Billy Christmas Page 6

  “Can you tell me what is going on now, please?”

  “He’s been called up,” said Katherine simply.

  “Your dad?”

  “Yes,” said Katherine. “We’re being relocated. Closer to the Gulf.”

  “The Gulf? But that is…”

  “The other side of the world,” said Katherine. “Obviously, they wouldn’t put him there unless they had to. It must be serious.”

  Billy took a breath. “Isn’t that where…”

  “My mum died. Yes. It’s not that so much. Dad is a lot more senior now. Looks very bad if your general gets shot,” Katherine said, with a deal of venom. “But Dad will have to send people. People he likes, with families he knows. And it kills him. I can see it killing him. As if we haven’t given them enough already.”

  His heart sank. All year, Katherine had been there, quietly backing him up, not speaking of her own troubles.

  “But they keep sending us. With no real explanation. It’s horrible, Billy. One of the reasons we moved off the base and into Marlow was that without meaning to I was scaring other kids. Scaring them that maybe they would lose a parent too.”

  Billy began to realise he would be losing his only friend. “When will you have to go?”

  “They’re not saying, which is not a good thing,” said Katherine. “It usually means with little or no notice.”

  “There’s nothing he can do to stop it?”

  “It doesn’t matter. He won’t pass on what he’s asked to do. It’s not that kind of job.”

  They’d stopped pushing the bikes during the conversation. At this point in the river, there was a wooden fence by the bank. Billy moved over to it, brushing the snow off the bar, where it pattered onto the ice at the edge of the river. Katherine joined him and they were still for a while, pouring their frustration out into the water. Billy drew in several quiet deep breaths and reached into his pocket for the lipstick.

  “I’ve got a present for you.”

  Katherine looked at him in surprise. “For me? Why?”

  Billy didn’t know why, and then remembered that presents are usually wrapped. Why hadn’t he thought of this earlier? Not having an answer ready and feeling like it was his turn to forget his lines, Billy simply opened his left palm. The low light fading over the river bounced off the lipstick case, making it gleam.

  “Is that lipstick?” said Katherine in amazement. “That’s bizarre. Uh, is there some story with this?”

  He’d had all day, why hadn’t he worked this out? “It arrived for you,” he said trying to make his voice sound mysterious, and succeeding only in sounding faintly odd. “I want you to have it.”

  “It has my initials on it,” said Katherine, flashing Billy a look that he took to mean bemused, possibly verging on un-amused.

  He looked closely at it, not remembering any such markings. He hadn’t examined this decoration in the magnifying glass, and this morning he had simply switched it from one pocket to another as it slowly grew to the standard size.

  “Of course it does,” Billy took a deep breath. In his judgement, it was now or never. He closed his eyes, so he couldn’t be put off by Katherine’s reaction, which would doubtless finish him. He’d wanted to hug her earlier that day, to make her feel protected, but knew he’d still have to try to kiss her, and didn’t want her to confuse his support with what he was doing now. He leant in to where he thought Katherine was facing him and kissed her—on the nose.

  His eyes flew up. She had still been looking at the lipstick! He felt his cheeks flush red, but as Katherine recovered, she appear to bob back towards him. Billy also bobbed back in and this time they both bumped noses, quite hard. They laughed uncertainly. Then Katherine took a short look at him and reached up, putting her hands behind Billy’s neck, and kissed him slowly on either cheek, letting him feel the full shape of her lips roll along each side of his face. Then, looking just a shade sadder, she retreated and put her hands back on the wooden bar.

  Billy was lost in the kisses. He saw her there in front of him, hands back on the fence, but he also saw her, as clear as the dwindling day, there in front of him with her arms on his neck. The Billy that was left by the riverbank shook him out of it. Did kisses on the cheek count? He would never get another chance like this, away from school and prying eyes. He took her hand and tried to draw her back. The hand came, but Katherine did not. With no real perceptible force, she took her hand back and put it on her bike. Billy sank, had he taken it too far? Katherine got back on her bike and started cycling slowly down the path, and there was nothing to be done but follow her.

  They cycled back to Marlow Bottom without a word or a glance. More accurately, Billy had shot worried glances at Katherine all the way home, but none were reciprocated. He hoped it was just the night that had grown chilly. Katherine finally broke the silence a short way from his house. “Thanks for the lipstick.”

  He didn’t have a chance to reply before she started accelerating for the hill on the corner. At least she’d spoken to him before going. Why hadn’t she said anything at the river? No one was there, she could have shouted at him, thumped him, called him a bad friend for taking advantage of her after all the support she had given him. It was confusing, and now he had to face the Tree. Did this even count as a kiss?

  * * *

  That evening Billy didn’t go to bed. His mother had seemed restless and hadn’t been inclined to eat, let alone attempt cooking again. She moved listlessly about the house, approaching the forgotten rooms, appearing to consider entering them and then shaking her head and retreating to the safety of the kitchen and proximity of Saul. Billy asked her a couple of times if he could fetch her anything, but had received almost no recognition that he was even there. He tried not to feel hard done by, to take himself off the top of the agenda again. To remember the troubles Katherine was facing. Then he remembered that tonight was the night the Tree was supposed to tell him what had happened to his father, and whether he was still alive. This forced him into a ball on the chair by the Tree, and there he remained until midnight, drifting in dreadful possibility.

  December 18th

  “BILLY.”

  To his frustration, he’d fallen asleep. He had wanted to stay awake; having some sort of control in this bizarre situation was essential. Cross with himself, he shook off the unwanted sleep.

  “No bed to go to?” The Tree’s voice was rasping and somewhat laboured.

  “I thought I’d wait up.”

  “You should save your energy. You’re probably going to need it.”

  He thought the Tree must have grown again, though this time it didn’t seem to have gained any more height, just girth. Its voice worried him.

  “Are you OK?” said Billy. “You seem a bit exhausted.”

  “I’m the last of my kind, Billy,” said the Tree, “and probably at the very end of my days. This search has proved quite a strain.”

  Billy’s heart sank. Did this mean that his father was dead after all? It must take more effort to find a dead person. Once again, the Tree appeared to read his thoughts.

  “I can’t tell you much, so please don’t ask. I can tell you that your father is certainly still alive, if lost from you, and Marlow, and almost completely from himself.”

  Billy fell back into his chair. Alive. The relief, so unaccustomed, actually shook his body. The Tree’s caveats about him being lost worried him, but this now stood as the first fact he’d had about his father since last winter.

  The Tree hopped towards Billy. “I need you to tell me whether you kissed Katherine Jennings today.”

  With the news of his father he locked onto a decision and stood up again in front of the Tree.

  “We kissed.”

  The Tree flinched slightly and peered down at Billy. Branches reached out and sniffed at the air about him. They had kissed, his mind insisted, supporting him with the basic facts; he wasn’t lying. There was a long silence while the Tree continued to prod and smell the air near Bill
y.

  “You understand that by lying you fool only yourself?” said the Tree.

  “I’m not lying to you, we kissed.”

  The Tree took another good look at Billy before withdrawing its branches. The decoration ritual began before another word could pass between them. As the Tree began to pulse and shudder, Billy wondered whether he had passed this test, or whether he would even know until the end of the twelfth day. Knowing he would now carry this uncertainty, this half-truth, with him for over a week made him feel a little sick. The Tree bowed low before Billy. This time there was no choice to be made. The axe had arrived.

  He took the axe from the Tree and held it in his open palm, and realised at once this was different. This time he had the curious sensation of the weight arriving before the growth took place. He was forced to take a good grip on the handle, first with one hand, then with both.

  “I shouldn’t drop it,” said the Tree.

  Billy adjusted his grip to compensate for the weight. The blade sent flecks of shattered light across the room. Where the edge had seemed perfect when tiny, fissures and alloyed lines now appeared along its leading edge. If he held the blade at a certain angle, that edge looked like a row of teeth. The Tree took a couple of steps back; Billy suspected all trees would like to retreat if they were in close proximity to an axe such as this. Finally, it appeared to settle on a size that was too heavy for Billy to wave about.

  The Tree remained at a good distance over by the unused fireplace. “How does it feel?”

  “As if it’s hungry,” said Billy. The truth was it felt lethal, as though it could dispatch limbs given the faintest encouragement.

  “The fence at the front of your house.”

  He looked over his shoulder. The garden was dark with thick clouds snuffing the moonlight. Beyond the path from the front door, he could picture the fence. It was only a few years old, made of tongue and grooved softwood, but nasturtiums and other creepers had quickly taken hold of it. Billy’s father had been planning to cut back and poison the unwelcome visitors, and Billy had felt rotten about not taking care of it himself after his father had disappeared. Now he was faced with destroying the fence he had helped his father build. He felt anger build up inside him; what possible reason could the Tree have for this?

  “I don’t think so,” said Billy, without turning back to the Tree.

  At the mantelpiece, the Tree picked itself up to its full height, casting a long shadow across the room. It hopped slowly towards him until it was within an arm’s length.

  “The fence must come down,” said the Tree, “by your willing hand.”

  “Set me something else to do. Anything except that.”

  “Do not question the tasks,” said the Tree. “You risk our agreement.”

  Billy spun the axe in his hands. It wasn’t a threat, just an expression of frustration, but he hoped it might help make his case. He was mistaken; the Tree didn’t bat a branch. Inside, Billy’s anger grew. Why cut down the fence? It had cost well over a thousand pounds, which was more money than his mother and he had lived on in the last three months.

  “Pick something else.”

  “You imagine that it is me picking the tasks?” said the Tree, with sinister humour in its voice. “That it is me who placed the letters K and J on the lipstick case before I was shipped to Marlow?”

  He couldn’t imagine what the Tree meant, and was too cross to care. This was stupid.

  “You were told on the first night. This is about faith. Faith requires your action regardless of convenience. What are you worrying about? That you’ll wake up the neighbours? That you’ll wake up your mother? At least she might have something to say to you!”

  Billy cried out, the anger rising in him faster than ever before. He swung the axe back over his shoulder. Again the Tree hadn’t moved a millimetre. The rage flashed within him again. Just as he might have been about to make a move, something else caught his eye. There, twinkling on the Tree at Billy’s eye level, were his father’s gold reading glasses. Definitely there, definitely his; half-glasses with a small kink on the bridge. It is the flaws and chinks which make special things, and people, unique. As this thought passed through his brain, the Tree turned, Billy dropped the axe and shot his left arm forward to recover the glasses, but as he did, the Tree rocked backwards, turned, and the glasses disappeared from view. The Tree turned back, and Billy righted himself. He knew the glasses were gone.

  “What is it going to take to get you to remember how to believe?” said the Tree.

  Billy took a step back and almost tripped over the fallen axe. It wasn’t lying on the floor, but in the floor, the handle about two feet in the air and the blade buried through the carpet and deep into the wooden floorboards below. He picked it up. It still felt hungry.

  * * *

  Now thankful that the moon was covered, Billy headed down the path, trying not to ask questions, not to think about the noise, not to think about what his mother might or might not say about the fence coming down. He had seen his father’s glasses, and he knew he must not fail. But he had another thought: the fence might have to come down, but the Tree had said nothing about the gate. Raising the axe above his shoulders, he slung it deep into the fence post. It bit in with a pleasing thump. He then unlatched the gate, which his father had hung with such care, and lifted it off its hinges. Placing it carefully by the pear tree on the front lawn, he could return to the task feeling he wasn’t about to waste all their work.

  The axe came out of the fence post with greater ease than he had imagined. He thought briefly about attacking the fence from the roadside, but it was clear that the garden provided a higher platform, albeit with a softer footing on the snow-laden lawn. With the axe raised over his shoulder, Billy swung hard into the fence post. The axe gave a low hum as it arced into the post, cleaving it three quarters through. Looking at his first swipe with some amazement, Billy tugged the axe back out of the post. The weight appeared to have evened out—perhaps just the effect of the blood getting warmed up in his arms? He swung again, and the top of the fence post spun off following the arc of the axe, twisting the adjoining tongue and groove slats. He was grinning despite himself, despite the waste of money and effort of loved ones; he had a task to accomplish and the tools in his hands.

  Turning to the fence to the right of the path, Billy moved along, pacing himself as he took diagonal strikes at the slatted wood. Where there was a ragged triangle left standing, he kicked at it before perfecting a low swipe that would also clear each creeper that had poked and split the slats over the last year. Billy stopped for breath and to check if any lights were coming on around the street. The bungalow over the road had a light on, but he couldn’t remember whether it had been there when he came out. He turned his attention to the fence on the other side of the main path.

  So far the axe had bitten through the fence with ease. Billy wondered what else it was capable of. Taking several paces, he ran at the fence with the handle held across him, the blade hanging horizontally and out to his right. As he connected and passed through the fence post, Billy knew it was going to work. He continued to sprint, enjoying the sensation running through the handle each time the blade went through a fresh slat. Flipping the axe over, he gave the fence’s top half a nudge with the flat side of the blade. It fell into the ditch before the roadside with a swish as the air escaped underneath it. Billy hacked swiftly through the remaining fence.

  Looking back at the house, he could see the Tree, sitting back in its bucket by the living room window. At least it couldn’t question his actions this time. Billy was smarting from the knowledge that the kiss might not count.

  The shards of timber looked dangerous and ugly, still forming a barrier between the property and the road. The task felt unfinished, and this was the last way he wanted to be feeling after the earlier scrutiny from the Tree. Billy headed to the back of the house, returning with matches and a bottle of barbecue lighting fluid. He began spraying the splintered sla
ts, soaking them as fully as he could.

  Standing back, he took a match and upended the dark blob against the striking edge of the box. Pulling back his index finger, he flicked the match and it flew out, sparking loudly into the cold night air. There was a sound like a gas stove igniting, and flames rolled over the tangled wood, which crackled with surprise. After a few moments, the entwined evergreen creepers began to release a dense smoke, visible even in the dark. Billy put a hand on the axe and watched until the flames grew quite low. Believing the job now incontrovertibly complete, he shouldered the axe and returned to the house.

  As he started up the stairs, the Tree spoke from the living room.

  “Very impressive, Billy.”

  He continued up the stairs without replying.

  * * *

  Standing with his bike in the crisp morning air, Billy surveyed the charred remnants of the fence. Small wisps of smoke rose from the dark ashes. Billy was aware that traffic was slowing on the way past, with faces pressed against the glass to see what had happened. Some faces he recognised from school. Unsure whether his mother would notice the fence and not wanting to get into a discussion about it, he got up early enough to be outside the front of his house to meet Katherine.

  He looked down towards the corner before the hill; still no sign of her. Would she have left early in order to avoid him after the fumbled kiss? He heard the back door close; his mother going to walk Saul. Billy thought about cycling down to the foot of Ragman’s Lane, hoping that Katherine would appear in time. He saw Saul pulling against his lead before his mother followed. A look of confusion came over her as she saw the gate against the pear tree, and then deeper concern at the ashen lines where the fence had been. It was the first time in many months that Billy felt childlike, caught in the act of a plain wrongdoing. It sat uncomfortably in his stomach, and he felt sure that only a week ago she would not have noticed it at all, so lost had she been within herself. Billy clenched his jaw and shot another look over his shoulder for Katherine.