For this reason she had been back to see the women in the group and explained everything because she felt she owed them that. The humility and understanding they showed her in return for honesty simply overwhelmed her, as did the wider picture, the enormity of the situation so many women found themselves in. The incidences of domestic violence and rape were on the increase, juxtaposed to the rates of reported incidents and the help available to all victims of violence, resources were under great pressure which was a cause for concern.
Billie had no intention or desire to fight crime as she had done before, but she did have a smouldering need to make a difference, to tackle injustices in the law and society, to fight for change and the resources that were so lacking. But how?
It was Carol who gave her the notion that studying law might be a start. It would be a long road but along the way Billie could still volunteer and gain experience. And now Billie could think of nothing else. In the space of a week, she had set the wheels in motion and if all went well at her interview, and she was offered a place at Manchester University, she would accept the offer of a part-time job from Aiden. Sue and her mum would share childcare and Stan could make his own bloody tea.
Billie had studied Stan’s face throughout her well-rehearsed explanation and now, she was eager to hear what he thought. ‘So, go on, what do you think? And don’t dick about. Be sensible and honest, I mean it.’
Stan cowered dramatically then pulled her close and landed a kiss on her forehead. ‘I think it’s a brilliant idea and I’m with you all the way. I’ve never seen you fired up like this and I can tell how much you want to do it. I’m proud of you, babe, and that’s even before you’ve put pen to paper because I know you’ll smash uni. I’m a bit worried about you working for Aiden. You won’t be doing anything dangerous, will you?’
Billie shook her head. ‘No, not at all, I already made that clear. No way do I want to be in a situation that’s remotely life-threatening or scary. I’ve had enough of that to last a lifetime. It’s more research or sitting in a car taking photographs of cheating husbands, or wives. Nosy parker stuff like that. I’ll flippin’ love it.’
They were both laughing now but then, Billie took a serious tone. ‘I really do want to make a difference though, Stan, for women like Adele and Lynda, and all the faceless women who haven’t got a voice and are too scared to speak out and ask for help, or who get let down by the system or slip through the net. I’m talking about everything here, physical and mental cruelty, sexual assault, domestic violence. And not only women: it happens to men too. Once they’ve found the courage to speak out, they need their voice to be heard. But there’s another type of victim, the one nobody believes, who is accused of something they didn’t do and as a consequence they lose their liberty.’
‘Like me you mean?’
‘Yes, Like you. Do you remember what you said to me that day when I came to visit? You were so angry because nobody was speaking out for you, your voice wasn’t being heard, you said, “I never gave any thought what it must be like to be at the receiving end of injustice, how it feels when nobody believes you and nobody listens. Well now I do because it’s happened to me too.”‘ At this, Billie saw a shadow cross Stan’s face so carried on, hoping to convince him of her aim.
‘I’ve not been able to get it out of my head especially because the Me Too movement is all over the news. But I think it applies to everyone, to many, many situations. How many times have you heard someone say, “yeah, it happened to me too?” Lives are being wrecked by violence in the home. The ripple effect touches everyone, rips families apart, as do horrific attacks on women and men. But false accusations do terrible damage of their own and make everyone’s job harder, and it’s a slap in the face for real victims. If I can make a difference, do something to help every type of victim, then I don’t care how long the road is, at least I had a go.’
Stan remained silent so Billie soldiered on. ‘Perhaps it starts with education, in schools and the home, making sure that boys and girls understand that no means no. And that they should respect each other and themselves, and their bodies. Nobody should use sex as a weapon to control or have power over someone, and definitely not use it for revenge. It’s like kids are losing their way, and these kids grow into adults and it scares me so one way or another I’m determined to do something, whatever it takes.
‘I think it’s time men and women stood together instead of letting sex tear them apart. We shouldn’t let a phrase come between us, it should empower us all, encourage us to join hands because the word “me” is universal, genderless. Me is everyone.’
Despite the bitter wind Billie’s cheeks were hot and her heart was bursting with something she could only describe as passion. She believed she could do it, she really did but she wanted Stan to believe in her too, like she had him.
In answer to her question, he puffed his cheeks out and made a whistling noise. ‘Well all I can say is God help anyone who gets in your way because it sounds like you’ve made your mind up and I wouldn’t want to cross you, that’s for sure.’
‘So you’re with me then?’
Stan smiled. ‘One hundred per cent.’
Billie was awash with relief and happiness and now she’d got everything off her chest she didn’t want the day to descend into gloom, so gave him a peck on the cheek and left things there.
Stan returned it with a hug. ‘Now you’ve sorted the next three years of our lives out I think we need to go and celebrate cos from what I remember I promised you fish, chips and mushy peas.’
Billie laughed. ‘And two rounds of bread and butter and a pot of tea. And treacle sponge and custard.’
Standing, Stan held out his hand. ‘Whatever madam desires, because you know what, Billie, I bloody love you, and I always will.’
Taking his hand, Billie felt him heave her upwards and as he began to push Iris towards the restaurant, she linked his arm and squeezed it tight. ‘And I bloody love you, Stan, always have and always will.’
Epilogue
Five Years Later
The screams woke him first, the men in other cells, crying and yelling, then the unmistakeable sound of the key in the lock that they wiggled from side to side to open the stubborn catch. Next, the creak of the door and the smell of stale prison air, cabbage and sweat that gushed in and mingled with that on the inside: a shared toilet and smelly socks. He never opened his eyes until the last minute, when the shuffling feet were by his bed and the dark figures were on him, a razor blade glinted and he waited for the slash, then the pain. Their rancid breath lingered on his face and hateful words touched his ear causing him to shrink away. Then he would start to scream for help but no sound came out, no matter how hard he tried and the muscles in his neck strained and stretched, he was mute. Then hands on his chest, his face, a voice, one he recognised, not cruel, but kind and soothing, bringing him home, out of the dark.
Stan gasped and struggled for breath as Billie told him where he was, that he was safe, it was a dream… and soon his heartbeat returned to normal and his eyes focused on the room, in the villa, in Votsi.
Billie’s hand remained on his chest that was drenched with sweat and as always she remained silent while he gathered his wits and the recurring nightmare faded. It was their routine and it worked.
Patting her hand in the half-darkness, Stan spoke softly so not to wake the kids. ‘I’m okay now, you go back to sleep. I’ll go and get some water. Sorry, Bill.’
He kissed her head and waited until she’d turned on her side and drifted off. No need for words because she understood. Stan dragged off his T-shirt then padded along the tiled hallway in bare feet and checked on Iris and Ernie.
His long-legged daughter with the sun-kissed arms and bleached hair looked more like her mermaid mum with every day, while their two-year-old terror was the image of Daddy Stan, all gypsy curls and broody eyes. Both had kicked off their sheets but slept soundly after a day on the beach that bordered their holiday home, Billie’s favourite place in the world and somewhere they bolted to at every opportunity, her busy job in the city permitting.
Continuing on to the kitchen, Stan took a bottle of ice-cold water from the fridge and glugged it down while watching the lights flickering along the harbour wall in the distance. Replacing the bottle he then made his way back to the bedroom and checked his phone, not particularly expecting a message but noting the time, 4am which meant it was 2am in Manchester.
