The Secrets of Billie Joe Armstrong

Claire came home from school later that evening, and I decided to approach her about the concert.

"Claire, come in here, I have to talk to you," I said to her, trying to keep my cool.

"What is it Maman?" She asked, wondering if she was in trouble. She sat on one of the high stools, on the other side of the bench from me. I walked closer to her, resting my elbows on the bench. "Is it the baby?" She asked.

"No, it has nothing to do with the baby." I confirmed, glaring at her in the eye. "When were you going to tell me that you and Jacques were going to the Green Day concert?"

"I..." Her voice trailed off and she swallowed hard. Her eyes dropped from mine, and she starting picking at her beautiful nail polish.

"Well? Do you think it's perfectly alright for you and your father to lie to me?"

"He... he said that it would be easier if I did... Maman I really want to go!" When Claire lifted her head again I saw there were tears in her eyes. I closed my eyes and turned away from her, sighing. I suddenly thought of a plan.

"Look, I will let you go, sweet heart," I started, "but I have to come."

"There are no tickets left Maman," Claire said dismissively, "and Jacques and I are old enough and mature enough to go alone..."

"Claire! No, you are not going alone. At least not there and back. Listen to what I am going to say. You and Jacques can go to the concert alone, and stay there for an hour or so after wards, but I will be on the train with you there, and on the way back also. I'll stay at Aunt Lindal's while the concert is on, okay?"

"Maman that's not fair!" Claire cried.

"Would you rather go at all?"

"But Papa is going to let me go alone. And there's no way you can come with us when you're pregnant. He would never let you."

"Yes, well, you're also my daughter, and he doesn't have a say over what I do for myself, do you understand Claire? What I said goes, and that's that."

Claire gave me a death stare as a final protest, and slid off the stool. I stared back at her with just as much disapproval. She stormed over to her bedroom and opened the door widely, pulling it shut behind her with a sickly slam. I cringed and held my head in my hands. Andy would have never put me in this position, I thought to myself. Self pity, reflecting the past. All the things that hold you back. Tears slid down my cheeks. I thought the things I wasn't meant to, and it was simple, I missed my past.

I ran into my bedroom, collapsing by the left side of the bed, feeling the cream coloured, impeccably clean carpet dig into my skin. I looked up at the antique, white bedside cabinet and slid out the only drawer. I emptied the contents onto the carpet at my feet, prying up the wax paper that held a secret compartment at the hollow of the drawer.

His face stared back at me. Both of theirs. My baby's, my love's. I had taken a single picture of Billie Joe when we were in the hospital. Grace had sent it to me out of spite after the adoption. I willed myself to burn it, but I couldn't bring myself to do it. Same with the picture of Andy and myself, him holding my pregnant stomach, both of us smiling into the camera, perfectly happy in each other's company. The forestation of my backyard in Berkley shone behind us, and I whimpered. I missed it so much. Eventually I threw the old pictures back into the cabinet, wiping the tears off them, and looked at the final one. It was one of Billie Joe, and it had been printed off the Google images. He looked so grown up, so handsome.

I was proud of the son I never knew.

_______________________________________________________________________________________________

When Mathieu came home that night all hell broke lose.

Claire ran over to him, her face tear stained, in an attempt to play the pity card. It always worked for Mathieu. When I appeared from our door way he glared at me.

"Claire, go to your room." He muttered.

Claire ran past me, giving me a knee wobbling glare. It hurt to see your child look at you with so much hate. I cringed as she slammed the door again.

"What do you think you're doing?" He cried, edging closer to me.

"Mathieu, what do you think you're doing? She's fourteen. How could you possibly believe that it was safe for her to go to London to see a punk rock band alone with Jacques? What if they have a fight or something? She's stuck, alone, in London! She doesn't know her way around, she could get mugged, or raped, her innocence would be stolen from her! I can't stand by and let you give her permission to go alone. All I'm asking is that you let me go with them, there and back, on the train. And I don't care what you say because I'm going to go. You can't stop me. I just want your blessing."

Mathieu's face clouded over with pure rage. He didn't like being put back in his place. He didn't like being told what to do by me, his wife. Well, I was sick of always abiding by his rules. I stood up for myself.

"Don't you dare talk to me like that." He said quietly, "I will tell you where you're going, and where you're not! You're pregnant Olivia. Why on earth do you think you could stop something from happening? No, you will not go with her."

"Well you go then," I said, "your point is that I am a pregnant woman, and you don't believe that I will have the power and strength to protect Claire from something dangerous that may happen? YOU go Mathieu."

He stood there, totally beaten. I knew he would never in a million years go to London.

"Fine," he said bitterly, "you can go. There and back on the train with them. I'll tell Claire."

He stormed off like his daughter, slamming her door after him, and I felt a glow inside of me. I stood up for myself against my husband! The pictures of Andy and Billie were clung safely in my pocket and I looked at them briefly, thanking them for giving me the strength.