A Kid Called Billy

By Eamonn Fitzpatrick

In 1960s Reading, ten-year-old Billy McCarty’s life changes when his aunt arrives from America with an unexpected gift: a denim jacket stitched with the name Billy the Kid.

Sharing the same name with the legendary outlaw sparks something in Billy, inspiring him to lead his own gang of mischief-makers. From chasing ghosts in abandoned mansions to skinny-dipping escapades gone embarrassingly wrong, Billy, Pinky, and Porky find trouble wherever they go.

But beneath their adventures, Billy carries the weight of loss and a growing awareness of something bigger guiding his path. As strange coincidences start to shape his journey, Billy begins to wonder if destiny has a hand in his story after all.

A warm, nostalgic adventure set in 1960s England, A KID CALLED BILLY is a coming-of-age tale full of humour, heart, and a dash of the extraordinary.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Next Chapter
• Release date: Apr 2, 2025

Book preview

Chapter one

The euphoria of England’s FIFA World Cup win a year ago had subsided, but there was no denying that the popularity and enthusiasm for the game had increased amongst the population.

That is… for most people.

Oi… you two, take that ball and clear off! shouted Mr Arnold.

Sorry, mister, we’re waiting for Billy to come out.

I don’t care if you’re waiting for Bobby Moore himself—a reference to the captain of England’s World Cup-winning team—go and play outside your own house. Now clear off, or I’ll call the police.

Tommy and Adam looked at each other and then glanced up at Billy’s bedroom window.

Where is he? asked Tommy.

There’s still no sign of him, Adam replied, just as a figure appeared at the window.

Billy looked down at his friends on the street below. Adam grabbed his football and held it up so that Billy could see it.

Are you coming out to play? mouthed Adam.

I can’t, Billy mouthed back to him. I’ve got to stay in.

Aw, come on.

I can’t, he repeated.

And with that, he moved away from the window and returned to emptying the contents of his chest of drawers onto the bedroom floor.

Downstairs, his mum, Mary McCarty, lost in her own thoughts, was busy sweeping the kitchen floor with her newly purchased broom. The second-hand vacuum cleaner that she had been using for the last two years had broken down, and this was all she could afford to replace it.

With her sister due within the next hour, she was anxious to get it done before she arrived.

Suddenly, the silence in the house was broken by the shouting coming from upstairs.

Muum! There was no answer. Muuuuum!

What is it, Billy? I’m very busy.

I can’t find my underpants, he called back with a certain amount of exasperation.

They’re in your chest of drawers… where I always put them.

Billy surveyed his bedroom floor and the pile of clothes that he had just emptied out.

Mum, they’re not in there.

Are you sure, Billy?

Yes, Mum, I’m sure. A few seconds of silence followed.

Check in Jack’s room. Maybe I put them in there by mistake.

Jack was four years older than ten-year-old Billy and, since their father had sadly died five years earlier, was the self-appointed man of the house. Billy stood just inside Jack’s bedroom doorway.

Get out of my room! bellowed Jack.

But it was too late. Billy had just caught sight of him trying to hide something under the pillow that he was propped up against.

He looked at Jack and then at the wall opposite him. Balls of soggy paper decorated the floral-patterned wallpaper. Billy turned back to his brother.

Have you still got that catapult Mum told you to get rid of?

Shut up, Billy… if you tell Mum I’ve still got it, I’m going to fart on your face every day for a week.

Billy shook his head. That was not a punishment he fancied receiving.

I won’t, came the reply.

Anyway, what do you want?

Mum said she put my underpants in your drawer by mistake.

Jack reluctantly got off his bed and went over to the chest of drawers that was placed under the window overlooking the back garden. He opened the top drawer and made a half-hearted search.

They’re not here. Now get out.

They must be.

Well, they’re not.

I’ll have to tell Mum. Maybe she’ll find them.

Jack gave it a moment’s thought and then, without saying anything, started to look through the other drawers.

Here’s your smelly underpants, he said and threw them down on the floor.

Billy picked up the pants and proceeded to leave the room. Just as he was about to close the door behind him, Jack gave him a reminder.

And remember, don’t you dare say anything to Mum, or I’ll—

Billy interrupted him before he could finish the sentence.

I won’t, he replied and returned to his room to get dressed.

With his blonde hair, cherubic looks, and blue metal-framed National Health spectacles, he took quite a delight in being known locally as the Milky Bar Kid—a comparison to the young boy of a similar age and looks who starred in the Milky Bar chocolate television adverts.

Little did Billy know, as he made his way downstairs, today would be the last day that he would want to be known as the Milky Bar Kid.

Ah, good, I’m glad you’ve come down, Billy. I need to speak to you and Jack before your Auntie Bridget gets here.

Mrs McCarty then went to the bottom of the stairs and summoned Jack to the kitchen.

What’s up, Mum? asked Jack as he entered the kitchen.

There’s no problem, but we need to get the sleeping arrangements sorted out before your aunt arrives. Auntie Bridget is going into my room, I’m going into Billy’s room, and he is going into your room, so you two are going to have to top and tail.

Oh, Mum, I don’t want that little creep sleeping in my room. Besides, he keeps talking in his sleep, Jack said.

And you keep farting in yours, retorted Billy.

That’s enough, the two of you. You’ll do as you’re told. Billy, you go and get the clothes you’ll be needing for the next few days. And listen, you two, I don’t want any squabbling or fighting whilst your aunt is here. Do you understand?

Yes, Mum, they replied in unison. Jack looked at Billy and gave him a wry smile.

This is going to be a very long week, thought Billy.

Meanwhile, Adam and Tommy, otherwise known as Pinky and Porky respectively, ignored Mr Arnold and carried on kicking the football to each other, but with no real conviction.

Every now and again, they would look up to Billy’s bedroom window to see if there was any sign of him, but to no avail.

So, as not to upset the neighbour any further, they reluctantly decided to leave and walked off down the road.

What shall we do now? asked Tommy.

Without Billy, the two boys were lost for inspiration.

I’m going home, Adam replied.

The train from Paddington pulled into Reading Station just after 11 a.m.

The porter was quick to spot that the lady in the brightly coloured blouse and beige slacks was struggling with her suitcase and other hand luggage.

Do you need some help with that, madam? he enquired.

Auntie Bridget didn’t need asking twice.

Thanks, hun, you’re an angel, and promptly handed him the suitcase. Realising it was a lot heavier than he had anticipated, he gestured to a colleague to bring him a trolley to put the bags on.

Where are you going?

I need a cab to Tilehurst, she replied.

Follow me, I’ll soon get you sorted out, and they proceeded to leave the station concourse and headed outside.

Forgive me for asking, madam, he said. I can’t quite place your accent. Are you an American now living in Ireland, or Irish living in the States?

She gave the porter a smile and said, You know something, even I get confused sometimes. I’ve been living in the States for thirty years. I spend half my time talking to true Americans and the other half to Irish immigrants like myself. I guess I don’t want to forget my roots, but I don’t want to feel like an outsider either.

Yeah, that’s a tricky one, but I hope you practise your Irish accent when you go back to the Emerald Isle, he said with a grin.

Righty-o, here we are then, the porter said as he made a gesture with his head in the direction of the parked taxis lined up outside the station.

Thanks for your help, hun. Take this, she replied and put half a crown into his open hand.

Thank you very much, enjoy your stay in Reading.

As the taxi driver was loading the luggage into the boot of the car, Aunty Bridget looked upwards. There was hardly a cloud in the sky, and she was beginning to feel the effect of the midday sun.

The weather was in complete contrast to her last visit. It was so cold and wet back then that she had to buy a coat to cope with it.

Hmm, maybe I didn’t need to bring my coat and woolly cardigan with me after all, she thought.

We’re all loaded up. Where can I take you, madam? asked the taxi driver.

Long Rivers Road in Tilehurst. Do you know it?

No problem, we’ll be there in less than fifteen minutes.

Tilehurst, or Tigel Hurst as it was known (meaning Wooded Hill where tiles are made), is situated about three miles west of Reading town centre. What was once a quaint rural village with a small population was now a rapidly expanding suburb of Reading.

New housing estates were being built to accommodate the influx of people moving out of London and the many Irish immigrants in search of work.

Mr and Mrs McCarty were one such couple. They had moved into their newly built three-bedroom council house when Billy was just two years old. Their future plans were all made out, until Mr McCarty was taken from the family at the age of forty-five.

Aunty Bridget stared out of the side window as the taxi made its way to Tilehurst. The driver was talking to her, but she wasn’t really listening. She was too busy recalling her last visit. It had been five years to the day since she had made that journey.

On that occasion, it was to attend her brother-in-law’s funeral.

Oh, how I wish I had moved to England. I should have been here to comfort my sister when she needed me the most, she kept telling herself.

The taxi turned into Long Rivers Road.

Give me a shout when you want me to stop, luv.

Aunty Bridget looked out through the windscreen.

Can you stop in front of that grey car, hun? she said, pointing to Mr Arnold’s pride and joy.

As the taxi driver was parking, Mrs McCarty was peering out of the living room window.

Seeing the car pull up at the gate, she called upstairs to her two sons.

Jack, Billy, your aunty is here! Can you come down, please?

As the boys were coming down the stairs, Mrs McCarty opened the front door.

Go down to the taxi and help your aunt with her bags, please. And boys, remember what I told you earlier—best behaviour… or there will be trouble.

The lads reached the car just as the driver was taking the luggage out of the boot.

Here’s my favourite nephews, Aunty Bridget said with a big smile on her face. The fact they were her only nephews was irrelevant.

Hello, Aunty, Jack replied. Can we take your bags indoors for you?

Thank you, Jack. I’ll just settle up with this nice young man, and I’ll be with you.

Jack picked up the suitcase and almost toppled sideways under the unexpected weight of it.

That’s not too heavy for you, is it, hun?

No, it’s fine, Aunty, he replied, not wanting to lose face in front of his audience.

She picked up the two smaller bags that the driver had put down on the pavement and passed them to Billy.

Here, Billy, can you take these in for me, please?

Yes, of course, Aunty.

She then turned her attention to the driver, who had been standing patiently by the car.

How much do I owe you, young man? she asked.

That’ll be eight shillings, please, luv.

Aunty Bridget opened up her purse and took out a ten-shilling note.

Here you are, hun, and keep the change.

Thank you very much, the driver replied, appreciating the generous tip of two shillings. Enjoy your stay.

I will, thank you.

And with those final words, the taxi driver got into his car and drove off.

Before making her way up the garden path to join her sister, who was standing at the front door, Aunty Bridget first looked skywards.

Was this to confirm that she had arrived in England on a day of unexpected blue skies and very hot sunshine, or was there another reason? Only she knew the answer to that question.

The sisters could barely contain their emotions as they hugged each other on the doorstep.

Aunty Bridget was the first to speak.

"I have missed you so much,