A Special Bond
Billy was certain he was about to get the thrashing of his lifenot from the school bully, Baz, but from his own mum.
He whistled as he walked home, but his stomach twisted into knots. He was for it now. Properly.
Auntie Marge, his mums best mate, had spotted him with a ciggie. Sure, he couldve liedsaid someone just handed it to himbut no. Auntie Marge had seen him puffing away like a chimney. What was he supposed to tell his mum? *Oh, they shoved it in my mouth, told me to blow smoke rings like it was a party trick?*
Billy pretended he hadnt noticed Auntie Marge, andthankfullyshe didnt screech or clip him round the ear. She just gave him a long, knowing look before walking off.
But Billy wasnt daft. He *knew*. Auntie Marge had already grassed him up, and now his mum was waiting at home, belt in hand. Billy was on his third lap around the block when he spotted Nan.
Oh, brilliant. Heavy artillery. This was a dirty move. Now Nan would turn on the waterworks, go on about how shean *award-winning* teacher, mindhad raised hundreds of kids, yet her *own* grandson was running wild. *Shameful. What would Grandad think, spinning in his grave? And Great-Grandad, and all the ancestors before them!*
When Billy was little, that bit terrified him. Hed imagine the ground shifting as the dead rolled over in outrage. Then, one day, it clicked.
*»Actually, Nan,»* hed said, *»its good theyre moving aboutstops bedsores. Like what happened to Jakes nan.»*
Nan clutched her chest. Mum howled laughing, forgetting to wallop himthen *she* got a slipper to the backside from Nan for her trouble.
Now, Billy watched Nan hurry toward him.
*»What are you doing out here? Why arent you home?»* she demanded, eyes darting like *she* was the one caught smoking. *»Fallen out with your mum?»*
*»N-no I havent been home yet.»*
*»What dyou mean, ‘not yet’? Whereve you been all this time?»*
*»School, then footie practice, then just walking.»*
*»Right,»* Nan narrowed her eyes. *»Whats this, then? Whyre your hands red? Where are your gloves?»*
*»Left em at home, Nan.»*
*»At *home*? And your mum didnt notice? What sort of mother? Show me your ankles.»*
She yanked up his trouser leg and gasped.
*»Whats *this*?»*
*»What, Nan?»* Billy panicked.
*»Why are your ankles red? Where are your thermals? And your *scarf*?»*
Billy flushed with embarrassmentthen he saw *Baz* lurking by the alley, that stupid red snapback of his peeking out. Oh, *perfect*. Thanks, Nan. Was she losing it? Early dementia? Shed always been sharp as a tack, but this?
*»Nan whats five times five?»*
*»Twenty-five,»* she said, baffled.
*»Whats the square of the hypotenuse?»*
*»Sum of the squares of the other two sides Billy, have you not done your homework? She didnt even check? I *wont* stand for this. Look at the state of you!»*
Waitwas Nan *on his side*? Maybe hed skip the lecture after all. Had he slipped into a parallel universe? Were they all robots now? Was this even his *real* nan?
*»Nan, which sides my appendicitis scar on?»*
*»You *dont* have onethey never took it out.»*
Okay, definitely Nan.
She dragged him home at double speed, huffing like a steam train.
Mum was in the kitchen, something delicious-smelling on the stove. She wore her fancy dress, curls pinned up, new earringsand *heels*. Indoors. Since when?
*»Billy-love!»* She pulled him into a hug. *»Wash up, dinners nearly ready. Mum, you staying?»*
*»Whys this child wandering the streets? Too scared to come home, is he? *This* is what youve donetraded your own flesh and blood for Where are his *gloves*? His *thermals*? Its brass monkeys out there! But no, *you* dont care»*
*»Mum, *stop* it. Are you eating with us or not?»*
*»No! Im done. And you know what? Billy, love, pack your things. Youre coming with me.»*
*»Why, Nan?»*
*»To *live*, sweetheart. Youre moving in with me.»*
*»Uh no thanks?»* The idea of Nans constant nagging? Hard pass.
*»Billys staying *here*,»* Mum said firmly. *»In his home. With his family.»*
*»What family? *Look* at what youve! Billy, *get your things*.»*
*»Mum, if you dont stop, Ill Ill have to»*
*»What? *What*? Throw your own mother out?»*
*»YES!»*
*»You *wicked* girl! After all Ive»*
Mum didnt let her finish. Billy watched, stunned, as she *hauled* Nan out onto the landing and slammed the door.
Nan shrieked about calling the police, about Mum *handing Billy over*, something about a *jailbird*
Mum grabbed Billys sleeve and pulled him into the lounge.
Where a bloke sat stiffly, eyeing him.
*»Billy no point lying. This is your dad.»*
Nan wailed through the door. Mum stood frozen. The mantall, wiry, with Billys eyesstood awkwardly.
*»Hello son.»*
Billy *flinched*.
*»But you said he *died*.»*
*»Toni»* Dad looked at Mum, helpless.
*»That was *her*,»* Mum said, jerking her head toward the door. *»She told you that. Said itd be easier than than knowing the truth.»*
Pounding on the door.
*»Policeopen up!»*
*»Toni, maybe I should go»*
*»No. No more hiding. Billy, well explainjust *listen*»*
Mum opened the door. Nan stormed in, hair wild, followed by a baffled PCSO and nosy neighbours.
*»Weve had reports of a disturbance»*
*»Nothings wrong. Just family dinner. My husbands home from Aberdeen. This is his son.»*
*»But your mother»*
*»Hes an *escaped convict*!»* Nan wailed. *»Arrest him! Billy, come *here*he wont hurt you»*
*»Mum, *enough*!»*
*»Can I see your ID, sir?»* the PCSO asked.
*»Course.»*
*»Any priors?»*
*»None. Worked oil rigs since school. Moved up north years back.»*
*»Sorry to bother you»*
*»Arrest him! He ruined my daughters lifegood men wanted her, and now»*
*»Mum, *shut up*!»*
The door closed. Silence.
A *dad*? Billy had lived eleven years without one. Why now? He had Mum, Nanand a *living* dad. But Nan said he was
Billy had spent years ashamed of his «deadbeat thief» dad, «killed in a pub brawl.» Nans *little secret*.
Turns out theyd *all* lied.
Mum. Nan. His *dad*, alive and right here.
*»Billy»* Mum reached for him. Too late.
He snatched his coat, shoes, and *bolted*.
Ran until his lungs burned. Who could he trust? If his own family lied
*»Billy!»* Mums voice faded behind him.
*»Oi, kid»*
Baz. Billy ignored him.
*»Wait upwhos chasing you?»*
*»No one. *Piss off*.»*
*»Its freezing. Youll catch your death.»* Baz grabbed his arm. *»Come mine. Mums on shift.»*
Bazs flat was odd. Clean, but *lived-in*. Posters covered his wallsThe Clash, Queen, Oasis.
*»Tea?»*
Billy nodded. His stomach growled.
*»Fancy some pasta n sardines? Proper tasty.»*
Baz cooked. Billy *inhaled* it.
Over tea (in proper mugs, sugar cubes stolen from a café), Baz strummed his guitar.
*»Youre *good*,»* Billy admitted.
*»Cheers. Thats Bowie. Thats The Stones. And *this*»* He pointed to a poster. *»is *legendary*.»*
*»They not British?»*
*»Nah. But *this* lot are.»*
They sang along badly.
*»You should head home,»* Baz said. *»Theyll have the rozzers out.»*
Billy hesitated. Then spilled everything.
*»Dont be daft,»* Baz said. *»A *dad*? Thats *mega*. Mines an astronauttotal bollocks. Mums all Ive got. But *yours*? Sort it out. Aint your mess to fix.»*
Billy hugged him.
Later, they *did* sort it.
Mum, Dad, Nanall explained. How Nan hadnt wanted Mum tied to Dad. How theyd split, how Nan had *lied* in letters, saying Mum had remarried. How Dad had believed it, moved on, then found out the truth years later.
*»Why?»* Billy asked Nan.
*»I wanted happiness. For you both.»*
*»What about *his*?»*
*»Im sorry»*
At Billys birthday, Baz came. Gave him a Bowie posterMum *let* him hang it.
Billy forgave them.
*»Grown-up rubbish,»* Baz had said.
Nan *adopted* Baz after thatfed him shepherds pie, tutored his maths.
Years on, theyre still mates. Still sing badly. Still eat weird pasta.
And Dad? Theyve got their own thing. A special bond.
