Billy by Steve Penticost

Billy picked up his shiny red bucket and spade that his parents had bought on their last holiday and started to fill with sand. His father, on Sunday duty, sat on the nearby bench, Sunday Express folded carefully as he read the paper back to front, always the sports pages first. The scent of his Woodbine clamped in the side of his mouth its Virginia blue smoke hanging in the limp morning air.

Billy sat patiently, taking care to fill the bucket to the top and not get his clothes too dirty, especially his favourite jumper, a multicoloured confection run up by his mum. It should have been all red but the wool ran out and other odds and ends of orange and yellow were drafted in, `waste not want not’ she said whilst Dad laughed and said he looked like a zoom lolly. Billy didn’t care he loved the bright colours and the big shiny blue button at the top.

Folding the paper, his father stood up and said it was time to go.  Mum was making lunch and it was always ready for 1.00pm. He walked over, held out his arm  and small soft sand speckled fingers slid into the brick roughed hand of his father.

A short walk across the park and then the secret shortcut through the twitten to the row of new council houses on the green. Pass the first two where a small girl with a shock of blond curls waved and shouted his name.

`Its that your girlfriend son’ he teased.

Billy blushed and muttered it was just Carol, she was in his class at primary school, but he stole a secret look back and caught her smile.

`Well you need to make sure you get a good one’ his father chortled, enjoying inflicting dad jokes on a 6-year-old.

` Take your time, it’s worth the effort, you could get a lovely girl like your Mum’

They turned onto the front path on the fourth house, passed his dad’s old Ford Prefect and through the back door into the rich savoury steam fug of the tiny kitchen

`Perfect timing’ said his mum, her flowered apron protecting her Sunday dress from the grease and water, ` its your favourite, Billy, Roast chicken with stuffing’ its warm herb scent filling the room.

William felt a prod in his ribs

` wake up love, you’ve nodded off again, you’re getting more like your old dad every day, god rest his soul’

William looked at his wife and straightened up in his seat and pushed the paper to one side.

`Anything to eat Love, I’m a bit peckish’ he said

`There is a bit of cold roast chicken in the fridge, make yourself a sandwich, I need to go to the hairdressers and then pick up my dress from the dry cleaners. Don’t forget the car is coming at 6.00 to take us to the hotel, make sure you’re ready’

William stared at his wife of 50 years; her golden hair now grey but her smile just as warm. He reached out and gently took her hand, lined but still soft, and now nestling in his calloused builders’ hand.

` Now remember your best shirt is hanging up in the wardrobe with your suit, and please don’t wear that hideous multicoloured tie’ she said knowing that he would. His dress sense a constant source of amusement amongst his children.

He stared at her face, the face of the woman he loved. The perfect choice. Definitely a good one.

` Still happy even after 50 years, no regrets? ’ he said, still holding her hand and giving it a little squeeze.

`Of course not you silly old fool, I married you didn’t I, although my mother always thought I could have done better’ she teased.

With that Carol gently eased her hand away, picked up her handbag from the table and walked to the front door, pausing as she left to look back and watched Billy smile and give a little wave.