Billy Mack's War by James Roy

Nan.’
    â€˜Why?’ I asked. ‘It wasn’t her husband who’d gone missing.’
    â€˜No, that’s true. But it was her daughter’s husband, and women … women feel that kind of thing for each other. Don’t ask me to explain it, Billy — women can’t be explained. They’re a complete mystery, which is what makes them so interesting to be around.’
    I looked at him then, and his eyes were sparkling. ‘So she doesn’t hate me?’
    â€˜Who, your Nan? Lord, no! No, she’ll love you forever. She just thought you behaved a bit shabbily today, that’s all. And it’s Evansbridge, too, don’t forget. People will be talking about the McAuliffe kid’s outburst for a week or two, then they’ll find something new to go on about. But like I said, it’s women, mate, and their strange and mysterious world. She’ll know someone who’s best friends with that revolting Morrie kid’s mother, and they’ll “forget” to invite your Nan to some scone and tea thing, and everyone be in a minor uproar for a couple of weeks, and that’ll be that.’
    â€˜I didn’t mean to cause any trouble,’ I mumbled. ‘It’s just that I got so angry. Real angry, you know? Anyway, I thought sticking up for my dad was what I was supposed to do. You know, being a bloke and everything.’
    Granddad nodded. ‘Some blokes swing their fists, some blokes walk away. Which ones are the bigger men? I can’t tell you.’
    â€˜What would you have done?’ I asked.
    â€˜I can tell you what I hope I might have done. I hope I’d have been able to walk away. But who knows if I would have, if that had been me instead of you.’
    I frowned. This was too confusing, especially on an empty stomach. ‘So did I do the right thing or not?’
    â€˜Given the choice, maybe not. But I’m Tom Carlyle, not Billy McAuliffe, so I can only decide for Tom.’ Granddad squeezed my knee. ‘Just make it right on Monday.’
    I hung my head. ‘Barry’s not going to want to talk to me, Granddad.’
    â€˜You’ll just have to make sure he does. Make it right, son, make it right. Now, lunch is about to go on the table.’
    â€˜I don’t think —’
    â€˜You have to face her some time, Billy. It might as well be now.’
    I took a deep breath and stood up. Then I followed my grandfather into the kitchen, where Nan was taking a bubbling Yorkshire pudding out of the oven.
    â€˜Nan, I’m sorry,’ I said, feeling rather obvious and alone in the middle of the room.
    Her lips were tight, and she didn’t look at me as she said, ‘Thank you, William. Now kindly wash your hands and take your seat with your sisters at the big table — lunch is ready.’
    A telegram came the following day, shortly after my grandmother had decided to talk to me again. This was shortly after I’d returned home from school, which was shortly after I’d plucked up the courage to apologise to Barry Morrie.
    Strangely, the most difficult hurdle had been Doug. day long I’d tried to talk to him normally, like nothing had really happened the day before, but he was a bit quiet, answering in grunts and single words. Normally he was very talkative, so the silence had me beginning to suspect that he really did believe what Barry had said about my dad.
    The apology wasn’t as bad as I’d expected. Barry and I had managed to avoid each other pretty much all day, until I went up the front of the classroom to sharpen my pencil in Mrs Grayson’s fancy new rotary sharpener, which was still something of a novelty. Barry was already there, sharpening his own pencil down to a stub, so I stood and waited. His lip was swollen and several strange colours. When he’d finished, he brushed past me with his eyes lowered. I knew then that apologising probably wouldn’t be too