Billy Elliot Read Online Free PDF

said it was harder than it looks, didn’t I?’
    ‘Aye, you did.’
    ‘The spin’s hard, isn’t it?’ She practised it a couple of times.
    ‘You’re not as fast as me,’ I told her.
    ‘You can’t even do it,’ she scoffed.
    I got up to show her. I did a slow one to start with andit wasn’t half bad, but when I did it fast it was no good. I couldn’t keep me balance.
    ‘You need to go round at least twice. A strong lad like you.’ It was Mrs Wilkinson.
    ‘Aye.’ I sat down and started packing my bag. She nodded at Debbie.
    ‘Scram.’
    ‘Why, Mam?’
    ‘What did you call me?’
    ‘Miss. Sorry.’
    ‘Go on.’
    Debbie cleared off and Miss looked down at me, holding her fag to her mouth and squinting through the smoke.
    ‘So then. Do we get the pleasure of your company next week?’
    ‘Dunno. It’s just ... I feel like a right sissy.’
    ‘Then don’t act like one. Fifty pence.’
    I handed over the money. She pointed at my ballet shoes.
    ‘Well, if you’re not coming, give us your shoes back.’
    I hesitated. Ballet – well, I didn’t care for it all that much, but I wanted to learn how to do that spin. I wanted to do it in the boxing ring. That’d show ‘em!
    ‘Nah, you’re all right,’ I said.
    ‘Right,’ she said, and she turned on her heel without even saying goodbye or anything, and walked straight out.
    And you know what? I didn’t realise how much I liked it until I found myself dancing all the way home. I felt really light-headed. I went skittering and jumping all the way, and it wasn’t till I was standing in the kitchen with the ballet shoes in one hand and the boxing gloves around me neck that I thought, What have I done? What was I going to do withthem shoes? If Dad caught me with them he’d bloody kill me.
    Nan was there waiting for me.
    ‘Ooh, ballet shoes,’ she said, her little old face all lighting up. ‘I used to dance. I could have been a professional.’
    ‘Don’t tell, Nan, will you?’ I begged – although it wouldn’t make any difference. No one takes any notice of what she says. I ran upstairs and lifted the mattress off to stuff them under there, but I was only halfway through when Dad came in. Shit! I never knew he was at home. I stuffed the ballet shoes under me just in time.
    ‘What are you doing, crawling about like creeping Jesus?’
    ‘Nowt.’
    ‘Where’ve you been anyway? We found your nan round at the Spar.’
    ‘Boxing, where’d you think?’
    He stared down at me. I was lying on the bed keeping the shoes hidden under me, trying to look normal like.
    ‘What are you doing?’ he demanded.
    ‘I forgot me gloves. I thought they might be under the bed.’ I peered down over the edge of the bed as if I was looking underneath it.
    He looked at me, then at the floor, then back at me. Then he pointed to the gloves lying there next to the bed.
    ‘What’s them, then?’
    ‘Oh. Right.’
    He stood there looking at me – waiting for me to move, I expect, but I couldn’t. I felt like a prat.
    ‘You watch out for them gloves, they were me dad’s.’
    ‘I know.’
    ‘Right.’ He walked out. That was a close call! If my dad ever catches me doing ballet, he’ll bloody kill me. I won’t doit for long, though. Just for a bit. Just until I get that spin right. Then I’ll go down the boxing hall and shoot someone’s head right off!

 
     
     

    I knew there was something funny going on. Billy is my son and I stand by him till the day I die, but. Put it like this: he’s a bit of an individualist, Billy. He’s always got these weird things he’s trying to do. It used to be balancing a stick on the end of his nose. He was only eight or so. Then there was the cardboard box. He used to sit in it singing to himself. That’s just kids, you might say, but Billy was ten. I’d not be seen dead in a cardboard box when I was ten. It was when his mother was ill, so perhaps that’s understandable. But what about the necktwisting? That went on for ages.