Frozen Billy by Anne Fine Page B

creek, and laugh with the kookaburra. Oh, when will we be together?
    â€˜Never,’ scoffed Will, tossing the letter down on the table.
    I didn’t argue. Will’s world had turned as grey and unpleasant as the fog outside the window. Each night he found a dozen new ways of being sour.
    â€˜Herrings again ? Clarrie, your mind’s as cramped as this room. Can’t you think of a new supper?’
    â€˜Clarrie, where are my shoes? Into which silly place have you tidied them this time?’
    â€˜This cocoa’s thin as ditchwater, Clarrie.’
    I told him shortly, ‘It’s the best I can do tonight.’
    He scowled in the mug. ‘Pass me the tin,’ he ordered. ‘I’ll stir in more myself.’
    Not even bothering to look my way, he stuck out his hand, fingers spread, and looked up in surprise as I dropped the tin on it. ‘Empty? Can we no longer depend on you for anything ?’
    â€˜We have run short of money again, Will.’
    It seemed he was ready to quarrel about that, but in the end contented himself with swirling the drink with his spoon till it slopped on the rag rug. ‘Ugh! Horrible! Horrible!’
    â€˜Which, Will? The hot drink I just made for you? Or the mess you’ve made for me?’
    â€˜Uncle Len’s right,’ snapped Will. ‘You have become a nag and a scold.’
    As if to prove ill-temper under a roof is catching, Uncle Len started on Will. ‘Did I not ask you to find a rag to stop that hole in the window? There’s a wind strong enough to lean on coming through tonight.’
    Snarl, snap. Snap, snarl. I looked around and wondered how Mother had ever made a warm and welcoming home out of this dark, dank nest. Now she was gone, I saw it clearly. The bare boards were pitted and rough, the rag rugs fraying. The rented furniture had been broken and mended and broken again. Every mug was chipped, and all the chair covers worn and stained.
    And Uncle Len was right. The spiteful draughts whistled through each hole and cranny.
    How could we carry on in such a way? And yet I knew that the worse things were, the smaller the chance of keeping Uncle Len from spending even more of our money seeking solace in the Soldier at Arms.
    When they had gone, I sat at the table and wept. Through falling tears, the smile on the face of the girl on the cocoa tin turned strange and quavery, like a face in water, as if, like the friend I’d made her, she chose to take my troubles on herself.
    I tried to comfort her. ‘You can’t help me,’ I whispered. ‘You’re just a painted face on an empty cocoa tin. You can’t help me.’
    But as I blinked away the tears to see her better, into my mind sprang the echo of something Uncle Len had once said, and the inklings of an idea that might save us.

    Did Madame Terrazini even hear my nervous tapping? Or was it purely by chance that after a moment the door flew open.
    â€˜Ah, Clarrie!’ she said as if she’d been expecting me. Ushering me inside her cluttered office, she shut the door behind us, pointing to one of the two flowery armchairs.
    â€˜Sit down.’
    I perched on the very edge.
    â€˜So,’ she said, smiling broadly. ‘You’ve come for money at last!’
    Now here was a surprise! Could she be offering an easier way out of our troubles?
    I spread my hands. ‘Well, if we could have just a little more . . .’
    â€˜ More? ’ She raised an eyebrow. ‘I assure you, Clarrie, the Alhambra has never paid their Top of the Bill as much as I pay your uncle and brother. Why, even my glorious tenor worked happily for less.’ She sighed. ‘No, I’m afraid if Len and Will want better pay, they’ll have to look for another music hall to offer it.’
    Why raise my hopes simply to crush them flat? If I’d not known the porridge jar was empty, the coal in the scuttle down to the last few damp lumps, I would