Chapter Seven: Bill, their some-of-the-time Lodger
A mouse is running about the kitchen, causing a commotion. Paul, holding a broom-handle spear, stands poised. Darren, armed with its worn-bristle head, pulls on a large sack of potatoes. As slick as the trickles of grease down the side of their stove, the rodent scarpers across the floor. Shrieking, they toss their weapons and lunge themselves up onto the kitchen worktops. They glimpse the mouse entering a gap at the side of the cooker. Once their embellished hysterics simmer down, they descend, retrieve their weapons and return to the hunt. Paul uses the broom handle to poke the darkened space beneath the stove and out comes the mouse, once again flitting across the floor to take refuge behind the potato sack. Darren creates a barrier in front of the cooker using a row of saucepans.
“Block the hole, block the mouse-hole,” he urges, referring to what they think to be the rodent’s primary access point. A fist-sized gap in the corner where the sink unit fails to meet the edge of the adjoining cupboard. Paul backs himself into the corner, heels pressed tightly together to cut off the mouse’s retreat. Darren shifts the sack of spuds. The mouse darts right, heads towards the pans then switches back towards Darren, who instantly backs off. It skirts along the wall, halting to rest in another corner before making a bold dash across the open floor towards Paul. Darren lobs the broom head with lightning speed and thundering power. It whacks Paul's ankle, making him jump and howl. In a split second the mouse makes quick its escape, vanishing through the unguarded hole. Despite the throbbing pain of a ripening bruise Paul is relieved the mouse got away. He forms a picture. Attentive offspring with twitching whiskers and ruffled fluff all listening to Papa Mouse retelling his courageous tale of escape.
Saucepans glide so well across the tiled surface of the kitchen floor. Darren and Paul invent a crashing game, one without rules. Just slide and collide. Scrape and bang, back and forth they send the pans. One of the handles breaks off just as their exasperated father enters to see who is making such an awful racket. Luckily Darren and Paul receive no thrashing, only a tongue-lashing before being sent to their room.
Within half an hour they are jumping up and down on the bed twirling underpants around their index fingers, singing “Swing your knickers in the air, in the air…” Bouncing about in circles having such a laugh. Whipping pants around and around, then flinging them at each other like wet rags. Bouncing, flinging, laughing on and on until Paul stops dead, wide-eyed and mouth agog. Darren jumps on, singing and swinging. Taking aim he enquires, “What’s up with yuu…?” Words trailing off, he turns around to see Bill scowling. Paul dives beneath the covers. Darren is yanked by his elbow off the bed and shoved against the wall. Bill rips back the bedding, grabs Paul by the ankle and pulls him towards the edge of the bed. He turns his head towards Darren. “Don’t you fuckin’ move!” His aggression stops Darren in his tracks. After a rough bit of tugging and shoving the two are instructed to stand in silence. When Paul's tears subside he is left with crimson finger marks and Darren, a grazed shoulder. Their resentment of Bill rises to a new level.
It is a confusing relationship Paul has with Bill. Ensconced within the family, he has long been a feature in Paul's life. His heavy-handedness is viewed as a great help to their father and it is widely accepted that his orders are an extension of their dad’s will. Bill’s many contacts and dodgy dealings benefit the family, often keeping their heads afloat. Although sometimes a thug with a grudge may come pounding on the front door, and just like when the rent-man knocks, the children squash together behind the settee until the silhouette outside the window dissolves back into daylight. Whenever the police come calling, the children will, upon his command, tell lies. Though this is not entirely foolproof with Carole around. She once interrupted Mark’s misleading response to the officer’s enquiries with “You’re telling lies, Dad told us not to tell lies.” So on that instance Bill, who was concealed in the rafters of the roof, got taken away to be questioned over a brawl in the Beckley Tavern. They released him soon after.
On the one hand Paul sees Bill as a brute who is often drunk. A horrible tormentor, who enjoys frightening children. Watching The Adventures of Black Beauty one rainy Sunday around tea-time, Paul is locked in the grip of suspense, watching with bated breath as Albert enters the witch’s garden to retrieve his kite. A flash glimpse of movement lurking around the edge of Paul’s vision provokes a side glance which instantly becomes a face of terror. A maniacal glare, eyelids turned inside out and a sinister grin. Bill’s wet face pressed against the grey windowpane sends a terror shockwave straight through Paul, who gasps and bawls. Bill is always catching the children out in one way or the other. If they aren’t sitting nicely watching the television, they’re more than likely doing something that merits his chastisement. Then he’ll bang on the window, point upwards and mouth the words, “You, bed, now!”
Often the one who inspects the housework before allowing the children to play out, Bill will rub his finger over the skirting boards and pelmets, searching for dirt. His dusty finger will then be wiped across a cheek or forehead with instructions to clean the room properly. He takes pleasure in secretly scrawling dates in the dust on the top of wardrobes and in other out-of-reach places, then revealing them some time later. Bill’s presence, even when he lies snoring on the settee, creates tension. Yet whenever Paul is teased about not having a mother, he boasts that dads are way cooler than mums and that he has two of ‘em. Furthermore, when making Christmas cards in class he addresses them to both Dad and Bill.
There are also hidden advantages to having a Bill living under the same roof. One night, disturbed by raised voices coming from the dining room, Carole leaves her bed and wanders downstairs. Her father and Bill are having a blazing argument. On the table a handwritten note sits next to a glass of water and a line of white tablets. Carole is immediately sent back to bed and the row quickly peters out. A couple of days later Carole, who knows better than to go rummaging around in her father’s bedroom, is in there looking for nothing in particular. She finds fragments of a torn letter scattered in his wastepaper bin. Ever curious she retrieves the pieces, locks herself in the bathroom and begins jigsawing them together. Not the shiniest button in the box, Carole hasn’t made any connection to the note in front of her and the fading images of a few nights before. It comes as a bit of a shock to see her own name mentioned in this note addressed to Mark. It reads, ‘Dear Mark, sorry for what I have done, try to keep the kids together, and you’ll have to explain it all to Carole, you know how thick she is. Dad xxxxx’. Regardless of the seriousness, any dire implications are somewhat overshadowed by his last line. Carole, perturbed at being called thick, returns the torn pieces and, without a word to anyone, banishes the memory to the cavernous recesses of her brain. Striking a discordant chord, the song and dance of everyday life plays on undeterred.
Bill, determined to instill a disciplined attitude, decides that the children need to be drilled. Darren and Paul think themselves fortunate to be called downstairs so soon after being caught flinging pants around. Being allowed to participate in what at first seems like a fun training programme with instructions to run around the block, a circuit of roughly one mile. At staggered intervals Bill blows on a whistle to send them off. Firstly Paul followed by Carole twenty seconds later. Darren jets away hot on their heels with Jason and finally Mark bringing up the rear. Bill pits the children against each other with the notion of punishment for any who lag or get overtaken. The race is on.
Paul sprints from the bottom of the cul-de-sac to the grove that leads into the triangular back park. Much to his frustration, as he proceeds through the play area and enters the adjoining housing estate, Carole, who is surprisingly swift on her feet, overtakes him. He passes by the alleyway that leads to his back garden and continues on to the garage area, which will eventually lead out onto the busy road near the shops. Carole has already vanished up ahead. Behind him Darren is making ground. He makes an exerted effort, only to be hindered by a searing pain below his ribs. Darren flies past him as he hits the main road. Paul’s petulant response is to stamp and then slump onto his bottom on the floor. Darren doesn’t stop and, lacking a proper audience, neither does Paul. Back on his feet he manages to hold off Jason and Mark, who are yet to come into sight.
The lengthy main road eventually turns into the street at the top of the cul-de-sac, the one his classmate Shane lives on. Paul manages to summon up an extra push now that the end is in sight. At the finish point Bill and Darren wait as Carole desperately encourages Paul to run faster. He glances behind to see Jason and Mark sprinting hard along the home straight. Head to head, gritting their teeth with more determination than a dog on a rag. Bill’s provocative jeers cultivate sibling rivalries that need no encouragement. The losers, Jason and Paul, are given twenty press-ups.
In the weeks that follow nobody except Carole enjoys the running. Before long, the three eldest conspire to nip down the alleyway and climb over a fence leading to the main road. Resting, they time their arrival so nobody loses, except a baffled Paul, that is. He wonders at which point on the route they managed to pass by without him seeing them.
Typical of many fitness fads, this one doesn’t last. Karate classes also flit by with a couple of visits. In the car park Jason becomes involved in a pushing tussle with one of the instructor’s sons. Knocked off his feet, Jason runs home, intimidated by the boy’s size and skill. Paul's dad, furious to learn that Jason hadn’t even returned a single punch, escorts him straight back with Mark and Darren in tow.
“Is that him?”
Darren nods.
“Right, now go get him!” Spurred on by his father’s command, Jason leaps into action, grabbing the culprit around the neck and punching him three times in the face. Darren, quick to respond, sets upon the brother who tries to intervene. Almost instantly, the point being made, Paul's dad calls out, “Ok! Stop now, that’s enough.”
Jason and Darren cease their attack and both boys back away, bringing an end to any future karate lessons and also their dad’s matter of principle. His father’s principles can often appear reactionary and excessive to Paul. The phrase this will hurt me more than it will hurt you sounding hollow at the point of receiving the cane. Yet the children largely accept that his instructions and punishments are issued out of love and for their own benefit. The same cannot be said for Bill.
Comments