Billy and the Golden Gate (2 page)

Billy pulls the back door shut behind him. His mum has gone to bed to stretch out for a bit. The atmospherics are playing havoc with her head. She's taken a shot of Bachs rescue remedy and is snoring in a most unladylike manner. Or perhaps it's very ladylike, Billy can't be sure. Either way, it's loud.

The Day of the Dead – of all days he shouldn't be outside, but Billy doesn't like doing things ‘just because he should or shouldn't do them…' well.

The day has begun to mist. It is heavy and damp. He pulls his green hoodie over his head and hoists his backpack onto his shoulders. He kicks one foot out in front of the other and starts walking. Twenty minutes later, he is walking past Miss Beetle's cottage. She is home, a light is twinkling and a plume of smoke has just belched delicately
³
through the chimney. It's easy to see, even in the mist, that the smoke is a grubby dark colour.

Billy pauses to glance through the front window, his curiosity stalling him, but he can't see Miss Beetle. After a moment, he resumes his shuffle. One of his sneaker laces has started to come undone. Billy compensates with his other foot until it's no use – there's nothing for it but to bend down and redo it. He uses a complex manoeuvre to tie up the knot; a ritual that always results in his mum tilting her head to one side and going slightly pink as she fights every urge to jump in and do it up ‘the right way'. With his mum, there's always a ‘right way' and a ‘wrong way'. She has never followed grey, whereas Billy tends to sit somewhere on the fringe between black and white. They have as yet to reach an understanding. Still, his shoelace knot is sound. He walks on.

It takes a further ten minutes for Billy to realise he is famished,
starving
, exclamation mark. He feels his stomach growling before he hears it – a great big feeling and an even bigger sound.

Billy remembers the Curly Wurly he stuffed into his hoodie pocket. It's a bit melted and crumpled but apart from that it's grand. When he's finished, he wipes his hands on his jeans, then he licks the chocolate off the inside of the wrapper. Once done, he shakes the plastic off his fingers and watches it sink limply into the grass.

“Oi!” a loud, tinny and – it has to be said – annoying voice yells very deliberately at him.
The one time,
he thinks to himself. He stalls, it's pointless running. Besides, the other shoelace has started to unravel.

“You cheeky little brat, I saw that, what do you think you are doing?”

It's Missus Furnish, that voice.

Billy bends down and picks up the wrapper; it's still a bit sticky, he missed some of the chocolate, but the toffee is steadfast, anyway. He straightens up. He can feel her bustling beside him. Billy turns and looks up at her, his eyes wide like saucers.

“Don't bother, young man! That's wasted on me, I could have you sent to jail for that! How would you like that?” Missus Furnish exclaims.

Wouldn't half mind,
Billy thinks mutinously,
if
it meant I didn't have to put up with this
.

“Just wait until your mother hears.”

Billy hands her the wrapper. Instinctively she whips it off him, then she starts flapping – it is disgustingly sticky. Billy smiles benignly and walks off. When he remembers his other shoelace, it is almost irredeemable, sodden and mucky after trailing him. It doesn't bother Billy, in the same way that worms and muck accompany all small boys.

A small sweet voice whispers, “That's really mean, what you did, she's trying to stay off chocolate.
Weight
Watchers.
Now look! It's stuck fast, chocolate's all she can smell.”

Billy arches an eyebrow; he recognises the voice. It belongs to a sombre girl who takes life very seriously, thank you very much.

Billy breathes in through his nose, filling his chest with air.

“Plus,” she says emphatically, “what you did, it's bad, for the
en-vir-on-ment.
A bird could have choked on that.”

Billy rolls his eyes.

“It would've been a pretty stupid bird then, better off gone.” He shakes his head.

The voice replies, “So long as you are comfortable with the murder of an innocent animal that wasn't even thinking of harming you.”

Billy falters, he wasn't expecting this. “Didn't mean it, just, well, I think birds like Curly Wurlys.”

“Mmm, hmm,” the voice has taken on the air of the righteous.

Missus Furnish is storming off. “You should be inside,” she yells after them. “Today of all days!”

Billy shrugs and stays silent. He looks at the solemn voice, her serious face; slate grey eyes framed by an orb of blonde tightly wound curls, so blonde it is almost white. She is wearing a bright yellow rain mac, the hood is down, her hair is wet through but it still springs out in every direction. She is wearing a pair of pink cords and Doc Marten lace-ups, which are cerise pink. She wrinkles her nose.

“You've a patch on your jeans.”

Billy nods, glances down.
Yes, it's still there
.

“And your top is letting in the rain.”

Billy looks up,
it's still raining
.

She watches him fastidiously, waiting for a response.

“You always look scruffy in school too, why is that?”

Billy throws his eyes up towards the sky.

“Daisy Milicent, shut up! You are such a… a… a whine!”

Daisy glares at him.

“Am not. Just sayin.” She kicks at a pebble ferociously. The pebble ricochets off the footpath, flicks up and bounces off Billy.

“What did you go and do that for?” Billy says, rubbing his elbow; the funny bone.

Daisy's cheeks have turned pink.

“Where are you going anyway? There's school tomorrow.”

The mist and rain are beginning to lighten off, the day is still grey. Billy pushes his hood back.

“Daisy…” he pauses. “Daisy, that's none of your business.”

“I never said it was!” she exclaims in response. “But if Miss Beetle asks, I won't tell a lie.”

Billy watches her and knows that she's telling the truth. Daisy's face is incapable of bluffing.

“I've lost something,” Billy says.

Daisy's eyes widen, “What did you lose?” She takes a breath and makes a decision. “I will help you find it.”

Billy starts to shake his head and say, “No…”, but Daisy steps to stand beside him and cuts him off.

“Yes,” she says firmly. She hooks his arm and drags him in the direction he was facing. “This way, right?”

Billy nods, he neither wants nor needs company but Daisy's enthusiasm will wane, so he will just wait it out.

They hear the bike before they see it. The rusty chain catches as the cyclist presses down on the pedal. It lumbers on the road and clatters with each spin of the wheel as though a spoke has come loose
⁴
.

Billy turns to see who it is. A thin boy with long gangly limbs is riding the bike. He is wearing a helmet with a set of bristles spiking through its middle, like the gremlin stripe. He's wearing glasses, round, brown-rimmed and sturdy. The bike and boy are not stable, both wobble and veer. Billy is the first to notice the pothole and starts to call out to the boy but it is too little too late. The boy's bike catches the pothole, he tumbles off and finishes up sprawled on the footpath, the bike upturned, wheels spinning and making an annoying scratching noise. Billy and Daisy run over to him.

Billy says, “Are you OK?”

The eyes blink, glasses and helmet intact, though the helmet is now at an odd angle, skewed just enough to make his face look lopsided.

“Missus Furnish told me you were out and going somewhere,” he says, his voice crackles. “You're not going there, wherever that is, without me, ouch!”

“Screech, you can't come,” Billy says quietly. Screech shakes his head; the helmet wobbles a bit more. He sits up, then sees Daisy.

“What are you doing here?”

“Last time I saw, it's a free country, besides,” she replies loftily.

The sky darkens, the clouds turning from an off-white colour to take on such a deep darkness they hang over the ground and buildings, covering them in charcoal-coloured candyfloss.

Billy watches Screech and Daisy. There'll be no budging them now – their combined stubbornness would face-off Missus Furnish and the entire parish council.

Screech moves to stand up, it's a complex motion that involves unfolding lanky limbs and disentangling bits of him from his bike. Standing, Screech is taller than both Billy and Daisy – who are both roughly the same height. Daisy thinks she is taller than both of them but that is through sheer force of will. She has unhooked herself from Billy and is watching Screech, hands on hips, disapproving.

“Oh for heaven's sake, Peter,” she marches over to him and yanks the bike away in one swift motion.

Daisy always calls Peter by his proper name; she thinks the nickname Screech is just ridiculous.

“Daisy, mind the bike! I just got that fixed, did it myself with my mum's toolbox,” Peter, aka Screech, says proudly.

Peter's mum is the woodwork teacher in the vocational school. She makes furniture in her spare time. She is currently working on a coffee table that can turn into a surfboard. She likes to say things like, ‘I think outside the box'. Peter thinks she's the cleverest woman he knows. She doesn't disagree.

Daisy looks at the bike sceptically; it doesn't look particularly fixed to her.

Peter takes off his helmet, his hair is all squashed. It's a mousey brown colour and stuck to his head, a bit like Clark Kent. He cradles the helmet under his left arm and uses his right hand to grab the handlebar on his bike, and gently but determinedly pulls it away from Daisy.

“Billy, Missus Furnish said you were up to devilment, you're not are you?” Peter's mum is also a born-again Christian. She takes God and the Devil very seriously and has drummed this seriousness into Peter. Peter peers at Billy.

Little boys have a capacity to shrug that can infuriate the most easy-going adult but when they shrug at another little boy, even one who wears thick glasses, they meet their match.

“Billy, devilment is bad, answer me.”

Billy looks at Peter and says, “No, course not, just being myself.”

“That's OK then, if you can't be yourself, well then, you're nowhere,” Peter replies sagely.

Daisy has taken this whole exchange in quietly for once. She looks from one to the other.

“Well,” she bristles, “are we going to stand here all day or get a move on? Billy, the clock is ticking.” She taps her wrist even though she isn't wearing a watch.

Billy looks urgently at her and remembers the contents of his backpack. Daisy is right. He has one last stab at going it alone.

“I don't know when I'm going to get back.” He pauses. “And there is certain danger.”

This perks the pair of them up, certain danger is what it's all about. They both step closer to Billy, the pedal on Peter's bike whacks him on the shin.

Billy says quietly, “We may not all make it back…”

Daisy glances at Peter.
Now that's what I'm talking about, an adventure.

“So, Billy, where to?”

Billy's eyes widen and he looks her straight in the eye. “The Golden Gate.”

Daisy narrows her eyes. “Never heard of it, Billy, are you having a laugh?”

“Nope.” Billy reaches into his bag and pulls out the book. He flips open the inner sleeve and opens out a large page that has been folded into the pocket of the book.

Peter pushes his glasses up to the bridge of his nose and takes hold of one corner, while Billy traces out their journey. Sure enough, they see their pretty village; the cobblestone path, the river, the forest, Mad Madge's house, the quarry, and there in the far right-hand upper corner of the map, a drawing of a gate. It sparkles.

Daisy's eyes are still narrowed. “That's a funny looking map. There are no grids or anything.”

“That's because it's a very old map, with bits added on,” Billy replies.

“Doesn't sound very official, ‘with bits added on',” Daisy sniffs.

Billy looks at her and shakes his head in resignation.
Some people will just never understand
.

“Of course it's not official, it's magical. It only shows itself on the Day of the Dead.”

“Ohhhh,” Peter and Daisy reply in unison, “if it's magic then it must be true.”

“So what's at the Golden Gate then?”

“You'll see.”

They start walking. Peter is still holding on to a piece of the map and looking at it, the far pedal of his bike is repeatedly clanking against Billy's shin. Peter stalls and asks Billy, “That bit there, Billy. What does it say?”

“Certain death.” Billy nods seriously.

“You weren't joking then.”

“Nope.”

Peter glances at Daisy and mutters, “Not half.”

As they walk along, the road branches out in two directions: one tarmacked and marked with hard shoulders, soft verges; the other is laid out with cobblestones, tufts of grass and moss are scattered all over it. The cobblestone path is flanked on either side with big brambly hedges, so overgrown they link over the path here and there.

Just as the three of them are about to turn towards the cobblestones, a horn sounds – one of those novelty sounds;
parp
,
parp
,
parp
. A car rounding the bend comes to an abrupt halt and a back door is flung open.

“Get that dirty mongrel out of my car and you may as well walk home yourself. That dog is
not
coming back into our house!”

The car pulls off and the three see a sturdy, blocky young boy and a dog that looks as grumpy as hell standing on the footpath. The boy is a bit smaller than Billy (and Daisy) but looks almost twice as broad. From a distance he looks chubby but up close he is a solid little rock of muscle. He is downheartedly looking at his sneakers.

The dog meanwhile is looking at the three of them suspiciously.

Daisy tilts her head.

“Rufus, hey Rufus!” she calls.

The little boy looks at his dog and then across at Daisy. He lifts his hand slightly in salute, a winsome look on his face. He makes a scan of the road and shuffles across to them. The dog shuffles after him, stopping for a minute to pee up a tree.

“What happened? Your dad sounded really mad.”

Rufus shoves his hands into the pockets in his trousers; an ill-fitting pair of cargo pants that are streaked with muck along their left-hand side.

“It's his new car, Rex puked all over the back seat.” Rufus glances at Rex who, when he hears his name, lets out a low menacing growl.

Rex is a bit of everything but mainly a labrador cairn terrier cross. Big-ish with multi-coloured hair that spikes out over his eyes – a mix of brown, blond and bits of muck. His eyes are a dark chocolate brown with big black pupils. He leans in against Rufus and starts to cock his leg.

“Oi!” Rufus yells at him. “You can't be doing that, go on over to Screech's bike.”

Peter glares at Rufus.

“So you won't be bringing him home then?” Daisy asks.

“Dunno; it smelt disgustin.” Rufus himself is a bit whiffy. “He had his head in a bin outside the fish shop in Clonaughty
⁵
. Anyways, he doesn't like the back seat. Dad never liked him anyway, ever since he chewed his putter.”

Rex appears to be listening to this whole exchange and is finding the conversation boring. He starts mooching down the cobblestone path. Rufus flaps his arms out and down and calls after Rex in world-weary tones.

“Ahh, come on, Rex.” Rex ignores him and keeps going.

“What are ye doing out?” Rufus says, looking at the three of them.

Daisy pipes up enthusiastically, “Oh, we are on an adventure and we're not supposed to be out, and we have a map!”

“Right, your mum know about this, Billy?” asks Rufus.

Billy shakes his head.

“Proper order.” Rufus acknowledges the shake seriously. “Me and Rex will help; he's really good on a scent, look.”

Rex has stopped and is glaring down a rabbit hole, his tail prodding up into the air. When the four reach him, he glances at them quickly but does not move from his guarding position.

“Well, I suppose if we were searching for rabbits he might be good, but we're not!” Daisy exclaims.

Rufus looks at her, taking in this new piece of information.

“Erm, so what is it you are looking for exactly?”

Daisy and Peter both watch Billy wondering if he will let them know.

It appears that Billy has not been listening as he has hunkered down beside Rex and is peering into the rabbits' hole with him.

“Rex,” he says. “No rabbits in there, see? Look hard enough and you can see the end of the tunnel.”

Rex has tilted his head to one side and continues to watch the hole. Abruptly he sits back and starts scratching behind his ear with his back paw. Billy ruffles his hair and stands up.

“We are going to the Golden Gate, well I am, ye should be inside today, and anyways this is my search.”

Rufus replies, “Well I can't go home yet. If I do, Rex is homeless, can't have that, and I'd prefer to be with you lot than on my own with Rex – more fun and Rex is in a bit of a mood.” Rufus scratches his head, a lot like Rex.

Daisy and Peter ignore Billy's comment. Peter has bent down and is trying to remove the wire that has tangled up into the spokes on the front wheel. His hand slips and he gets a nasty scrape. He screeches (hence his name) and the three others jump.

“I'm alright, alright, just a small, ow!” Peter stands and cradles his injured hand. The bike starts wobbling again but Billy grabs it – at least now he can avoid that pedal.

“Tell you what, Screech, I'll hold on to the bike.”

Billy starts off. Rex watches him, then turns away from the rabbits' hole and starts strutting down the cobblestone path after him. Daisy, Peter and Rufus all follow.