Deborah Levy - Billy and Girl

Girl presses Play. The same message, four times. Dad’s voice in their front room. Speaking to them. Dad leaving a message for his kiddies.

THIS IS A MESSAGE FOR WILLIAM AND LOUISE ENGLAND.

I THINK YOU MIGHT BE INTERESTED IN A CAR I HAVE TO SELL

YOU. MY PHONE NUMBER IS 0115 676767.

WILLIAM AND LOUISE, I CALLED EARLIER WITH A CONTACT

NUMBER. I KEENLY ADVISE YOU TO TELEPHONE ME.

YES, I WOULD LIKE TO SPEAK TO BILLY AND LOUISE. MY NUMBER IS 0115 676767.

BILLY AND GIRL. THIS WON’T BE MY LAST MESSAGE.

AS I SAID, I HAVE A CAR YOU MIGHT LIKE. I HAVE REASON TO

BELIEVE YOU HAVE SOME MONEY TO BUY IT WITH.

‘Call him, Girl.’

Billy’s gone blue like he does when he’s painwalking. Trailing his mind across a landscape of soft ash. It’s warm where he is. Warm and chalky. White birds hover above, flapping their wings, making wind for the ash to rise and scatter.

Billy is naked. Rolling in the ash. A small boy. Face down, rolling over and over, blue skin covered in ash, like talcum powder, fifteen years old, perfect and tiny. Rolling the pain out of his baby fifteen-year boy body, fifteen summers and winters.

‘I can’t.’ Girl punches her blond head, eyes shut, lips shut.

‘We must.’ Billy is nearly home from his walk. The blue is leaking out of his face. He takes a breath, wants to sound weary and assured. ‘We must. I’ll tell you why.’

‘Why?’

‘Mom.’

‘He doesn’t know where she is.’

‘He might.’

‘I can’t.’

‘I will then.’

Billy stands up. Walks to the telephone. Cradles it under his chin. 0115 676767. Waits. Thinks about all the mushrooms in the world that need to be sliced. His sister can see the blue creeping back into his fingers. Painwalking again. Someone’s interrupted his stroll. Up to his waist in ash. Saying something.

‘Hello. This is William.’

Pause.

‘When?’

‘Ten o’clock?’

Pause.

‘Ten o’clock.’

Billy puts down the phone. The important thing is not to look at Girl. Look at the telephone cord instead.

Girl says, ‘What happened in the pauses, Billy?’

Billy counting every whirl in the spiral of white cord. It could be the intestine of a small animal. Something that scampers in the woods and hides in trees.

‘Dad says he saw an artist’s impression of us in the papers. Wants to reassure us it isn’t very good. Nothing like us. But he’s our daddy and dads know.’

Girl cheers up. ‘Oh, really? An artist has done a drawing? That’s fantastic, Billy! We’re famous! I wonder who decribed us to the artist? Some basket person, I reckon. Probably the one with the ginger eyes. He saw us in ginger !’

Billy wants to give the plastic cord a little saucer of milk. Anything to distract himself from the terror scraping at his throat. Terror to do with Girl.

‘Thing to do,’ he begins, pushing down the fear coming at him from somewhere forgotten, ‘is to go and see a film now.’

‘Yeah.’ Girl nods.

‘Cos we got to leave for Nottingham early tomorrow.’

‘Yeah.’ Girl nods again, freaking her brother out.

‘We got to be there by ten o’clock.’ Billy knows he’s got to leave the room. Now . He’s beginning to tremble. Not because of Dad. Because of Girl. Because of what Dad told him about Girl in the pauses.

‘Pass me my menthols, Billy. I think I’ll have a smoke and think about Dad.’

Billy needs to take a walk. There’s no way he really wants to see a film with his sister. It scares him the way she’s sitting there, drawing on her cigarette, smiling to herself. ‘Thinking about Dad.’ He puts on his coat, suprised to find his feet pressing extra soft on the carpet, moving stealthily towards the front door. Closing it in slow motion so as not to disturb Louise. Taking a breath hurts his boy mouth. He’s never called Girl Louise. So why is she suddenly Louise? Why everything? Dad called Girl Louise. Please please make it Raj’s day on.

Billy opens the door of Patel’s English and Continental Groceries with dread in his heart. What if Mr Patel is at the till today? Raj’s father treats him like a kid. No respect for his analytical skills. Last time Billy told Mr Patel he ‘was in denial’ (Mr Patel was laughing over something Billy thought was extremely sad), the old man doubled up with hysterical laughter and suggested Billy take up judo at the local sports centre. Today Billy doesn’t feel up to the Mr Patel treatment. He doesn’t want to be given a complimentary mini choc bar. The old man feels sorry for him. Jeezus. Doesn’t Patel know he’s been straightening out his son this past year?

It’s Raj all right. Billy can hear the stress in his voice. Trying to take the money for a packet of Quavers that a prominent member of Stupid Club is reading.

‘Anything else, George?’

‘But then again, Raj, I had an uncle who was a scientist and he said take no notice of the sell-by date.’

‘Yip.’

‘He said if it smells off, don’t eat it. If it smells right, who cares if it’s a month past the date?’

‘Yeah. Bye.’ Raj looks in desperation at Billy, pleading with him to do something.

Billy obliges. ‘Fuck off, Professor. Closing time.’

George’s mouth quivers. He turns to Raj. ‘Want me to punch him, son?’

‘No, George. I’ll set the dog on him. See you tomorrow.’

At last. At fucking last Stupid Club George fucks off out of the fucking shop.

‘Fancy a half, Billy?’

‘A pint , Raj.’

Raj raises his eyebrow. Never seen Billy like this before. In fact, his pal looks like he’s swimming in the insanity lane. Worst of all, he’s playing with a little mushroom. Keeps transferring it from one palm to the other, like he’s thinking something through. Raj tries to keep an open mind. Okay, so what’s the big deal about using vegetables in unpredictable ways? Why not carry a carrot in your pocket for luck? Why not hang a broccoli floret around your neck to ward off the evil eye? He takes out a packet of bacon from the fridge and throws it to the Alsatian, who catches it between his sharp crusted fangs. Dog saliva dribbling down his mangy black gums. Raj switches off the lights and locks up the shop.

‘Good boy. Don’t forget to say your pork prayers.’

‘What’s up then?’

Raj is patient. Just sits there drinking his third pint of strongest draught lager, waiting for when Billy’s ready.

Billy strokes his mushroom with the ball of his thumb and then shuts his eyes. For a long time. Three pints’ worth of time.

‘Did you know that Girl’s real name is Louise?’

‘That’s a lovely name.’ Raj smiles. ‘Suits her.’

‘What would you say, Raj, if I told you that Louise set fire to my dad?’

He’s still got his eyes shut.

‘Set fire to him?’

‘That’s what I said. Burned up his face so he had to have a new one grafted on. The skin from his chest put on his face.’

Raj is feeling dizzy. It really has been a hard day. Truth is, he feels like sobbing into a cash ’n’ carry Kleenex. What with Stupid Club George and now Billy with his fire stories, Raj can’t walk. He staggers to the bar and orders another pint and a half. Zigzags back spilling beer on the carpet.

‘Why did she do that then?’

‘Cos Dad tried to kill me.’

Raj suddenly wants to go home. To sit at the kitchen table and eat a tasty chicken curry. Drink a mug of milky tea. Watch TV with his father and little brother and ask his mum what she wants for Christmas. In fact Raj bursts into tears. Lays his head on the table and sobs, cheek pressed into a beer mat.