Date: Thu, 6 Dec 2007 16:42:42 EST
From: Djedoric58@aol.com
Subject: The Only Way To Fly chapter three (revised)

THE ONLY WAY TO FLY CHAPTER THREE
BY DJ

	In the car, Billy sat in the back with his eyes closed while Daley
sat up front and directed me to the D'Marco house. It was a rambling old
farmhouse set in the middle of pastureland with the nearest neighbour half
a mile away. Daley explained that the previous owner bought the farm to
extend his own pasturage but didn't want the house and had found it
difficult to sell the house without the land, so Billy and Daley had found
themselves a bargain. Daley warned me to drive slowly as we turned into a
hedgeless lane, as sheep and cattle were allowed to roam free around the
place - a small price to pay for having a secluded place to make music in
peace. At the end of the lane, a farm gate allowed us entry into a fenced
off area around the house itself, where there was plenty of parking space
in front of a short flight of steps leading to a wonderfully rustic door. I
loved the place already and I hadn't even seen inside; it reminded me of
Christmas cards with snow covered lanes and wreaths on the door.

	Daley got out of the car unaided but Billy was flat out on the back
seat. Daley tried to wake him up but in the end we eased him out and I
lifted him in my arms. He was easy to carry, being no weight at all, and
instinctively the boy's arm came round my neck, almost as if he knew he was
safe. I gazed down at his face resting against my shoulder, long thick
eyelashes splayed against smooth cheeks, and I felt it was so right to have
him in my arms, to care for him.

	I looked up at Daley and found him frowning at me, causing me to
blush. He turned and walked up the steps and used a key from his pocket to
unlock the door. I followed him into the house and he led me into a room on
the right of the hallway, a spacious lounge full of old but comfortable
furniture with three huge settees drawn up round an open fireplace, each
covered with warm throws and lots of cushions. Several floor cushions lay
about the place and the room had a friendly, lived in appearance, not
pristine tidy with the odd book and newspaper lying around, but it reminded
me of my dad's bungalow and I felt homesick all of a sudden.

	The place was chilly so I settled Billy on one of the settees and
put a throw over him while Daley got a fire going in the grate. Then we
thought about food. Both of us were hungry and we knew the kid must have
been starving, so we headed for the kitchen down the hall. The place was
massive, a real old world farm kitchen with a double oven Aga cooker as
well as a cottage range. The sink was full of dishes and a half eaten meal
lay on the large oak table.

	The cupboards were sparse of food, indicating that Billy had been
more concerned about his dad than housework or shopping, but we found some
bread in a freezer, some vegetables past their freshness, and some stewing
beef, and while I tackled the dishes, Daley made up a stew, which he partly
microwaved to speed up the cooking time.

	An hour and a half later, the kitchen was tidy and the stew was
ready to eat. We placed the food, and a pot of tea on the coffee table
between the settees and set about waking Billy up. It was a task and a
half, and it took us several minutes before he finally opened his eyes
enough to realise what was going on.  Finally we had him sitting up, we
pushed the table closer to him and placed a bowl of stew in front of him
with a chunk of bread and butter. At first he just stared at the food,
rubbing his eyes with the heels of his thumbs. We tucked into ours and left
him to his own devices, and then he finally reached for his spoon and
stirred the stew with it. The aroma did the trick and he lifted a small
spoonful to his mouth. After that he ate half the bowl in small spoonfuls,
then he stopped and dropped his spoon into the bowl, his chin
trembling. Without looking at either of us, he got to his feet and walked
out of the room and up the stairs. We heard an upstairs door slam and Daley
stopped eating too.

	"Shouldn't you go up to him?" I asked him.

	Daley shook his head. "I think we'll leave him alone for a bit. He
probably wants to have a damn good cry and to go back to sleep. I'll go up
later. Meanwhile, we have to phone calls to make. He reached into his
trouser pocket and brought out his mobile phone. Handing it to me he said,
"You'll find Trilby's number on there. Tell him what's going on while I
find this undertaker the nurse talked about. Then there's the obit to write
and put in the paper after we've set a date for the funeral. I have to
contact his solicitor as well so I guess we ought to move to Billy's
study."

	I followed Daley into a back room next door to the kitchen and
found myself in a small but comfortable room stacked with music, magazines
and shelves full of files. A desk, two chairs and an old sofa occupied most
of the floor-space. Daley sat at the desk and rummaged through Billy's
files while I sat the sofa and contacted Trilby. The band sent their
condolences and promised to come up as soon as they could, and Trilby said
he'd let Daley's dad know what was going on.  Daley found Billy's will and
other papers, insurance details etc. Using Billy's address book, he found
various numbers to call including Billy's solicitor who promised to come
round the next morning and take care of everything including organising the
funeral. After that, there wasn't much we could do, so we made a fresh pot
of tea and sat by the fire. Daley nodded off after a while and I decide to
explore the house.

	There were four double bedrooms on the first floor. All a bit
shabby but comfortable and welcoming, and three singles on the top floor
besides two roomy attics used for storage. Billy was asleep in one of the
doubles; I crept back out and closed the door. Across the hall from the
first lounge was another one, much smaller with a computer and
accessories. Posters of pop stars and musicians adorned the walls, and
schoolwork and several textbooks lay about the desk. This was definitely
Billy's den. I looked through a couple of the exercise books and found
evidence of a bright kid; this I gleaned from various remarks written in
the margins by interested teachers.

	From there, I went into the kitchen to clear away the remains of
our meal. I needed to put some rubbish out, found a key to the back door
and carried the rubbish out to the bins, and found myself in what must have
been the working area of the farmhouse, with a Cobblestone yard and an old
horse trough now used as a raised herb garden, Several old sheds housed
farm equipment and a large stable had been renovated and now had double
glazed windows. The double doors were locked so I peered in through one of
the windows, and got the surprise of my life. Not one, but two full drum
kits sat side by side with various pieces of sound equipment close by. So
that was what the double-glazing was for! Soundproofing. Someone was or had
been teaching someone else, and I had a good idea who that someone else
was. It seemed a perfectly natural idea to me, a father passing on his
knowledge to a son.

	I hurried back into the house to tell Daley what I had discovered
and found the lounge empty. He wasn't in the study either, so I went to the
bottom of the stairs and I heard a sound from the room Billy had been
sleeping in. I'm a naturally curious person, and one of these days I would
end up with a bloody nose, so I crept up the stairs, fully expecting to be
told to mind my own business. The door to Billy's bedroom door was open and
I saw Daley standing by the bed with Billy in his arms. He was talking to
him in a gently soothing voice as the boy clung to him. Daley spotted me
and mouthed "nightmare" to me.

	Understandable in the circumstances, I thought. I went downstairs
to wait for Daley with my news. But my excitement lasted only till Daley
came downstairs and said, "Oh that! I don't think it's Billy who's the
pupil. His dad was a peripatetic tutor for several schools round here, and
also had private pupils."

	"But why not his son?"

	"Well, for one thing, he isn't a kid who can be taught much."

	"Why not?"

	"Because he's autistic."

	I shook my head in disbelief. "Who says?"

	"The doctors at the mental hospital."

	I got to my feet, dragged him into Billy's den, and shoved one of
Billy's exercise books at him. "Does that look like the work of an autistic
child? Look at what the teachers have written." Daley opened the book and
turned the pages, his look of scorn turning to one of surprise.

	I said, "I think we ought to talk to his doctors about this. I
don't believe he's autistic at all. They gave him that label because they
can't find out what happened to him to make him like he is. He's probably
shy and frightened and hides what he's feeling by showing similar symptoms
to autism."

	Daley glared at me and I realised I had begun to shout. "Hey! Calm
down, you hardly know the boy."

	"So what? Maybe a new pair of eyes is what's needed around
here. Maybe his dad didn't want to argue with the doctor's diagnosis. Some
parents are like that. I know from personal experience. They said I was
bi-polar but I proved them wrong. My dad used to make me angry just for the
hell of it. The old grouch just liked someone to argue with. The best thing
I ever did was to leave home at sixteen and put myself through Music
College. I chucked all my tablets down the drain and sorted myself out. I
think Billy has the right to do the same, and if I'm still around I'll help
him do it too."

	Daley cocked his head to one side and studied me with a questioning
look. Suddenly he smiled and said, "Are you planning on going anywhere"

	"No, although you'll probably want me to leave now, after shooting
my mouth off."

	Daley smiled. "I'm not your dad so there'll be no arguments from
me. I don't think you'll be going anywhere soon, except to the nearest
supermarket. We need some groceries."

	Suitably calmer, I drove out of the farm, and following Daley's
directions, found a food store in a town five miles away and drove back
with the Peugeot loaded with enough food to last a couple of weeks, based
on my own healthy appetite. From the looks of the horse trough and the
contents of the cupboards, and also the layout of the kitchen I guessed
Billy and his dad weren't too keen of fast foods and were good at cooking
their own meals, so I had chosen a selection of meat and fish, lots of
fresh vegetables and country style crusty bread, and a good range of
fruit. Daley went ballistic when he saw the amount of stuff I had bought
but calmed down when I refused to take a penny in repayment. This was a
gift from me to the kid. Billy was in the kitchen when I got back and he
seemed to appreciate the food even if Daley didn't, bringing my first
tentative smile from the kid. That made me feel ten feet tall. After the
evening meal the kid disappeared into the back somewhere. Daley and I
cleared the dishes and put the groceries away and had just made us some
coffee when it started. The drumming. Faint but steady.

	We looked at each other and I said, "What did I tell you?" We
hurried out into the back yard. The sound was coming from the barn. We
looked in through the windows and sure enough, Billy was seated behind one
of the drum kits with a pair of headphones on his head, listening to a
backing track.

	"Oh, My God!" Daley breathed. "That kid is amazing! You recognise
the piece he's playing? CSI Miami."

	There was no mistaking the rhythms, the heavy base drum, and the
riffs. Billy's right knee bounced as he worked the pedal, his back straight
and the drum sticks a blur of movement, and I thought how sexy he looked. I
had an aunt, dead now, who said that when she went to rock concerts, the
only player on stage she cared about was the drummer. No other musician
mattered. I now knew what she meant.

	"That's no autistic child." I said and Daley nodded his agreement.
I smiled to myself, round one to me.