Billy Best’s Mighty Metal by Sandra Arnold

Billy Bootle had loved music for as long as he could remember. He loved to sing along with tunes on the radio. He loved to sing with Grandma Bootle while she was baking, and whistle with Grandpa Bootle while he chopped wood. At school, Billy was the only child in his class who loved recorder lessons. Because of this, the other boys hated him. They hated him because he loved singing. They hated him because he loved books. They hated him because of his name, which they changed to Bootiful Bootle and scrawled in chalk on the playground walls with a drawing of a cross-eyed, buck-toothed, knock-kneed boy. Their hatred increased after the teacher, Miss Snafferty, asked the class what they wanted to be when they grew up. Billy told her he was going to be a singer. He was going to be a Rock Star. He was going to be famous.

The teacher snorted and said, ‘A rock singer? I doubt that very much, but if that’s how you end up and I see you walking along the pavement a few years from now I’ll cross over to the other side.’

The rest of the class laughed so hard they fell off their chairs.

All except Verity, the girl who sat next to Billy. When she saw his face redden and tears gather in his eyes, she held his hand under the desk. The teacher noticed this and asked Verity what she wanted to be when she grew up. Verity said, ‘I’m going to be a writer.’ The teacher laughed and said, ‘You and whose army?’ Which made no sense at all to Verity.

The teacher’s comments had the effect of making Billy even more determined to pursue his dream. He taught himself to read music and banged out tunes on Grandma Bootle’s piano until one day he couldn’t open the lid and Grandma Bootle said she’d lost the key. Grandpa Bootle said he’d accidentally broken the recorder. So Billy found some rusty old knives and forks and spoons in the garden shed and made music with those. When Verity came around he played his compositions for her and asked her opinion. She told him to call his band Mighty Metal, adopt a stage name of Billy Best and then play at the school concert. She said she would design a poster for the stage.

At the concert the audience tapped their feet in time to Billy’s Mighty Metal music. The school hall echoed with their clapping when he took a bow and they shouted ‘Encore!’ Before they left the hall some people told Billy that using knives and forks and spoons to make music was certainly innovative and he had a grand career in front of him. Miss Snafferty heard this and scowled. When the hall was empty she strode up to Billy and told him it was the most appalling rubbish she’d ever heard in her life. She snatched the metal utensils from him and threw them in the bin.  At the sound of metal against metal, Verity looked up from stacking chairs and saw tears gushing down Billy’s face, which a few minutes ago had held the widest smile she’d ever seen on him.

She ran to where he was standing and put her arm around his shoulders.

She glared at Snotface Snafferty.

Who pretended not to notice.

Who turned to stride away at the exact moment Verity thought about sticking her foot out.

Snotface gasped and fell, landing hard on her head.

Verity and Billy stood hand in hand, watching a dark red pool spread across the wooden floor.

Verity ran into the office and rang for an ambulance.

Verity talked to the Police.

Verity told the Police that she and Billy were busy stacking chairs in the hall when they heard their teacher crash to the ground. ‘Such a shame,’ Verity said. ‘Poor Miss Snafferty. She musta lost her balance. Her age I s’pose. Such a great teacher. Everyone loved her.’

Later, back at Billy’s shed, he said, ‘Your mum named you well, eh?’ His grin curled around his ears.  

Verity lost touch with Billy when they went to separate secondary schools. After she graduated from university with a degree in Business and Marketing she left the country for the USA to work in advertising. After seven years of a lucrative but soul-destroying job, she resigned and returned to her own country to think about what she wanted to do next.

Back in the town where she’d grown up, Verity hopped off the bus at the local station. On the wall in front of her there was a giant poster of a handsome man in black leather singing into a microphone. A group with guitars, keyboard and saxophone stood behind him. Verity absorbed all this before she saw the name of the band. Before she saw the name of the singer.

That night she wrote about Miss Snafferty’s humiliation of Billy, because, as Verity now understood it, he’d deviated from the teacher’s proscribed norm. She changed the names of the characters, the setting, and the ending, until she was certain nothing was identifiable. When she finished writing, Verity realised that many more stories were forming in her head. She decided this one would be the first in a book of short stories about bullying she’d encountered over the years. She entered the story in a competition. To her surprise, it won. Her photo was in the local paper next to her story. A reporter interviewed her and asked if the story was based on fact. ‘Oh, no,’ Verity said. ‘Total  fiction.’

A few days later her phone rang.

Even before she answered it she knew who would be on the other end.

Even before he spoke she knew what he would say.

‘Hi Verity. Saw your photo in the paper. I read your story. Loved it! But you got one detail wrong. You weren’t the one who tripped her.’

Sandra Arnold

Image: Pixabay.com – Classroom of wooden desks.