Billy and the Golden Gate by Emma Gowing Page B

that’s fond of scratching nudges Rex and laps a bit of water himself. The final two split up; the one with the streak of white hair prods at Billy’s leg and the last wolf sits down beside Daisy. It starts to lick its paws fastidiously.
    â€œEh, this is weird,” Peter says. “Jenny never mentioned this.”
    â€œThat’s cause Jenny only knows about werewolves Peter, honestly,” Daisy mutters.
    â€œYeah, this is like typical wolf behaviour,” Rufus says. “Now, we’re all like a pack.”
    Daisy gestures at all the stuff that’s been upended from Billy’s bag.
    â€œWhat were you going to do with all of that Billy?”
    â€œFind my dad,” he says.
    â€œBut Billy, that’s just stuff,” she says. “You don’t need stuff to find your dad. Anyways, he’s right there,” Daisy taps at her head.
    â€œI can’t feel him, Daisy,” Billy says angrily. “I can’t even remember him.”
    Rufus says, “Sure you can, why don’t you just bury all that stuff first? You don’t need it.”
    Billy looks at Rufus like he has just turned cracked altogether.
    â€œYeah, that’s what you should do,” Peter says, and Daisy nods in agreement.
    â€œFine,” Billy says. He gets up, picks up all the bits and pieces and carries them a few metres away from his friends. Then he picks up the shovel and starts digging. The ground is hard but once he has broken through the crust, it gets easier. Soon the hole is deep enough. Billy gently places the collar, tin box, marble and soldier in the ground.
    â€œDon’t forget the bell,” Peter says.
    Billy hesitates, then he picks up the bell and adds it to the other items. He stands back up and covers in the hole.
    He sighs, “That’s it then.” He rejoins his friends and sits down.
    â€œWhat happened that day, Billy?” Rufus asks.
    Billy looks at his brave friend.
    â€œDad wanted to take me looking for treasure. People are always chucking stuff into the quarry.”
    The children chat about Billy and his dad. Not so far away, Gunner Sharpie rolls on the ground. The fire has dwindled and he is just smoking now. Darkness surrounds him.
    â€œIt’s very dark,” he says to himself, to the silence. Nothing, no one responds. He puts his head in his hands and feels very sorry for himself. “Why me?” he says to himself. The darkness remains, no one answers.
    Billy says, “Dad had his metal detector – he made it himself, with magnets and bells and things. He was really good at making stuff, you know?”
    Peter nods.
    â€œMy mum’s the same; she’s very creative,” he says seriously. “Like last week, she got some stuff in the dump and is making an
installation
. It’s very artistic.”
    Rufus says, “Yeah I saw that Screech, pongs a bit, dun’t it.”
    Peter sighs, “Yeah.”
    Billy tilts his head.
    â€œDad’s chin was like sandpaper; he’d always scratch it when he was making stuff.”
    His three friends exchange glances.
    â€œHe’d call me, ‘Billbob, that blunt chisel 11 thing, can you get it for me?’ He wouldn’t look at me cause he’d be just staring at his new object,” Billy’s face takes on a bemused expression.
    â€œOh yeah?” Daisy says. “My dad always has his head in a book, spends a lot of time thinking,” she finishes.
    â€œAnd when we’d be having tea, he used to drive Mum mad cause he’d always ask for the salt. She’d go get it; he’d wink at me, like a really big wink, and then he’d smile and use hardly any of it, an throw some over his shoulder for luck,” Billy says.
    â€œThe odd time he’d read me stories in bed, he’d sit in beside me and I’d have hardly any room. He’d put his arm around me and get me to turn the pages. He smelt of freshly cut wood, an he’d