Bill Rules (7 page)

For a whole month, life was as peacefully uneventful for Bill as a fishing trip at a swimming pool. During the school week, he played cricket every lunchtime. He'd walk home with Mat after school, eat afternoon tea at the Grubs' place, and just muck around.

‘Mucking around' might mean climbing into the two trees on each side of the boundary fence and communicating with Mat on the tin-can walkie-talkies. If it was hot, it meant having an outdoor soak in the Grubs' bath. It might mean helping Donald out with some furniture making, or having a yarn with old
Mr Riley who had forgiven Bill for not sticking to his guns.

Bill was happy. His mum, Pam, was excited about how well her folk art wall plaques were selling at the craft markets; she had now extended her range of homeware to include painted wooden compost buckets for the kitchen. Donald was making them for her. Mat was even taking a rest from her grand schemes and plans.

Later, when Bill had time to think about it, he realised that expecting life to stay peaceful was childish and unrealistic. That term at school, they were learning about European history from medieval times up to the colonising of Australia. Bill had begun to see the history of the world as a whole string of wars and troubles with little peaceful moments in between. Maybe that was what peace meant – a lull between dramas. It kind of made you want to make the most of good times to build up your strength. Like it or not, you'd have to eventually face some sort of challenge.

If anything was going to disturb Bill's tranquillity,
he expected it to come from Isabelle Farquay-Jones. He and Mat might have given up on the idea of joining the Girl Guides, but Isabelle would be seeking revenge for her public telling-off. Just as the sun rises and sets each day, Bill just believed that it would be natural for Isabelle to plot something nasty. Therefore, it was a shock that the something nasty that was to rock his little world did not come from Isabelle Farquay-Jones, but came in the form of a letter.

At first, Bill felt guilty that he would ever consider the contents of the badly spelt letter that lay on his mum's kitchen table as nasty. It was disloyal of him. He should have been feeling over the moon. Well, he did have moments where he felt a great terror had lifted. But it was a roller-coaster where he'd swing from grateful relief to a new kind of terror. He felt better when he realised that Pam, too, felt less than happy – ‘uneasy' was the way she put it. Bill's dad had been given parole for good behaviour. He would be home in a week. He was getting out of jail and, if he behaved himself, he would stay out of jail. Pam and Bill both knew that the key problem was
could
Troy O'Connell behave himself?

‘Not for more than a few days,' said Pam to Tessa and Donald Grub as she wept into her coffee mug. ‘It's a pattern. Troy sweeps me off my feet. Fills the house with flowers. Brings me a cup of tea in bed in the morning. Kicks a footy with Bill in the garden. Then he just runs out of puff. Everything stops. He sits around all day watching TV; he drinks, smokes, won't find a job, feels sorry for himself, talks about his tough childhood. Next thing, one of his thug buddies turns up. There are top secret talks. Troy becomes all motivated and chirpy. He refuses to listen to my concerns – calls me a ‘wet blanket' and worse – and I just know it's a matter of time before Troy is involved in crime.'

Bill wasn't supposed to hear this. He and Matty were hovering near the doorway that led into the Grubs' family room. Tessa had her arm round Pam's shaking shoulders. Nan was tut-tutting while she re-filled people's tea and coffee cups; and Donald was leaning forward, his hand resting on Pam's knee.

‘Don't let him back, Pam,' said Donald. ‘Get tough.'

Pam sobbed. ‘He's Bill's dad. He's family. Bill
would never forgive me for abandoning Troy. It's like Troy's the child, and we look after him. Bill gets worried sick about the dangers Troy faces in jail. And I do, too.' Pam paused to blow her nose on a tissue. ‘But at the same time, I'm scared that Bill will be influenced by Troy. He's a special kid, but how much can a kid take before he's damaged, too?'

‘Your Bill is strong, Pam. In this valley, that boy has won a lot of hearts,' said Tessa.

‘Yeah, Tessa's right. Take a good look at him now,' said Donald, ‘gutsy, smart, sensible and honest.'

‘You've loved and guided that boy with every bit of energy you have,' said Nan patting Pam's hand. ‘A person can't do better than that.'

‘Have you heard that old saying?' asked Donald.
‘Give me a boy until he is seven and I will show you the man.'

‘Yes,' said Pam dabbing at her eyes with a tissue.

‘Well, just keep believing in Bill,' said Tessa. ‘He's safe.'

At this point in the grown-ups' conversation, Bill and Mat tip-toed out of the house.

They ran down one side to the backyard and, still
in their shirts and shorts, stepped into the sun-warmed bath. After a while, Bill asked, ‘What did Donald mean about giving him a boy until he's seven years old?'

‘Maybe Dad wants to look after you,' said Mat.

‘But I'm way past seven.'

‘Well it might be some superstition about numbers and seven is the best.'

‘Got it!' said Bill pounding the bath water so that it splashed Mat in the face.

‘Got what?' she asked, wiping her eyes.

‘The first seven years of your life are what make you. That's what Donald means.'

‘You mean, you can never change after that?'

‘I dunno, Matty.'

‘Do you reckon it's true – the bit about being sort of completed?'

‘It mostly makes sense.'

‘But doesn't it scare you a bit?' asked Mat.

‘In a way, I hope it's true.'

‘How come, Bill?'

‘Well, it would mean I can stop being worried that I might turn out like my dad. You see, I'm not like him now and I'm over eleven.'

‘That's what Dad was trying to explain to your mum, I bet.'

And when Bill thought about what Donald and Tessa had been saying to Pam, he felt good. If he were going to be a liar and a loser, it would have shown by now. Tessa had said the whole valley liked and respected him. Tessa and Donald had called Bill a massive long list of kind things.

‘What do you reckon Isabelle's chances are?' asked Mat suddenly.

‘Of what?' asked Bill.

‘Of turning out okay.'

‘I bet Isabelle was throwing a tantrum the moment she was born!' laughed Bill. ‘But seriously, I don't reckon she could change even if she wanted to.'

‘Mr Riley did,' said Mat. ‘And he's ancient.'

‘You're right,' said Bill. ‘Maybe it was after he said “sorry” to Mrs Flint that he started getting nicer.'

‘He's even kept his promise and given up shooting the car tyres of Mrs Flint's visitors!' giggled Mat.

In bed later that night, Bill could think of nothing but his dad. Could his dad change? Could he grow up and learn from his mistakes? Bill remembered that
first night camping with Mat. He'd lain awake making up a story about his dad coming out of jail. Part one was about to come true. It was incredible. Part two was about his dad being strong enough to keep away from trouble. Was it possible? Bill shared his mum's concern. He wasn't very confident that anyone could show his dad how to be strong. As he drifted to sleep, he was wondering if you can help a wish come true. Bill didn't think the Old Bloke Upstairs could handle Troy O'Connell on his own.

Bill and his mum were sitting at the railway station in Pam's little, dented, blue car. The twenty-minute drive there had been in complete silence. Both Bill and Pam needed to be calm because both suspected that life would be anything but peaceful from the moment Troy O'Connell re-entered their lives. Like a space shuttle crashing back to earth was the way Bill thought of it – sudden, noisy, fast and maybe dangerous. Troy had flown from Adelaide (where he'd been in jail) to Melbourne. His dad would be arriving in ten minutes by train from down in the city.

There was a loud hoot. Next the train was coming round a bend. Pam squeezed Bill's hand. They got out of the car and walked across the road to stand near the turnstile.

It was six o'clock on a Monday evening in late November. Hoards of tired commuters poured off the train and out of the station which was at the end of the line. Bill and Pam searched amongst the faces. And then they saw him.

A man of medium height and solid build, short gingery-blond hair (his dad had always called it ‘strawberry' not ginger), and that baby face they knew so well – big, innocent grey eyes and a wide, cheeky grin – strutted along the platform, holding a huge bunch of red roses in one hand and swinging a small travel bag from the other.

Bill wondered if that canvas bag held all his dad's worldly possessions. Troy was immaculately neat. The trousers, shirt and jacket he wore were clean and pressed. His black leather shoes shone. Bill felt almost embarrassed for his dad. His clothes looked so
formal and almost out-of-date. Were they the clothes he had had when he went ‘inside'? Or had they been given to his dad by some sort of charity who helped ex-prisoners get ready for life ‘outside'?

Bill had no time to pursue these questions. His dad was there through the turnstile. He dropped his bag to the ground and pushed his bunch of flowers into Pam's hands. Then he was passionately kissing her and lifting her off the ground like they do in films. After a few seconds, he turned on Bill and exclaimed, ‘Can't lift
you
up anymore!'. He gave Bill a huge hug.

Bill could smell his dad's aftershave. He didn't know a lot about aftershave, but he thought his dad's was awful; it stank like tropical flowers brewed in alcohol. And then Bill wondered if that's what cheap aftershave might be like. His dad wouldn't be able to afford to buy the expensive brands yet. Next, Bill's dad was holding him away at arm's length. ‘Lucky for you, matey, you look like your beautiful mother,' and Troy kissed Bill on the cheek. ‘I love you both so much.' The tightness in Bill's heart and stomach loosened; the determination to not let his dad hurt him again, to keep his dad at a distance, just melted away. A sob
rose from deep, deep down. Bill was terrified that he might even cry. ‘Missed you', was all he managed to say, and then he did cry. The tears fell. His dad held him close and said, ‘I'm so, so sorry.'

Back at their house that night, the little family of three started getting to know each other again. Pam had cooked a tender lamb casserole and she had made a fresh fruit salad with lots of strawberries – both Troy's favourites. Nobody wanted to spoil the night by talking about uncomfortable topics. This meant that Troy's immediate past was mostly out of bounds. The future was out of bounds, too. Bill and Pam could not bear to listen to Troy's predictable pie-in-the-sky ambitions and his empty, easy promises. They steered him away from that sort of talk. So they spoke about the right now – the valley, why Pam had chosen to rent there, the local school and the Grub family next door.

‘I can't wait to meet them,' said Troy, smiling.

‘You will. We're invited there for a meal tomorrow night,' said Pam.

At about ten o'clock, they all went to bed – his mum and dad to the main bedroom, Bill to his small
room. He lay there wondering what a husband and wife would do after such a long separation. Would they go straight to sleep? Would they cuddle and that sort of thing? Bill turned on his side, wrapping his pillow around his ears.

At school the next day, Bill was sitting with his three cricket mates eating lunch when he decided that he should let them know about his dad. After all, they would start to see Troy around the area – at the shops, maybe waiting for Bill after school. If they didn't know who Troy was, they might think his mum had a new boyfriend. He didn't like them thinking that. Anyway, honesty was the best policy. Tell it like it was and let them deal with it.

‘My dad's back now,' said Bill, matter-of-factly.

Shane Storey paused between munches of his sandwich, ‘Your dad who was in jail?'

‘Yeah.'

‘You glad?'

‘Yeah, I am.'

‘What's he going to do for a job?' asked Johnny Chan.

‘We haven't talked about that yet,' said Bill.

‘We'd better get across to the oval and bags a good spot for our game,' said Andrew Cann suddenly.

‘Race you all there!' said Shane.

This was all the explaining about his dad that Bill had to do.

Dinner that night at the Grubs' place had the usual chaotic atmosphere. Troy had overdressed for the occasion, but the Grubs did not seem to notice. They gave him a warm welcome. There was so much noise and calling out to each other that Troy relaxed quickly. They ate dinner around the table in the dining room. There was constant passing of dishes, two or three conversations going on at the same time, and Uncle Len – the dog – pestering everyone for scraps.

As the O'Connell family climbed through the swinging loose fence palings to get home, Troy said, ‘They're even nicer than how you described them in your letters.'

‘They're like family,' said Pam.

‘And your Matty is one heck of a character, Bill,' added Troy.

Bill didn't answer at first. Matty was too important to agree to such a comment. Yes, Mat was a
character – full of the sort of ideas that make your hair stand on end. But she was so much more than just ‘a character'. There had been no friend like her in his life.

‘Want to kick a footy on the school oval tomorrow after home time, Dad?' asked Bill. He was distracting his dad from speaking too lightly about Mat. But he also couldn't wait to do a normal father and son thing.

‘You're on,' said Troy.

Later that night, when Bill had just got into bed, his dad put his head round the corner. ‘You sure you want me to come to school? Your mates might ask questions.'

‘I'm sure.'

‘But why school? We could just kick a ball on that dead, quiet road out the front.'

‘'Cos I want the kids to see I have a dad. And you're cool with a football. And...' Bill paused.

‘And what, son?'

‘And I don't want any more pretending. Not me pretending and not you pretending.'

‘Got you,' said Troy.