Chapter One

Kevin's brilliant, the best mate anyone could ever have. And I’m lucky because he thinks I’m his best mate too. We both live in a city, close to each other, me in a flat on a large estate that some people won’t go near, though that’s silly. I wouldn’t harm anybody and Kevin, who lives a mile or so away in a house, always helps people in trouble. In fact, that’s how I met him, over two years ago.

Mum and Dad had split. My Dad never has much luck, he’d lost his job in a small factory making car parts, well, everyone lost their job and the whole factory closed down and the site sold off. It took Dad a long time to get over it. He’d worked there since I was a baby, “settling down at last”, he’d tell Mum. Dad had been sent to prison you see and this really seemed like his last shot at going straight and looking after me.

Dad worked hard, his boss knew of his crime, but took a gamble and employed him, first in assembly, then stores and finally in despatch.

Mum wanted another child, but miscarried. The flat became dark. Dad hardly spoke, not even to me after his team won. Mum got depressed, then very angry. She started to blame Dad for everything: for the pokey flat, for the noise, for the bad neighbours - even me mixing with the local kids. But they were alright, well, most of them were and I wouldn’t do any wrong not with Dad doing bad things.

Mum suddenly left. Dad sat me down, cried a little and told me we both had to make the best of what we had. Dad’s a great cook, he learnt that inside and makes the best meals anywhere. Anyway we got by. Dad found another job, not as well paid, and I got a small job delivering newspapers on my bike, and that’s when Kevin helped me. I mean, really helped me.

Eddie’s paper shop had me up early everyday, ‘cept Sunday when I could start deliveries at 7.30 a.m., otherwise it was six! I didn’t like the winter mornings and though I’d just started in the new year, winter seemed more gloomy than I’d seen in all my thirteen years.

I’d gotten used to my round. Around the crescents, up and back the cul de sacs, around the low rise blocks, up the towers, the lifts seldom worked and I’d have to hump my bike as well, or it’d get nicked, and the smell: phew! Awful. And all with fancy imagine you’re somewhere else names - my block was called Primrose Gardens. Don’t know why: all concrete and no flowers.

Mrs. Gilpin took the Daily Express and the Mirror, and once a week the local paper, the Herald. I’d gotten used to her pleasant and cheerful “Hello!” I always got there just after eight, then cycled home. Rushed in, grabbed some sandwiches Dad had prepared, picked up my school work then set off for the day.

I was early that morning, not sure why. Maybe I started a bit earlier, or maybe I was getting stronger - I’d been doing the round for a year now. The first year I’d looked forward to extra Christmas presents from the money I’d earned myself, but the money had to be used to help pay Dad’s bills.

Mrs. Gilpin’s door was open, not wide, just enough to make me feel uneasy inside. “If the door was open”, I told myself, she’d be there, wanting to know how I was, sometimes even asking, “have you seen your Mother?” To which I always replied the same, “No”.

But the door was never open without her being there, especially not in winter, so I approached slowly, digging deep into my near empty canvas bag for her newspapers. Just as I was about to drop the papers through the gap onto the carpeted floor, a large, well dressed man came out and pushed me against the wall right hard pinning my by the shoulders. I was scared.

“Who are you - what did you see?”, he asked in a quiet, menacing tone.

I felt his thumb pressing on my collar bone, his strong fingers gripping my throat. I was ready to cry out in pain, but was too frightened to shout for help. Anyway, I don’t think I had enough air in my lungs to say anything so heavily was he pressed against me. Mrs. Gilpin’s flat was slightly away from the others and next door had been boarded up when the previous tenants had left, so I doubted if anyone would even hear my pathetic efforts.

“I’ve seen nothing mister”, I choked, “leave me alone”.
“What’s your name kid? Where do you live?”, he asked, with each word squeezing me harder.

Just then, a large bloke, in a bright track suit, came running around the corner and seeing my plight shouted, “Oi, you, get off that kid!”

Seeing him, the man loosened his grip and quickly walked away, disappearing into the entrance to the underground car park.

“You alright?”, the tall guy asked as he jogged over to where I was leaning against the wall.
“Yeah. Just about”.
“Who was that man?”
“Don’t know, never seen him around here”.
I was still trying to get my breath when I remembered Mrs. Gilpin. “The old lady”, I said to my rescuer, “let's see how she is shall we?”

“Mrs. Gilpin”, I called out cautiously, unsure what we’d see, “it’s me, Billy. Are you o.k?” No answer. “Are you there?” We both waited for an answer, not daring to go in any further without her reply, standing like timid and frightened fools.

“Look”, said my new companion, “I’m going to get the police”.
“No, wait”, I said.
“Mrs. Gilpin”, I said, a little louder this time, “it’s me, Billy, you know, the paper boy. Are you alright?”
A minute passed by with no answer, I was getting impatient then I heard her voice. “Yes, come on in son”.

Mrs. Gilpin, seated on a couch, looked a little flushed, and shocked, but smart in her dressing gown. The room, though, was in a right mess. Papers strewn everyplace, drawers pulled out, chairs over turned like a whirlwind had torn the room apart.

“What’s your name son?”, she asked pointing to the stranger, and my helper.
“I’m Kevin, Kevin Knight. I’ve just helped ... er ..., Billy, when that man had him pinned against your wall outside”.
“Thanks Kevin”, I said, “I’m Billy Daye. I live over …”
“Yeah”, said Kevin, “at Primrose Gardens. I see you most days doing your paper round as I jog before going to school. As my year’s cross country champ I train every day”.

“Could you make me a cup of tea please?”, Mrs. Gilpin asked.
“Shall I call the police for you?”, I said.
“No, don’t bother son. But tea would be nice though”, she repeated more firmly than before.
“Mrs. Gilpin”, Kevin asked, “who was that man?”
“If you don’t ask questions I can’t tell you any lies can I?”, she replied in a voice that made us understand she wouldn’t be pressed on this. Kevin and I took the hint and thought it better not to probe, instead we made the tea and had a cup ourselves. Then we helped put right a few of the heavier pieces of upturned furniture and went on our way.

We were both late for school that morning, and Eddie gave me a warning. “I was so worried I was, that I nearly phoned the police”, he tried to convince me, but he was all fluster and bluster. My teacher asked Dad to write him a letter to prove my story, otherwise I thought nothing more of the incident.

I saw Kevin again that night, in fact I invited him around to my place to show Dad who’d saved me from a fate worse than death. Dad took an instant shine to Kevin and they talked no-stop for over an hour on football and tittle tattle about our neighbourhood. The following day Kevin invited me back to his place.

I met him outside St. Mary’s, his Catholic school. I went to the local school which was about five minutes cycle ride from where I lived, but I had to cycle a good fifteen minutes to St. Mary’s.

Kevin shouted my name, “Billy, over here!”, where he was surrounded by a group of other mates, maybe ten or so, all chatting away.

“Here, this is my friend Billy, and these, Billy”, he said, looking at me, “are my school mates”. He introduced them one by one to me, and I thought I’d never remember them all, though I tried. After a few minutes we were both cycling to his place, a nice three storied house not far from where I lived, but so different and with so much space! There was a shortish garden to the front and a long skinny one to the back, both of which Kevin’s Mum tended. Mr. Knight wasn’t due back till six so Kevin and I went to his room, talked and listened to music.

Mr. Knight, when I was introduced, was even bigger than Kevin and had the same welcoming and open manner.

“So you’re the victim of a near murder”, he boomed in a serious voice that made me quake in fear, before unexpectedly roaring with laughter. “Are you sure you didn’t save my madcap son from causing mayhem by throttling our mysterious man!” We all fell about laughing. Me most of all, because the trouble Dad got in to as a young man always prevented him from joking about bad things.

Mrs. Knight worked in a newspaper office and wouldn’t be back till very late. Kevin had three older sisters, two of them at university and one working in a hospital in Scotland. Mr. Knight worked for a large transport company managing their fleet of vehicles which travelled all over Britain and Europe. I suspect you’ve seen them with their distinctive blue and silver cabs.

Mr. Knight was from Barbados and there were dozens of photographs all around the house and lots with Kevin in too: by the beach with an incredibly blue sea and clear sky almost pearl in its rich brightness.

“When I came to England ....”
“Here he goes again”, laughed Kevin.
“Be quiet young man. I had nothing. A lowly job on the railways, but I worked hard, got married, and now”, he paused and reflected, “look at me!”
“OK Dad!”, Kevin laughed.
“What a country. If you work hard and have the right attitude you’ll do alright. Believe me”, he said. “And you”, he began, looking right into me, “have the right attitude. I can tell!” Then, turning to his son, declared, “and you too young man have the right attitude because you’ve got Billy as your friend”.

I left Kevin’s place that night feeling ten feet tall.

Story One: The Billy Can Bomb

The Billy Day and Kevin Knight Trilogy charts the life of two teenagers across five turbulent years. In the voice of Billy, their adventures and quests are revealed through The Billy Can Bomb, The Monesse Mystery and When the String Breaks.

Billy Day is an emotionally intelligent teenager, albeit one with self-doubt and a troubled history, living on a run down estate with his lone parent father; ex-army, ex-prisoner. Close to his father he’s familiar with the realities of life. Kevin’s background is affluent, high achieving middle class, Caribbean. How these two different characters develop in the adventures they share is the theme of the trilogy.