But Billy Can't Fly

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Book excerpt

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.

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.