Billy Elliot (16 page)

Dad looked down at me and then back up. ‘Oh, yes. Oh, aye,’ he said.

And that was about it. Complete f***ing disaster. The last thing they asked was what it felt like when I was dancing. What was the point? They come from a different planet than
people like me and me dad. And anyhow, how can you say something about that – that feeling you get when you forget where you are and what you’re doing and even why you’re doing it? It just is, that’s all.

Then we went home.

T
he whole thing was dirty from beginning to end. I went with a dirty taste in my mouth and I came back with worse.

There was the money for one thing. Oh, well, it all looked great, didn’t it? Everyone rallied round, dug deep into their pockets, shown how the community can overcome its prejudices, even at a time like that. Well, that wasn’t how it was at all. I’m not saying people didn’t dig deep, but it wasn’t enough of them and not deep enough. You can’t blame folks. It wasn’t quite the fairy tale it looked like, that’s what I’m saying.

The money we raised was nowhere near enough. Nowhere near. Ten pences and five pences and fifty pences and two pences – it was a joke. We were dreaming. We were never going to get enough from people who’d been on strike for a year. So. Well. Work it out for yourself.

Tony was out at the time. It was me who answered the doorbell. I never expected it: Gary Stewart, Tony’s old mate from school. The one we’d seen in the supermarket that time. The one who asked me who was the big man now on the coach. You know – the scab.

Well, I couldn’t afford to be so proud now. I let him in, took him through into the parlour. He didn’t sit down. Stood there in the middle of the floor and said he wanted to help Billy.

Well. I didn’t know what to say.

He did it quite well, I have to say. He took an envelope out of his pocket, but he never held it out for me to take. He just put it on the table.

‘There it is,’ he said. ‘I know how desperate you must have been to try and break the strike. Anyhow, I reckon he deserves a chance.’

I just looked at the envelope. Fat thing.

‘I don’t know if I can accept it, Gary,’ I told him.

‘It’s not for you, it’s for Billy,’ he said. ‘Accept it for him.’ Then he turned and left, quick as he came in. I let him go out alone. I heard the front door open, then he paused and came back in.

‘I want you to know, Jackie, this is between me and you. I won’t be telling anyone, not a soul. Even my wife doesn’t know about this. You don’t have to tell anyone either.’

‘Why should I want to hide it?’ I asked.

He shrugged. ‘Why tell them? It’s none of their business. If I’m not going to make a deal about it, neither should you.’ I never nodded or anything. He shrugged, turned and left. I heard the door go. I went to sit down. I watched the envelope lying there. After a while I opened it and took the money out and counted it. Fifty quid. It was enough. It was plenty.

I couldn’t hide it from Tony. He knew how far off we were, he had to know where the money came from. Of course he didn’t want to accept it. I heard him out – scab money, dirty money, all the rest of it – but I knew I was going to use it no matter what he said. I’d already made the decision when I got on the coach that time. What’s more, I wasn’t going to tell anyone about it either. I’d had enough of doing my dirty washing in public. I’d been through it already. Once was
enough. Tony complained, but. In the end, he kept mum about it, too.

So you see, it wasn’t like it looked. The community rallied round, everything worked out. No way. It was our dirty little secret, more like. That’s how it felt. It was expensive stuff, that money. Billy didn’t know, of course.

And then when we got there – poor little bloke! I wouldn’t have liked to go through that. And I have to say, it didn’t go well, it didn’t go at all well. All that effort and heartache and treachery and it was shite and it made me feel like shite and it made him feel like shite too. On the way home I was thinking, Well, it’s no surprise really. All those other kids, they had every advantage you could think of. You could tell. Rich parents, good homes, first-class schools. The schools they go to probably cost more than I earn in a year. They were used to that sort of place. What chance did our Billy stand? He didn’t help himself, mind – thumping that other lad! In a way I felt proud of him for fighting back, but it wasn’t the right thing to do. Not there.

I tried to hide from Billy how bitter I felt about it. Accepting that money. Trying to break the strike. The wedding ring. You can’t say I hadn’t tried for him. And for ballet! And then, London and their big houses and their posh kids and rich schools. All we ever had in the northeast was our mines and our jobs and a hard life, and now they were even taking those from us. It’d be nice to think they were going to give us something back in return for all those years of hard work, all those lives lost, but when it came to it – no chance.

Back at the house Tony and Nan were waiting.

‘We did all right,’ I told them, but they could see how we looked, especially Billy. I’d never seen him look so miserable.

‘Never mind, Billy, perhaps you ought to get yourself a trade,’ his nan told him. ‘Something useful.’

‘Hush, Nan!’ I told her.

‘I could have been a professional dancer,’ she said proudly. She always says that when you tell her off. But what a thing to say just then!

‘How, Billy, we’ve still got a couple of quid left over. What say we get some fish and chips for our supper, eh?’

‘That’d be great, Dad,’ he said. ‘But I’m a bit tired. I think I’ll go and lie down for a while.’

‘You go on up, then,’ I told him. I looked at Tony, but he shook his head. He was too good for that money to be spent on him.

I could hear Billy crying later. Poor little bloke. I should never have encouraged him. What chance did he stand? Against that lot.

But I got thinking that evening and I decided I wasn’t going to give up on him. OK, he’d not done it this time but there was still next year, wasn’t there? If he wanted to do it as much as all that, he’d get there. I went up and told him so – I told him I was still backing him up right up to the hilt, and I was expecting my Billy to end up dancing. Anyhow, how did we know for sure he hadn’t made it? Those people on the panel weren’t there for no reason. They must know what they’re up to. If they saw even a little bit of what I saw down the Social Hall that time, or what Mrs Wilkinson saw in him, maybe they’d offer him a place despite him thumping that kid. He’d made it up afterwards, they’d shook hands, he said sorry proper, like. That’s what I kept telling myself anyhow, and that’s what I told him.

And right at the end of the audition, Billy had said this thing. We were almost on our way out when one of them asked him what it felt like when he danced and Billy ... well, he’s like me, not so good with words, but even so. I really think what he said had an effect.

He said, ‘Dunno’ – which was what he’d said to every other bloody question they’d asked him. But then he had a little think and he said something about it feeling like flying. ‘It starts off sort of stiff,’ he said, ‘but once I get going I forget what’s going on and I sort of disappear. Like there’s fire in me whole body. Like a bird. Like electricity,’ he said. ‘Yeah. Like electricity.’

I saw the people on the panel glance at one another and I felt a little tingle go down my spine then, because I knew he’d impressed them. Well. He’d impressed me, anyhow.

Maybe they weren’t as bad as they looked. Afterwards Billy just wanted to slag them off, but I wasn’t having that. I mean, if he did get in, he’d have to mix with them and live with them, it was no good just painting them as black right from the start. When we left, one of them wished me luck with the strike, so he must have been on our side.

‘Good luck with the strike, Mr Elliot. I hope you bloody win.’ So, see? Even in a place like that there’s people supporting us.

It was ages before we got an answer back. I’d just about talked Billy into thinking there maybe was a chance after all, and then I’d started thinking I was doing the wrong thing because he obviously had no chance – you know? I didn’t know whether to prepare him for failure or give him hope.

One week went by. Then another. And then the letter came.

His nan got hold of it first. She’s only got about half her wits, but she had them all lined up and ready for use that morning.

‘Post!’ she yelled, and she came rushing in with this beautiful-looking letter. Thick, creamy envelope. She handed it over. I knew as soon as I felt the paper.

‘This is it,’ I said.

‘Open it now,’ said Tony.

‘Don’t be stupid. It’s Billy’s letter.’

‘Aye, and who bloody worked their fingers off selling raffle tickets and all that?’

‘Selling raffle tickets, you’ve forgotten what work is,’ I told him, and he grinned at me. Billy was at school and I was dying to have a look myself, but we’d just have to wait. I put the letter propped on the table in between the toast rack and the sugar bowl.

And there it stayed. All bloody day, staring at us. Of course none of us could leave it alone. I kept picking it up. Nan picked it up, Tony did. Next door came round and had a feel to see how thick the paper was. Mrs Johnson on the other side. Susan from up the road. George popped round to have a look. It was getting a bit grubby by then, so his nan decided to keep it clean by hiding it in her pinny and I nearly went mad when I found it was gone. Of course she’d forgotten what she’d done with it and it was half an hour before she found it in there. It was in a right mess by that time. She used to keep biscuits and bits of bread and butter and stuff in that pocket.

‘Just bloody leave it alone! It looks like it’s been used to butter the toast,’ I told her.

When Billy came back from school at four, we were all
three waiting for him. I’d booted the neighbours out. This was a family thing. When – I mean if – he hadn’t made it this year, he wasn’t going to want half the road hanging over him and patting his shoulder telling him not to worry and that.

The door went. As soon as we heard it we were all like kids, rushing around finding somewhere to sit so we were all in our places looking cool when he came in. The door opened. There he was. I looked up at him. I looked down at the letter. I looked back at him. He was still staring at it.

He walked over and picked it up. No one said a word. It was awful. He walked around the table. I could see Tony nodding at him: Go on, open it then. Billy licked his lips. He walked round the table to his nan’s room. He pushed the sliding door open and gave us a quick glance, sort of saying sorry. I don’t blame him, but I could have killed him. He went inside and closed the door.

And then nothing. Nothing. On and on, nothing. We could hear the paper being opened. We could hear the letter coming out. There was a long pause while he read it. He knew whether or not he’d got in. We didn’t.

Nothing. More nothing.

‘F*** this,’ muttered Tony. He jumped and went to the door, and I only just managed to push in front of him. Billy was sitting in the chair by her bed. He looked up. He was crying. I thought, Oh, Billy.

‘Well?’

‘I got in,’ he said in a tiny little voice.

‘
YEEEEEEEEEEEEESSS
!’ You could have heard the roar from me and Tony halfway up the street. I snatched the letter off him and read it.
YEEEEEEEEES
! We
jumped and shouted. F***ing hell! He got in! He f***ing got in!

‘He is! He is!’ I kept shouting.

‘Is what?’ yelled Tony.

‘F***ing brilliant!’

The neighbours came running round. Nan was running about kissing evedryone. Tony put Billy on the table and told him to dance and he bloody did it this time. I gave him a big wet kiss right on the smacker and I went running up the road. I had to tell the lads. He’d done it. Jesus! I couldn’t believe it. I had the letter in my hand.

‘We are delighted to inform you ...’

I ran up the road as fast as I ever ran anywhere, up the hill into the Social. All the time I was thinking, Our Billy, he’s better than any of them posh twats, he got it! I banged the door open to the bar and ...

‘HE’S IN! HE F***ING DID IT!’

Silence.

‘Haven’t you heard, Jackie, man? We’re going back.’

‘What?’

‘It’s over. The union’s caved in.’

‘We lost. Back to work on Monday.’

So that was it. It wasn’t such a big celebration after all. The end of the strike overshadowed everything. We lost. I remember thinking, Well, at least I’ll be able to pay for the ballet school now.

It’s a long time ago now. We lost. Thatcher won. I expect that got her a few more votes at the next election, and the one after that, too. And by the time the Labour Party got back in, they were all Thatcherites too, so it’s just never
stopped since, really, has it? The mines all closed, one after the other, just like the union said they would, just like Thatcher swore they wouldn’t. Here in Everington we were lucky, our mine lasted longer than most, but it’s gone now, too. The place is like a ghost town.

It was straight back down. Into the cage and down into the pits where the coal was waiting for us, like it always had. And it’s still down there, but what’s left will stay there now. It’s too deep and the veins are too thin. The shafts are all flooded anyhow. That’s it for mining in this country. At the time I remember thinking, Well, we lost our future, didn’t we? Oh, I know the town will go on, but it won’t be the same, not without the mine. It was there long enough for me – I was glad to stop working when the time came – but Tony’s been out of work for three years now. We lost that future – but we won another future – for Billy. And that’s something, isn’t it?