Short fiction story Bill Hill

                                                                BILL HILL

I remember this boy in the playground–running--shouting--confident. William Hill was the baker's son in our whistlestop town.

"Lucky Devil," we said, "Living in the town." We were the farm kids who travelled on the school bus.
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'Bill Hill the pill''-- ''silly Billy Hilly''-- we never tired of teasing him. He laughed and tried to punch whoever came close.

"Lucky Devil," we said, "to have parents who’ve got a shop." Sometimes we argued.

One day I got on my high horse and told him, "You don't know what it's like to work hard!"

"Yeah," an older boy joined in, "What about me? I have to shovel muck out of the cow-bails."

Yuck!

I was glad I only had to wash dishes, or set the table. Sometimes I had to change my baby brother’s diaper. Girls are luckier than boys.

"Yeah! You get fresh bread, lucky duck," a boy accused.

Bill Hill didn't look as if he ate much fresh bread. His bare feet and skinny white legs showed up against his khaki short

The rest of us were too smart to wear a hat. If we'd known what 'cool' meant we'd have said, "Man, wearin a hat’s not cool."

The teacher called a group of us aside. "Bill does a pretty difficult job, kids. Did you know his mum is an invalid? Bill has to clean his mum's false teeth, help get her in the bath, and feed her."

I felt ashamed; I could have cried myself to sleep; I didn't; I told my mum.

She said, "You’d better learn from your mistakes." I think I did.

We all grew up and left to get work in the city, and to meet real people who knew about real things. It was a great place for jobs, parties, meeting people, and life.

We country kids became city adults. Some went to uni. Most just got jobs.

Bill Hill became a chef's apprentice. He wanted to own a pastry shop. He used to talk about a French patisserie. We thought he was nuts.

We all heard, later, he'd won some big awards.

If only he hadn't gone to the city; if only he hadn’t got off the bus that night; if only… But he did.

 Now he’s dead. He’ll never get to have his French patisserie...because some crazy kid had to go out and stab someone for kicks.