Billy Carter

Chapter 20: You Lied

We did well as a band after New Year's - we managed to snag a few more opportunities to perform, and by the very end of April we had gigs on a regular basis - we were raking it in. Not much had come from Jimmy and Cynthia's awkward start to the New Year - she fancied him big time, but he refused to ask her out or to go on a date when she asked him. I'd spoken to him about it and found out he liked her, but wasn't crazy about the age gap and said he knew she was way out of his league and would refuse to let her "lower herself" by dating him. He had it stuck in his head that she deserved a lot better than he could give her, and he didn't want her affected by his past, his criminal history and some of the unsavoury characters that still harassed him. He had a lot going on anyroad; he was in the middle of a custody battle for his five younger siblings, who he'd looked after since he was ten and had finally been taken out of their mum's care due to her negligence and criminal activity - Jimmy admitted to me that his mum was a heroine-addicted prostitute who didn't care whether or not her "customers" used protection - or at least she was always too high to argue over it - hence the many children. Jimmy was trying desperately to get full custody over his siblings since none of their father's (the ones who could be identified, anyroad) wanted them and putting them in foster care meant splitting everyone up. At first Jimmy hadn't had much faith that his case would get anywhere - he just knew that he had to try. But as time went on and he continued to work legal jobs with no further criminal charges pressed against him, the odds were slowly turning in his favour. He'd started to dare think he might win. The judge seemed to want to give him custody, but of course he had to be sure that he could look after a teenager, a kid, a toddler and two infants.
Jenny and Tony had gotten really serious about planning for university, even though it was still two and a half years in the future. They weren't planning the academic or educational side of it, rather the "how can we both pursue our different interests but still live in each other's pockets" side of it. I thought it was a bit unnecessary for them to be planning so meticulously and so far ahead, but it got me thinking about how mine and Ollie's relationship would work after high school. He was a shoo-in for Oxford's medical school, but even though I had a fighting chance at getting accepted into some university somewhere, I certainly wasn't getting into Oxford. I didn't mind not going to the same school, and Oxford University's only a little over an hour from London, where I'd likely be staying. We could still see each other regularly, and I didn't have to go to university - maybe I could even get a job in Oxford and move up there with him.
I still wasn't really sure what I wanted to do after school. I've always hated school and never had any interest in going to university, so I figured I'd drop out at the end of the year and get a job. But now that we knew I was dyslexic and had worked out a bunch of methods that really helped me out at school, I wasn't hating it so much. I knew Mum wanted me to stay in school, graduate Year Thirteen, even if I didn't end up going to Uni. But even if I did decide to go apply for university, I had no idea what I'd study. I really wanted to pursue music - I'm already pretty good at it, and it interests me and all that, but it's career suicide - unless you get really lucky. All I'd end up with would be a mountain of debt and a useless diploma - my job opportunities would be no better than they would have been before university. Jimmy was a mechanic though, and I liked working with my hands - maybe I could get an apprenticeship with his work, or maybe he knew someone else who'd be willing to take me on. In the meantime, I had a secure job waiting tables at Don's. He said he was happy to give me full-time work after I finished school if that's what I wanted, but he was encouraging me to go to university somewhere so I could get a good career. All the adults I talked to about my dilemma all said some version of the same thing: "you have so much potential, don't let it go to waste!"

A few months after New Year's I was staring to feel more comfortable with being open about me and Ollie; I started to come around to the idea of telling Dad. Then it all went sideways.
Since Dad's family broke in on Christmas Eve and caused all that drama, Mum and Dad have been in and out of court as witnesses to my grandfather's breaking parole or whatever. He was supposed to be on good behaviour after completing his jail sentence, but obviously breaking and entering and assault isn't good behaviour. Dad's brothers were in the shit for it too, but somehow his mother was worming her way out of any trouble - at least she wasn't being charged with assault, because she had nothing to do with the other four beating Dad up. Of course, all their past transgressions were being brought up in court again as evidence that they were all dangerous criminals who should be locked up (again). The fact that my grandfather's a known sex offender of teenage boys and that I could very-well have been home was a point the persecutor brought up a fair bit, declaring that who knows what might have happened to me had I been present when they broke in - which for all my grandfather knew, I very well may have been. The lawyer pointed out that since they were breaking in at a time where both my parents were at work their intentions could have been to harm me. I hated that they were bringing me into it, because I had nothing to do with their motives or any of it. Well, as far as I knew. This argument was making Mum paranoid though, and meant Dad was more or less re-living the court days when his father was being convicted of sexual abuse.
It was pretty rough on him, and he'd started drinking again. It wasn't as bad as it had been, but I could see it was probably just going to escalate as time went on. Since all the debt was paid his drinking habits weren't the financial burden they had been, but Mum and I still worried about him. He had two beers with dinner every night, and kept drinking until he passed out on the couch. Most Friday nights he'd go out with his work mates after they knocked off at five, and come home around eight o'clock for dinner already ten beers in. Saturdays I just tried to stay out of his way - he hadn't hit me or anything yet, but he'd snapped and yelled at me a lot.
"Bill," he growled at me from the couch, where he was lying down and watching the football on mute to recover from the night before.
"Yeah?" I asked quietly.
"Pick your fucking feet up when you walk, alright?" he snapped. "And get me a drink, would you?"
"Sure, sorry Dad. Water?"
He shot me an annoyed glare. "A beer."
"Ok." I didn't point out that it was nine o'clock in the morning in fear of incurring his wrath. I sighed quietly in disappointment as I went into the kitchen and opened the fridge. There was no beer though, so I got him a glass of water instead. I went back into the living room and offered it to him. He looked at it, then glared at me, and my anxiety kicked in like an asthma attack.
"Does that look like a fucking beer to you? You trying to be smart to me, kid?" he asked angrily.
"No, it's just there's no beer left," I told him. "I can get you a can of coke if you'd prefer."
"What the fuck do you mean there's no beer?" Dad asked loudly. "There should be a fucking six pack in there, I only bought it yesterday!"
"I looked, there's not," I told him, stepping back subconsciously as he got to his feet. "You can look, but it's not there. I didn't see any, at least. I can check again? Maybe you drank it and forgot?"
"I know it's in there!" Dad said angrily, his voice quickly becoming raised. "Have you been pinching my fucking beer again?"
"No! No, of course not!" I told him, and he snatched the glass of water out of my hands and threw it past my head. I flinched hard as the glass smashed against the wall and water splashed everywhere. "Dad, I didn't, I promise!" I said quickly, taking another couple of steps back. "I'll have another look, alright?" I asked with a trembling voice. Dad stepped towards me intimidatingly and I flinched as he raised his fist, bracing for impact.
"What was that noise?!" Mum exclaimed from the back door. Dad dropped his fist and Mum came into the living room holding a basket of washing.
"N-nothing," I told her, trying to act cool. "I dropped a glass of water, that's all. I'll clean it up, I'm sorry."
"Oh, that's ok sweetheart," Mum smiled at me. "Accidents happen." She stopped and examined the mess of glass and water, turning back to us with some surprise. "How'd the water get that far up the wall?" she asked, glancing back and forth between the two of us.
"Your guess is as good as mine," Dad told her. She looked at the wall again, then the realisation hit her. She turned back to Dad with a look of pure fury.
"You threw that at him," she said to him.
"No, I-"
"Billy?" Mum turned to me. I swallowed nervously.
"N-no, he's telling the truth," I told her, trying to be reassuring and failing miserably.
"Go hang the washing Billy," Mum said, her icy glare fixed on Dad as she held out the full basket for me.
"But this is dry-"
"I said go hang the washing," Mum told me sternly. I took the basket and headed for the back door. I was barely out of the room when Mum started laying into Dad - even when I went outside I could hear them. "What the fuck is wrong with you!" she yelled at him. She was so angry even I flinched. "I swear to God, if you ever do anything like that again to my child I will kick your alcoholic arse, do you understand? How dare you?! After everything you've been through you're prepared to put another child through that shit?!"
"I'm sorry Nelly, I'm so sorry, but I didn't hurt him! I just slipped up, alright? My temper got the best of me, I'm not myself lately - you know that! I'll never do it again, baby, I'm so sorry! I didn't mean to, it just happened so quickly!" he pleaded with her. "But I didn't hurt him, I swear I didn't hurt him!"
"You better never fucking hurt him, or do anything like this ever again!" Mum snapped. "I'll divorce you so quick you won't know which way's up! Now you better apologise to my son, you better clean up this mess and you better tip any alcohol you have in this house down the sink! Next time I smell alcohol on your breath, you're sleeping outside. It's one thing to be struggling with your personal issues - it's a completely different thing to be taking them out on a child!" Mum told him, and I heard her following me outside. She looked just as angry as she sounded, but it all faded away into concern when she saw me. "Are you ok, baby?" she asked me, holding my face in both of her hands.
"I'm fine Mum, really. He just lost it for a second there," I told her. "You know he didn't hurt me, right? He just gave me a little fright is all." She sighed and started helping me hang the washing.
"He still shouldn't have done that, that was aggressive and mean," she told me. "If he - or anyone, for that matter - ever does something like that again or ever does or says something that makes you feel unsafe, you have to let me know, alright?"
"Sure."
"Promise?"
"I promise."
"Good. I'm thinking pizza for dinner, I really don't want to cook," Mum sighed. "Your father can pay for it," she added bitterly.
"Mum, don't make a big deal over it, alright? I know what he did was wrong, but he's been under a lot of stress lately."
"No, I don't care. That doesn't give him the right to treat you - or anyone - like that. Do you want a cheesy pizza? I'm craving a cheesy pizza."
"Sure. Could we get one with a bit more on it than just cheese though?"
"I suppose. Oh my God, what are we doing!" she exclaimed, half-way through hanging a shirt. "This stuff's dry, we need to fold it, not hang it again!"
"Well I only started hanging it because you told me to!" I pointed out.
"Yes, well now that the shouting's over you can come back inside and help me fold all this - after we get all that dry stuff we just hung off the line again."
I smiled at Mum and shook my head at her. "Scatterbrain," I laughed under my breath at her. She smacked me gently with a shirt.
"Oh, I get it - so it's ok if you hurt him, but if I do it..." Dad laughed awkwardly at his joke, coming over to help us take the washing down. Mum ignored him and a frown fell over her face again. I smiled at him though, trying to encourage him. He came up and gave me a pat on the back. "I'm sorry, kiddo," he said. He looked genuinely sorry too.
"It's ok."
"It's really not. Can I make it up to you?"
"You don't need to make anything up to me," I told him.
"You can start by buying us dinner," Mum said grumpily.
"And what would you like for dinner?" Dad asked with a smile, trying to improve her mood.
"Pizza. One of whatever Billy wants, and a cheesy one for me. With garlic. And I want lemonade and I want dessert."
"What would you like for dessert?"
"Something chocolatey and icy-creamy but not chocolate ice-cream."
"... Ok. What if I bought a chocolate pudding mix from the grocery store and we had that with ice-cream?"
"That's acceptable." Mum still hadn't looked at him, so Dad went up and hugged her from behind.
"I'm really sorry, Billy knows I'm sorry and we've made up - now can we make up? I'm so sorry if I broke your trust - I love you both so much."
"I forgive you," Mum muttered.
"Really?" Dad asked. "It doesn't sound like it."
"I forgive you, but you have to understand how serious what you did is, alright?"
"I understand."
"Good." Mum said. She turned around and finally looked at him. "You can go fold this washing now, and after that you can give me a foot massage."
"Yes dear," Dad gave her a kiss on the cheek and took the washing inside. Mum sighed and folded her arms, looking troubled.
"I've never seen that side of him before," she said quietly. "It's concerning. Are you sure you're alright?" she asked me, switching to French for privacy.
"Mum, I'm fine. He's had a rough couple of weeks, with his dad and everything. I love him, and I trust him," I answered her, also in French. "It's nothing, really." She sighed again.
"Fine." She reverted back to English. "Let's go give him a hand with that washing, then."