Dragon's Blood

Friendships Made

Some weeks later, Iyla found Bill in the same alleyway he'd rescued her from. His nose was bleeding, his t-shirt ripped and there were scrapes down his arm and cheekbone. He was walking, with his head down as usual, scuffing his trainers along the pavement, but he looked up when he heard her footsteps.

"What the hell Bill?" Iyla was shocked to see his face. Gradually over the last few weeks, and without really realising it, she and Bill had, despite themselves, become friends. They had actual conversations now when Bill came for the papers, pooled their money and shared chips from the canteen at break when neither of them had enough money for a portion themselves. Bill had continued to lend Iyla CDs and she had continued to be surprised that she enjoyed them. She did his homework a couple of times when he was struggling because of the trouble at home he would never talk about. He was grateful and continued to glare at Dean Crick and his cronies which, so far, seemed to be helping them leave Iyla alone; well, more than they would have done otherwise anyway. She'd found that actually, occasionally, Bill could be pretty funny. She could catch him at times, with his guard down and they would talk and joke and she would then wonder and worry about what kept him so quiet and sad so much of the time.

"All right," Bill nodded a hello to her just had he always would, as if his face wasn't messed up and bleeding.

"Your face?" Iyla said pointedly, "Or haven't you noticed?"

"Ah, it's ok," Bill shrugged, "Dean just getting someone else to fight his battles that's all," he sniffed and wiped his nose, wincing slightly and simply smearing more blood across his face.

"To scared to do it himself," Iyla said, "I'm sorry, this is all because you helped me out. They just don't want to let it go."

Bill shook his head and gave a half grin, " You should see the other guy." He said. Iyla gave him a look, "No really," he said, "It's not your fault, I think I just have a face people like to smash into ... walls ..." the lightness in his voice trailed off a bit. Iyla wasn't sure what to say, it was clear to anyone who bothered to care that life at home for Bill was not good at all. She had tried to ask him, he always shut any questions down.

"You should get cleaned up," she said, realising as she said it that Bill would not want to go home like this. He spent as little time as possible there and the last thing he needed right now was an earful from his drunken mother.

Bill's head went down again, "Mr Kalam wants me to clear some rubbish out the yard at the back of the shop for him, he's going to pay me for it, so I thought I'd just wash up there and get on with it."

"Fair enough," said Iyla, "I was actually just heading over to yours to bring this back, I've had it ages" she waved a CD at him and Bill frowned.

"You don't have to do that," he said, "I can just grab them when I get the papers. Don't come all the way over to mine, it's well dodgy round there anyway." It wasn't really any worse where Bill lived than anywhere else locally but Iyla didn't argue. She knew why he didn't want her going to his flat.

"I'll help you with the yard," she said, instead of asking all the questions she wanted to ask.

"You don't have to," Bill protested.

"No, you're right, I'll just watch you do all the hard work," Iyla agreed, "I'm not the one getting paid after all."

Bill laughed, "I'd have split it with you," he said, and then indicated to the tear at the bottom of his top, "But I need a new t-shirt."

There wasn't really much to do in the yard to get it tidy, once again, Mr Kalam had simply created a job that didn't really exist to help Bill out. A few old papers and some boxes to recycle and some sweeping to do and Bill almost felt guilty taking a fiver for it.