It makes no difference, in my book they’re still retarded, whatever they're called. In my day, people like him were put into institutions. They certainly weren't allowed out on their own and, looking at him, I can understand why. He was so big and at first glance, looked quite normal. A young person might be fooled into thinking he was normal and that could be very dangerous. Mabel, my housekeeper, has a friend with a retarded son but he's never around when she calls on her. He probably goes to one of those special schools.

My WRVS ladies have seen it all before in our old boys as they struggle with their memories. But these boys are at the end of their lives, having fought for Queen and Country. They deserve our consideration and our care. After all, they've lost limbs fighting in the war to ensure our freedom. Some of these poor old soldiers live in abject poverty and, without the WRVS, wouldn't even have company once a week. It's a damned disgrace. On the other hand, these `special needs' people drain money and resources their entire lives and give nothing back except heartbreak to their poor mothers.

At last, time to get off this bus. I hate travelling by bus. It's full of common people. They're dirty and they smell and they have no choice but to travel this way. I, on the other hand, can afford a taxi but why should I pay the price? I pay my taxes like everyone else. I'm entitled to use public transport. Besides, if the rich didn't use the public transport system it would cease to exist, then what will poor people do? Walk, that's what they’d have to do, out in all weathers, exposed to the elements, they’d have no choice. That's why I insist all my ladies travel by public transport, it's our civic duty. They might not like my rules but they will damn well respect them. People always respect strong leadership and discipline, which is the reason why I insist the officers get served their tea first.

As I open the door to the community hall, a blast of heat hits my face. Judith's got the heating up too high again, it will drain the resources. Why on earth do we bother to knit blankets for the old boys if she is going to turn this room into a furnace? And there isn't a single window open, no ventilation. This place smells like an old army boot. Just because I’m half an hour later than usual, all Hell's broken loose.

"Judith, Judith," I call. Where is that girl?

"I'm here Mrs. Worthington," she replies, standing up from behind a tea trolley.

"Get the heating turned down and get a window open at once. Now, let's sort out the teas. There are far too many biscuits on that plate Ethel, only one for each remember and none for Frederick or Peter because they're diabetic. You've got fifteen biscuits there and there should only be nine. Don't give the cup to Charlie, Grace. Can't you see he's got Parkinson's disease? Do you want him to shake the tea all down his front? Hold the cup for him, Dear. Yes, you hold the cup."

I don't know, I just don't know. This place would fall apart without me. These young volunteers have no idea how to run this unit. Most of them weren't even born during the war. They're lucky I can afford to give up my valuable time to train them.

"Mrs. Worthington, Mrs. Worthington, come quickly please."

"What now, Grace? Why are you shouting? What's all the panic? Can't you see I'm busy?"

"It's Bill, Mrs. Worthington. I think he's D E A D!"