Billy Carter

Chapter 13: We're A Happy Family

I lay on my bed, trying to study for once, but I couldn't focus; Mum and Dad were having a screaming match downstairs.
It was about Ollie. Dad hadn't said anything about it yesterday when he'd actually found out about Ollie's sexuality, but apparently he just needed some time to work out how wrong and offensive he was going to be about it. He had sat me down about two hours ago to tell me I was no longer allowed to go over to his house, he wasn't allowed to come over here, and we were no longer allowed to spend time together alone. He didn't even know I was bi and we were dating! He said "as much as I like Oliver I'm worried that you might confuse him and send the wrong message by hanging out with him so much" blah blah blah. I was so angry, I wanted to tell him then and there that I was bisexual and we were dating in secret, but I knew that'd just make it even worse.
It's not like I was going to follow his stupid rules anyroad.
Mum had come home as me and Dad were in the middle of an argument over it and quickly took my side. Eventually I was sent to my bedroom while they had a "quiet discussion" about it. Their quiet discussion quickly turned into yelling at each other.
I sighed and shut my textbook, then threw it across the room in frustration. I couldn't go anywhere because I was grounded and I didn't want to make things worse with my parents by sneaking out. I couldn't study because I couldn't focus, and I couldn't do my homework because for once in my life I was actually on top of it and caught up with my classes - Dad could thank my gay best friend for my drastic improvements at school.
I went to my desk and took a cigarette and my lighter out to smoke at the window and hopefully calm my anger and nerves. I ended up plugging my earphones in and listening to music to drown out my fighting parents. I hummed along to David Bowie, trying to distract myself and quieten my thoughts. I had so much going on, sometimes I felt completely overwhelmed and my head just wouldn't shut up about it all. I tried to find a quiet, peaceful moment in all the chaos going on in my life and see the bright side of it. Yeah, sometimes Dad was a jackass, but he'd been completely sober for four days now and hadn't so much as raised his voice at me - aside from our argument about Ollie. I still wasn't too happy about having to wear glasses, but Ollie said they were sexy and I was starting to get used to them. I had to spend so much more time studying now, but all of my teachers had told me I was already showing improvement.
But there was something still looming over me, and it wasn't my parents fighting, or about Dad forbidding me from seeing Ollie, or even the stress and paranoia of keeping my own sexuality a secret from everyone.
It was the ever-present foster care threat. I didn't see any way we were going to get through the rest of the year intact as a family. I had this sense of dread, and knowing. I felt like it was already decided, and all we could do was wait for the eviction notice, and then for the police or whoever to arrive and take me away, leaving my parents homeless and with nothing.
Mum and Dad and Ollie had all assured me that it was unlikely I'd be taken, and Ollie had added that if I was I'd probably be allowed to stay with my Grandparents. Maybe even with family friends, like the Jameson's - I could bunk with Tony and we'd just pretend it was a really, really long, never-ending sleep over.
It didn't work though, I couldn't relax trying to think of the positives and I steadily began to feel worse and worse. By the time I finished my cigarette my heart was pounding, my breathing was fast and shallow, and my hands were shaking so bad I struggled to hold onto the remaining filter of my cigarette. I started to get a headache and a dry mouth. My hands were all sweaty and clammy. My headache got so bad I started to feel dizzy, which also made me feel even more nauseous, and I stripped down to my boxers because I felt so hot I was starting to break into a sweat. I unplugged my earphones, blaming the loud music for my headache, and paced my bedroom while I tried to remember what Ollie had done the other night that had helped to calm me down. I tried the breathing thing he'd taught me, but it wasn't working, which just made me even more anxious about it all. I sat on my bed and tried to just be still and detached from everything, but I could still hear Mum and Dad fighting downstairs. Every time Dad yelled I flinched so bad, he might as well have been yelling at me. I couldn't figure out how to stop these horrible things I was feeling, both physical and mental, and it made me feel useless and angry.
"For f-fuck's sake Billy," I stammered frustratingly. "Pull y-yourself together! Don't be pathetic!" I clenched and relaxed my hands as I started to pace my bedroom again, gritting my teeth and trying to control how I was feeling. I might not be able to control the government or my dad, but surely I could control myself? Apparently not. I was getting increasingly worse and angrier, and eventually I started to tear up from the frustration of it and the hopelessness I felt. I was full-on hyperventilating now, and I was really starting to feel like I might pass out. I was seeing spots in my vision and I couldn't think straight.
I had enough sense to stumble to my bed before I did actually pass out, and I came to half an hour later, feeling embarrassed and ashamed that I couldn't handle it all. I'm supposed to be tough and strong, like Dad. Now I just felt like a scared, weak little kid.
I put my clothes back on and sighed. At least now I was feeling normal. Well, I was still a little bit nervous, but nothing like I had been.
I couldn't hear Mum and Dad, so after dressing myself again I crept downstairs to check it out. I sat on the stairs about half-way down, and peered through the banister. They were sitting at the kitchen table with coffees, talking quietly. I couldn't make out what they were saying, but they seemed to be having a serious - yet peaceful - discussion. Mum was sitting sort of adjacent to where I was, but she was facing Dad, who was seated at the table facing me. Mum was speaking, and Dad was listening with pursed lips. He didn't look happy, but he didn't look angry either. I suspected they weren't talking about Ollie anymore, but I had no idea what the new topic was. I frowned curiously, straining to hear what Mum was saying, but I still couldn't work it out. Dad sighed, looked down at his coffee mug, then looked back up in my direction, finally noticing me. He lifted his hand and beckoned me over with his finger. Mum looked up at me too and I got up to walk over.
"Have a seat, I have to tell you something," Dad told me gruffly. Mum gave him a small, sad smile, and put her hand over his.
"Yeah?" I asked, sitting down across from Dad.
"I'm sorry about the Ollie thing," he said. "I know I've overreacted, but I still can't entirely be comfortable with it. It's not Ollie's fault, it's not your fault."
"Ok. Can I still hang out with him and stuff?"
"Yeah, forget everything I said before about you two spending time together. I'm sorry, Billy. That was harsh and unfair. And unreasonable."
"It's ok. I'm sorry I didn't tell you about him, it just never came up and I didn't want you to, uh... Well, react the way you did, so... Sorry," I said quietly.
"It's ok."
"Dad, I know you don't like it, but... Well, pretend that I was gay or something - I'm not! - but just pretend I was. I mean, you're ok with Ollie, so you'd be ok with that too, right?" I asked anxiously. He looked at me thoughtfully, mulling my words over for a few moments, and Mum glanced at me worriedly.
"Well, let's just be glad that you aren't gay and that's not something we'll ever have to deal with," he eventually said.
"But if I was, what would you think?" I pressed for clarification. "Would you kick me out or something?"
"As long as you live under my roof, you're straight as an arrow," he told me, and his tone didn't allow for any arguments. "So," he said sternly, as I swallowed the lump in my throat. "Let's just be glad that you aren't gay. What Ollie's parents think or do about him is their business, it's got nothing to do with me. I wouldn't be as lenient or tolerant as them though, if he were my kid," he said. I was gutted, and I almost felt like he was staring me down with his heavy gaze. Mum shot me an apologetic and sympathetic look.
"Yeah," I agreed, licking my dry lips. "I guess it's not something we have to worry about."
"Exactly. Let's focus on paying the bills and keeping the house, alright?"
"Yeah, I don't fancy living in a foster home," I said quietly. I was still upset about what Dad had said, but I wanted to change the subject anyroad. "But um, Ollie seems to think I might be able to stay with the Jameson's or Grandma if-"
"No, you will never ever live with them," Dad said loudly. I thought at first he was talking about the Jameson's. "There's a reason you've never met your Grandfather, Billy."
"Uh, yeah. 'Cause he's been in jail for twenty years... Right?"
"Let me tell you something, I have to tell you something. You're old enough now," Dad said suddenly. "Yes, he's been in jail for the past twenty years - pathetic waste of space should rot in there, I reckon," he snapped heatedly. He was really getting worked up and Mum gave his hand a squeeze.
"Why was he in jail?" I asked. "What did he do? No one's ever given me a real answer," I said.
"He did some very bad things-" Mum began.
"That's exactly what I mean!" I interrupted. "No one's ever given me a real answer! Did he murder someone? Did he rob a bank? Did he-"
"He's a pedophile, Billy," Dad told me, and the rest of my sentence trailed off quickly. I felt sick, and a horrible sense of dread fell over me. "And a rapist. He's a despicable human being and if I ever see him again I reckon I'd kill him," Dad growled, glaring off into space.
"... Oh," was all I could say.
"That's why, since he's been released from prison, you've never met him. He hurt me and my brothers but I'll be damned if he ever lays a finger on you," Dad told me. I swallowed nervously, beginning to realise the true meaning behind his words.
"I, um, I figured he was abusive, but I didn't know... I asked Mum a couple days ago why you hated him so much, and she told me to ask you but she said he wasn't nice but..."
"No, he wasn't. He beat us all up - your Grandmother, your uncles and me - and he yelled and he... well you can guess the rest, I'm sure," Dad sighed, rubbing his forehead. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you, I didn't think it was anything you needed to be worried about and I didn't think it was appropriate. I didn't really want to bring it up, either."
"Why's Grandma still married to him then?" I asked with a frown.
"Because she's fucked up too. She was just as bad, Billy; only she didn't get caught and there wasn't enough evidence to convict her, and for the crimes she was proven to have committed she claimed she only did the things she did because he was forcing her to. Which is also why you don't see her very much - or at all, if we can help it - and when she is around, one of us are with you at all times," Dad told me. Combing back through my memory I realised that I actually never had been alone with Grandma at all - except for once.
I licked my lips again, feeling nervous. "That time when I was having a bath and she came into the bathroom," I said. I was six, at the time. Grandma had come into the bathroom and smiled at me. She had a biscuit for me. Then Mum burst in the door and wrapped me up in a towel, looking terrified. Dad wasn't far behind Mum and I remember him yelling at Grandma and kicking her out of the house. Dad saw Grandma out and Mum sat me on her lap and asked me a whole bunch of weird questions - how long was Grandma in the bathroom with me, what did she say, did she touch me anywhere, etc. I remember feeling confused and asking why they made Grandma leave, she'd only brought me a biscuit, and if I could get back in the bath because I still had shampoo in my hair and the bubbles were going away. That was the last time I saw Grandma for a few years, I think I was thirteen or fourteen the next time I saw her.
"That's why you were so freaked out," I said, putting it all together. "I just thought you were upset because she gave me a biscuit and you said I couldn't have one until after my bath." I told them.
"No, sweetheart," Mum gave me a grim smile. "We were upset because it seemed like she was trying to bribe you or take you or something."
"And we had never invited her over in the first place," Dad added. "She let herself in and went straight up to your room. I was in the backyard gardening with your mother and your mum saw her in your bedroom window. We ran inside and found her in the bathroom with you. I still don't know how she got into the house, the windows were all closed, the front door was locked and we'd never given her a key - there was no way she could come in through the backdoor without either of us noticing. We changed all the locks after that, we were paranoid for months. We told your school that only your mother or I would pick you up after school, and if anyone else came not to let them take you."
"Whoa. I don't remember that. Did they, um, hurt other kids?"
"My father did. Other parishioners kids."
"Oh. So I guess it all makes sense now - I mean I understood why you didn't like your brothers' around, but I never really worked out why you hate your parents so much," I said.
"Well, now you do," Dad said with a sigh. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry I was rough on you about Oliver. He's a good kid. It's just, my father is gay, and he was brought up being told to suppress it and hide it and hate himself for it - and my grandfather was an abusive prick that would beat the shit out of you just for looking at him funny. Eventually all that build up of self-loathing and confusion was too much and he took it all out on us - his anger, his guilt, his urges - we were targets for all of it. I'm sure it's irrational and I know I'm homophobic, but it just... it triggers me. It takes me back to a time and a place I never want to revisit. You don't have to agree with that, but I hope you can at least understand it. I am trying to be reasonable, it just might take me a little bit of time to come around completely."
"It's ok, Dad. I didn't realise," I gave him a small smile. "I'm sure Ollie will understand."
"What? No!" Dad exclaimed. "No one else needs to know, alright?" he snapped aggressively.
"Steve, calm down!" Mum told him. "I'm sure Billy didn't mean he was going to tell Ollie about this."
"No, of course not!" I agreed with Mum. "That stays between us, definitely. I just meant that I'll tell Ollie you're working on your problems but it'll take some time. He'll understand, I'm sure."
"Alright, good. Let's stop talking about this, I'm exhausted," Dad sighed. "We have something else to speak to you about."
"Yeah? Is it about the Maths test last week, because even though I failed it I did twice as better than the last one I had," I said quickly. "Miss Thompson said I've improved a lot!"
"I know, we're getting weekly updates from all of your teachers now to track your progress - not to yell at you for failing or anything, just to see if you're improving or where you need some more help," Mum told me. "All your teachers are very happy to see you're already improving. They're very proud of you - not as proud as us of course." She smiled at Dad, who smiled back.
"We are, we're very proud," Dad agreed. "But we don't need to speak about your school work. It's about your father."
"What?!" I exclaimed. "Is he dead or something?" My heart began to pound anxiously.
"No, he's not dead," Mum said nervously. "I've been speaking to him on the phone recently, about possibly getting a little financial aid since I never asked him for any child support and we're in a bit of a tight spot at the moment."
"You mean the tight spot where we're going to be homeless in a month?" I asked, slightly sarcastically.
"Well, at this rate... And child protective services may or may not take you. Since you were diagnosed with Dyslexia they've gotten off our back a bit about your school performance. They've given us more time to have your grades improve. Of course, they're still concerned about us losing the house and not having anywhere to go - since my family disowned us and if we were to move in with any of your father's family they would definitely take you since they're all criminals and active drug addicts or abusive in some form or another. I told them that worse case scenario we would send you to live with the Jameson's - they've been so kind to offer accommodation for you if we do end up losing the house - but according to their calculations the financial strain would still prove too much and they wouldn't be completely happy with that arrangement. They want to send you to live with your father, but I told them that wouldn't be fair to you because you have absolutely no relationship with him and you'd have to move overseas to live with him."
"Overseas? Where's he from?"
"He's from Liverpool, but he lives in America."
"Shit. Wait, they can't send me to a whole other country! Can they?"
"They can, unfortunately."
"But what about you? We couldn't see each other if I was moved to America! You guys couldn't afford to visit me, and I couldn't afford to visit you-" I rambled, starting to feel anxious and sick about it again.
"I'm sure your father would spare some money so we could visit each other," Mum assured me.
"But what if he doesn't? He's never cared about us before, why would he start now?!" I asked frantically.
"He's not completely unreasonable, Billy. We'll make it work, no matter what happens. He's even offered, if it's decided that you do need to live with him, to move to London so you aren't uprooted entirely. Listen, he's always cared about you, you're his son. It's just... It's complicated, sweetheart. His lifestyle and the distance would have made it very hard for him to be in your life anyway, and he has another family now," Mum told me, and my panic was overcome by blood-boiling anger as she spoke.
"Ok, he has another family - does he really want me, the unwanted bastard from another woman, living with his new family? Does he want to uproot the family he clearly chose over you and me and move them to a whole new country just for us, the people he tossed aside so fucking easily sixteen years ago? I doubt it. Why would he give a fuck about us?" I asked angrily.
"I don't know, but he's decided he wants to meet you and get to know you. He wants to be a part of your life. He's asked me if he can meet you, if you'd like to meet him too."
"Um, no?!" I exclaimed. "Tell him it's too fucking late! Tell him I hate him! Tell him I never want to see his face, I never want to hear his voice, I never want to breathe the same fucking air as him!" I said, getting to my feet. I felt so angry, I hated him so much for even just asking. "What, does this wanker think he can just invite himself into my life and we'll become best friends and bond over fucking mini golf or something? Tell him he can shove it right up his arse and go back to forgetting I even exist!" I snapped. Dad looked at Mum after my outburst and grinned.
"I told you he'd be pissed," Dad told her. Mum sighed and took one of my hands.
"I don't want to make you do anything you don't want to or aren't comfortable with," Mum told me. "But I think you should take some time to really think about it. You might find some closure, you might get some answers, and you might find that you can have a relationship with him. If child protective services do decide to put you in his care or custody or whatever, you won't have a choice. But I don't think they will take you away, because of your age and we should be able to keep the house with help from your father."
"So he's still going to help us out, uh, financially - even if I don't meet him?"
"Of course, he's not holding that over you at all."
"So... Is he just going to give you the money? Like a gift?"
"No, like a loan - but he's not going to charge me any interest or anything. He said I can pay it back over as many years as it takes with no pressure. He's not making me sign a contract or anything, and he was happy just to give me the money - no pay back necessary - but I couldn't do that."
"Oh."
"Just promise me you'll think about it, alright? You don't have to meet him, but just think about it."
"Ok, I guess I can think about it," I sighed.
"Good. Now go to bed, it's getting late sweetheart," Mum told me.
"Good idea. I'm gonna shower first."
"Alright. See you in the morning." I said goodnight to Mum and Dad and headed upstairs. My mind was reeling from everything Dad had told me about his parents and what Mum had said about my father wanting to meet me. I wasn't having a great day - thanks to this seemingly constant state of nervousness I felt. All day at school I'd been obsessing over when Dad was going to bring up Ollie's sexuality, and now I was obsessing over my father and messed up step-family. I played some music from my phone while I showered, focusing on the music and lyrics to distract myself and find an escape. I started humming along, then I started to sing. I can sing, I think I'm actually quite good - without trying to boast or anything. Harry had taught me how to warm up my voice and sing when I was younger. When I heard the intro for Jeremy start I got right into it - it was the perfect song for the frustration and angst I was feeling. I took all those horrible feelings, and put them into the lyrics and sang it out. That's why I've never told anyone I can sing, it's my outlet, and it's private - it's my personal thing and no one has to know about it or hear it. It might sound stupid, but I feel so vulnerable when I sing; it can be really emotional for me, it's probably the only time I truly let my walls and defenses down, and I'm not ready for anyone to see that - or hear it - yet. Well, except for Mum and Dad and Harry.
When I got out of the shower I saw I had a text from Ollie.
Ollie: What're you up to?
I sent him a photo of me in the mirror - not a dirty one, from the neck up - pulling a funny face. I was still wet and you could tell I was in the bathroom - the shower could be seen behind me. I don't like to let people see me bare-chested - besides being self-conscious of my weight and lack of muscle, I'm also embarrassed by the scars I've acquired over the years (courtesy of Dad). People don't need to see those; they'll ask me about them and then I'll have to make up a lie and it takes too much energy.
I started to dry off while I waited for his reply. I saw the notification and unlocked my phone to see a photo of him from the waist upwards in his bedroom. Ollie was shirtless and flexing in a macho pose with a faux-serious expression. He actually has a muscular body though, and I could see his well-defined biceps and abs. He looks really good shirtless. I mean really good. I replied, and we started messaging while I finished drying off and put my boxers on.
10": Ok u win
Ollie: Haha! You're a close second
10": Maybe u should get ur eyes checked to
Ollie: Haha. Why did you change your username?
10": I saw an oportunity to piss off Cynthia
Ollie: How are you? You seemed a little off today.
10": Man do i have a story to tel u tomorow
Ollie: Oh, ok then. Everything alright?
10": Yaeh I guess
10": **yeah
10": That is how u spell it right?
Ollie: Yeah you're good
10": The e and a confuse me I always get them mixed up
Ollie: Nah, you're doing fine. Did you study tonight?
10": I tried I'll tell you about it tomorow
Ollie: Ok.
10": So ur shirtless
Ollie: Yes, I suppose that would be accurate.
10": Are you trouserless also?
Ollie: Perhaps...
10": Pants?
Ollie: I am wearing pants, yes.
10": Damn
Ollie: Haha sorry to disappoint. I sleep in my boxers.
10": Same
We kept messaging while I gave my hair a quick once over with my hairbrush and I shifted to my bedroom. We talked until ten o'clock, when Ollie said he was going to bed. I decided it was a good idea and tried to doze off too. Eventually, sometime after midnight, I fell asleep. I had a crazy dream that me and Ollie were shopping at a grocery store - it was really weird and random - and we kept fighting over chicken nuggets because I love chicken nuggets but he said they were too unhealthy and then he got mad at me because I looked at him weird for not liking chicken nuggets. Ollie loves chicken nuggets more than just about anything, so it was weird that he didn't in my dream.