Billy?
I’ve only just seen chapter 2, I’ll read it later when I get more free time. Working hours mean I have limited spare time at the moment. I quickly glanced at it though and see what you did there 
though I think, using a fictional character I have an affinity for for your own personal gain by trying to get me to imagine her telling me that I owe you money. Clever.
Billy and his mother looked across at each other… Someone was at the door; Banging; Aggressive. His mother looked worried. Billy seemed more concerned that his Emmerdale Omnibus was being interrupted by this intrusion.
Billy’s mother got up from the pummelled and sunken sofa, that festered in the kitchen, absorbing the wreak of burnt grease from economy frozen woffles. She shuffled across the yellowing linoleum floor through one of those pattern-glass doors that working class people have in their chintzy living areas. Billy stayed put… Answering doors is for grownups; Proper people. He creeped the volume down on his Emmerdale to listen as a butch female voice hollered through the letterbox, “Mr Billster! Bailiff! Here to collect what you owe!”
You silly boy
Billy’s mother protests and resists. Billy, hiding in the living room, hears a scuffle and the rattling of the door as this mystery female barges in and charges past his mother. Suddenly, she’s there, colossal and menacing, glaring at Billy. Shrivelled into his seat in front of the telly, his little legs not quite reaching the floor, Billy can scarce believe… It’s that old bruiser, Tracy off of Emmerdale; Kimberley Walsh’s ugly sister.
He’s paralysed with fear, but also thrilled and flattered that a lady was in his house; That someone was actually looking for him; That someone would actually give a fuck about him.
Tracy’s respect for Billy seems to whither even further on seeing his diminutive, mousy demeanour. Her own anxiety subsides as she realises how harmless this whole situation is. She makes occasional, obligatory eye-contact with Billy, as if he were barely worth her time, “I’m here to collect the bill for…” She reads off a document, “500 hours of Dysmorphia-Cognative-Actuation Catharsis Therapy. Totalling ?5,000. To be paid by shortarsebilly to DCACT Services.” Billy’s mother peeps over Tracy’s shoulder, her eyes full of confusion and shock, “What’s that? What therapy? What is she talking about?” Both women give Billy a chance to explain. Billy, in his tiny voice, “On the internet…” “The internet?” Billy’s mother takes a closer look at the document. She tries to make sense of it. Billy’s palms begin to sweat and he steals that tiny pause to savour Tracy’s aroma – Her perfume mingles with her natural scent. So unlike that of his menopausal mother, Billy thinks to himself. Tracy’s leather jacket, too, offers a luxuriant aroma – Animal, robust, exotic. A sadness has seeped into the marrow of Billy’s bones that such delights are so absent from his life experience. “What is this Dismorfa cog… thing therapy? What is it? And what have you gotten into?” “A man I talk to online… A great man… He has been helping me.” Tracy chips in, “Yes, and you knew all along that his services would cost you. You owe this great man ?5,000 for all his hard work and time.” Billy’s mother looks confused and helpless, “This is crazy! Silly Billy! Why?! Why can’t you be a normal, proper man? This family has enough to deal with without you being a burden.” Billy is mute now, with shame, tipping his head, transfixed by Tracy’s Doc Martens. Tracy smirks at the pitiful display. “Well, I’m not paying this.” Billy’s mother snaps, “This is your mess. You’re gonna have to work it off – A second job, maybe. A real job, really – Be a man and get a better job than that supern kid.” “What’s this bit?” She points at the document, “To be settled in monies or equivalent services.” She looks to Tracy for clarification. “That’s right.” Tracy says, while looking Billy up and down, “Shortarse can opt to settle his debt with his time and services if the monetary funds are unavailable.” Billy and his mother turn to each other.