The Boy with Two Heads

by Andy Mulligan

  ‘Yes, Mr Prowse.’

  ‘Then let’s say it with conviction. Will this boy be made welcome tomorrow?’

  ‘Yes, Mr Prowse!’ chorused the children.

  ‘Very well. Good. Excellent. We will turn to page seventy-two and all sing together: “One More Step”. And we have the usual end-of-assembly treat: Aparna, here, is going to play the piano. As you know, Aparna achieved grade two just last week, so we’re very lucky to have such a talented young pianist playing for us. Aparna, take the stage! A round of applause, please . . .’

  Aparna was a slim, nervous girl of eleven. She made her way to the piano-stool, cringing with embarrassment as the children clapped. The words of the hymn appeared on the screen, and everyone sang with gusto. Her hands danced over the keys, hammering out the chorus as the school gazed at the faces of Richard and Rikki, staring from under the text.

  One was thinner, with back-combed hair and eyes that seemed harder than ever. The other was the face the children remembered, and he looked very slightly mournful.

  The heads stared at their audience, as if they were listening to the music but unable to sing.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  The next morning, Richard’s mother laid out her son’s school uniform.

  It was a simple set of clothes: grey trousers, a blue jersey and a blue shirt. There were two blue-striped ties. The shirt and jersey now sported two collars, and two V-necks.

  ‘I can’t wear that,’ said the second head.

  ‘Look,’ said Richard patiently. ‘We have to go to school. We tried it on yesterday, and—’

  ‘I don’t remember what we did yesterday.’

  ‘Of course you do.’

  ‘I’m adapting, all right? And this is the wrong style, totally.’

  ‘It’s the uniform, Rikki. It’s what we have to wear.’

  ‘It’s baby stuff.’ He peered at the jersey, with its golden trim. ‘It’s infantile, pseudo-military, identity-sapping baby stuff – you’re letting them infantilize us. It’s for kids.’

  ‘I am a kid,’ said Richard.

  ‘I’m not,’ said Rikki.

  ‘It’s what everyone wears, dear,’ said Mrs Westlake gently.

  ‘I know it’s what everyone wears,’ snapped the second head. ‘I am not retarded. But if you think we’re dressing up like a moron, you are mistaken. This is what I’ve been trying to get through to you people for the last month: we’ve moved on now and we’re no longer morons—’

  ‘You’re going to have to mind your language,’ said Mrs Westlake.

  ‘Why?’

  ‘You can’t use words like that.’

  ‘We’re still at school,’ said Richard. ‘It’s what we do – it’s what everyone does, and it’s what everyone wears.’

  ‘That’s always been the problem,’ said Rikki. ‘I’ve noticed it since day one – you don’t have any fight in you, Richard! You wear clothes nobody normal would be seen dead in – colours that only a little girl would choose. You have a haircut like a vegetable and everything you say is a way of avoiding conflict.’

  Mrs Westlake tried to interrupt, but the second head only raised his voice.

  ‘Do I talk over you?’ he cried.

  He was the same size as Richard now, and though he had a similar hairstyle he made Richard comb it into a little crest. He had a slightly darker complexion too, and his skin seemed tighter. While Richard tended to relax and smile, the second head’s mouth fell naturally into a frown. His eyes had a hunted look, as if he never got quite enough sleep.

  ‘Do I?’ he said, staring at his mother.

  ‘Rikki, you have to mind your manners.’

  ‘I keep a pretty civil tongue in my head, so how is it that whatever I say seems to get shot down before I even finish saying it?’

  ‘You have to listen, Rikki,’ said Mrs Westlake – who was always confused by the aggression of the second head. ‘Richard’s right: there’s no choice in the matter, if you want to go to school.’

  ‘Ah, Richard’s right,’ said Rikki. ‘Richard’s right again.’

  ‘But he is, dear!’

  ‘He always is right, isn’t he? Richard never does a bad thing – how does that make me feel? And, oh – look! Hey, the debate’s over, is it?’ Richard was pulling on the shirt. ‘So there’s no discussion in this house? Let’s just ride roughshod over the unwanted guest. I tell you something, there needs to be debate. Things are different now.’

  ‘You think I don’t know that?’ said Richard. ‘You think I’m under any kind of false impression about that?’

  ‘You can’t dictate to me!’

  ‘I’m going to school. So are you.’

  ‘You’re going to have to learn negotiation. You’ve had it easy for eleven years, boy – and I never asked to be born, OK?’

  ‘I’m being practical,’ said Richard bluntly. ‘I want to see my friends—’

  ‘Friends?’

  ‘Yes! And I don’t want to stay stupid all my life, and these are the clothes we wear for school.’

  ‘We look like a sucker.’

  ‘I don’t care. Life sucks, and I’m a sucker.’

  Richard finished dressing in silence and stepped out of his room. He walked along the landing and up three steps. Then he turned left and took a deep breath. A door stood open, and through it – on the far wall – was a mirror, larger than his own. He had checked his appearance there every morning for years; now it was so different.

  He’d stood there, centring his tie. He’d smoothed his hair, hearing the voice of the old man whose room he was looking sideways into. A bedsitting room, complete with kitchenette and bathroom. A long window that poured morning light in oblongs over the carpet, where Richard would stand, knowing his grandad was up and about, dressed and ready for the day.

  It was an office now, for his dad, but the mirror remained.

  ‘I am not a parasite,’ said Rikki quietly.

  Richard’s jaw was clamped shut, and he could feel the same tension in Rikki. He could feel his heart beating, fast and furious.

  ‘I know it,’ he said, at last. ‘You’re me.’

  ‘I am.’

  ‘That’s good.’

  There was a stink of newness. The office had a new blue carpet, and the old smells of pipe tobacco were covered by the scent of shelves, straight from the showroom. The walls gleamed white and bright, and there was a large, blond desk between two filing cabinets. There was a black leather chair and brightly coloured files. Only the old man’s mirror had stayed, and Richard stared into it.

  He adjusted his tie again. Rikki had his eyes closed.

  A year ago his grandfather would have spoken from the corner: ‘You’ll do – stop looking at yourself.’

  ‘I’m checking.’

  ‘You’ll crack the glass in a minute. You know what you look like!’

  Richard would have turned and smiled and said, ‘Are you meeting me?’

  ‘If I can. Is that all right?’

  ‘Right as rain.’ The same words, every time.

  ‘Rain’s not right. I’ve told you that.’

  ‘It’s football till four.’

  Smaller. His grandfather had lost weight, and his clothes were big on him now. His backbone was curved, and he put his head on one side, gazing out of bright eyes.

  ‘See you at four, then. Get yourself gone – on the double!’

  ‘See you . . .’

  That was the ritual, every morning. That was the script they’d written between them, and the pips would sound on the old man’s radio, which meant it was time to meet Jeff, who’d soon be at the garden gate.

  ‘See you! Have a good day.’

  Rikki said: ‘Say it aloud, buddy.’ The voice was soft in Richard’s ear.

  ‘No.’

  ‘You want me to?’

  ‘You’re me,’ said Richard. ‘We don’t have to argue.’

  ‘I am not a parasite. You’re me, as much as me – and I’m you. We’re still part of this sma
shed-up family, boy, standing here in a room that used to be his. This was his house, you know. He owned it.’

  ‘I’m going to put your tie on, Rikki. Is that all right?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘I can do that?’

  ‘Make me look like you, brother. Make me happy.’

  Half past three, or four o’clock. Every afternoon, his grandad would be waiting, and they’d walk home together. When had he stopped holding the old man’s hand? When Jeff was around? Though he did hold it to cross the main road, because his grandad was slow and Richard had to help him.

  ‘I’m on the edge too,’ said Rikki. ‘I’ve got tear ducts, you know – same as you. Don’t ever forget that.’

  Richard tied the second tie with trembling hands, and smoothed down his hair. The doorbell rang and he closed his eyes.

  ‘Oh God,’ he said. All four eyes were full of tears, and he had to rub them away hard with his thumbs. The ghost of his grandad flickered behind him, and Richard swung round to see his mother. ‘That’ll be Jeff!’ he said. ‘We’re late already . . .’

  ‘Be brave,’ said his mother. ‘Both of you.’ She kissed the two heads, and hugged them hard. ‘You look wonderful, do you understand that? You’re a terrific boy, and you’re going to have a good day, and see all your friends again. Everything’s going to be fine.’

  ‘I know.’

  ‘I love you. So does your dad.’

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Jeff was standing on the doormat, eating an apple. He glanced at the two heads as if he’d known them for years, and smiled.

  ‘Hi,’ he said.

  ‘Jeff, this is Rikki. Rikki: this is, er . . . Jeff.’

  Jeff looked at Rikki again, and his smile got wider. ‘Nice to meet you,’ he said. ‘I’ve been really looking forward to it.’

  Rikki blushed. ‘Hi,’ he said quietly.

  The boys stared at each other, and wondered what to say next. Richard turned back and waved to his mother, then pulled the front door shut.

  Jeff laughed as they started off. ‘You know, this is a hell of a relief,’ he said. ‘We’re one down, so we really needed you back – we’ve got major games coming up.’ He looked at his friend. ‘You are playing, still?’

  ‘Yes, of course. We’re dying to play, aren’t we, Rikki?’

  ‘You bet.’

  ‘You can, er . . . you can run like you used to?’ said Jeff. ‘No problems with balance or anything?’

  ‘No problems with the running. We’ve been having kick-abouts with Dad, and if anything I’m faster now. Rikki’s a good shot.’

  ‘We’re training hard. There’s a cup match coming up against Morden Manor, so you’d better bring your kit every day. What happens when you, er . . . head the ball?’

  ‘How do you mean?’

  ‘Do you go for it with the same head? Do you kind of . . . clash in the air? – you don’t mind me asking, do you?’

  ‘No,’ said Rikki. ‘We . . . get along. We kind of just know who can get to the ball. Richard’s a bit more timid than me.’

  ‘Rikki’s brave, I’ll tell you,’ said Richard. ‘He’s got the better reflexes.’

  They crossed the street, and joined another clump of children. Nobody stared. It was a friendly neighbourhood and everyone had heard about the transformation. Clearly, there was an unwritten rule that everyone would behave as if there was nothing out of the ordinary: this Tuesday was the same as any other.

  Richard began to relax.

  Jeff kept the conversation going, and they were soon joined by two more of their old classmates: Eric and Mark.

  ‘Hey!’ said Mark. ‘Good to see you!’ He was a tall, thin boy in ill-fitting clothes. He had a slightly nervous, breathless voice and his eyes bulged. ‘You OK, though, huh? You back for good?’

  ‘I hope so,’ said Richard.

  ‘This is Rikki, then, huh? How you doing, Rikki? OK, are you?’

  ‘All right, Rikki?’ said Eric.

  ‘I’m fine.’

  ‘I’m Eric. You got the card OK? You see what I drew?’

  ‘Yes.’

  Eric trotted backwards, grinning. He looked from one head to the other, and Rikki nodded to him.

  ‘What’s that on your arms?’ said Rikki.

  ‘Tattoos.’

  ‘Real ones?’

  Eric shook his head. ‘Transfers. I’m going to get one, though – a real one. Soon as I can. Soon as I leave this dump. In fact’ – he rolled his shirt-sleeves down, to conceal the patterns on his skin – ‘I get pestered if I even show these ones and they’re only, you know . . . kids’ stuff.’

  ‘They’re cool,’ said Rikki. ‘I think Richard needs one, right on his nose.’

  Everyone laughed, and Jeff said, ‘Eric’s in trouble, all the time. Nothing’s changed! So don’t do what he does, Rikki.’

  ‘They pick on me,’ said Eric. ‘They’re trying to get rid of me – harder than ever!’

  ‘He asks for it, though,’ panted Mark. ‘He’s a rebel.’

  Eric’s smile got wider. ‘You seeing Doc Warren?’ he said.

  ‘The counsellor?’ said Richard. ‘How do you know him?’

  ‘I’ve been seeing him a year. He does my medication.’

  ‘Medication for what?’ said Rikki.

  ‘They’re calming me down. He was at the school yesterday, that doctor – telling us all about you, and what we should do.’

  Richard laughed. ‘He’s a bit of a nuisance, to be honest—’

  ‘And dead sneaky,’ said Eric. ‘You be careful what you say, ’cos he’s always laying traps. I see him once a week and it’s questions, questions – “How do you feel about this? Why d’you say that?” – on and on. I just lie my head off now, and boy . . . he gets excited.’

  ‘What’s he after?’ said Rikki.

  ‘Signs of madness, I guess,’ said Eric. ‘You been to the Rechner place yet? It’s full of weirdos.’

  ‘We’re going next week,’ said Richard.

  ‘Don’t trust him.’

  ‘Are you smart, Rikki?’ said Mark. ‘Can you do maths and stuff, or what?’

  ‘Rikki’s pretty sharp,’ said Richard.

  ‘You’ll be on the top table, then,’ said Jeff. ‘We do equations now, all the time. They’re impossible.’

  Eric laughed. ‘I don’t bother. I just colour stuff in, with Bra-low.’

  ‘Bra-low?’ said Rikki, as everyone laughed.

  ‘You remember Mr Bra-low,’ said Mark. ‘He’s our teacher. You have gaps, or what?’

  ‘There’s some things I remember,’ said Rikki. ‘Some stuff I really know about. But day-to-day stuff—’

  ‘We’ll keep you straight,’ said Jeff. ‘Bra-low’s real name is Barlow, OK? But we call him “Bra-low” and he doesn’t even notice. Oh, and by the way, here’s another thing – you guys got re-elected for that Kidspeak thing! There’s some big meeting coming up, and you’re with Aparna again.’

  ‘Kidspeak?’ said Rikki. ‘That rings a bell too.’

  Richard sighed: ‘I told you about this—’

  ‘You didn’t.’

  ‘I did, but it’s so boring you repressed it. We have to make speeches about what’s important to us. It’s a whole-school thing, and people talk about the environment or a hobby.’

  ‘Which sounds OK,’ said Eric. ‘Till you realize it’s crap.’

  ‘So why do we do it?’ said Rikki.

  ‘It goes on your school record,’ said Jeff. ‘It helps towards the scholarship, but it’s a way of brainwashing us. That’s what my dad says, anyway. You end up saying what you’re told to say—’

  ‘But Richard was good,’ said Eric, grinning again. ‘He took all those questions at the end, with Aparna.’

  ‘I hated it!’ said Richard.

  ‘You’re one of the best, though,’ said Jeff.

  Mark fell into step beside Rikki. ‘So what do you like doing?’ he said. His eyes still bulged in wonder. ‘You got hobbies and stuff?’ />
  ‘Not yet. I’m hoping to get some.’

  ‘You into planes – like Richard?’

  ‘I can live without them.’

  ‘Yeah?’

  They had come to the school gates, and there were lines of children pouring through. Clumps of parents stood waving, studiously ignoring the newcomers.

  ‘It’s just how I remember it,’ said Richard quietly. ‘Wow. I am so pleased to be back.’

  ‘You’re sitting next to me,’ said Jeff softly.

  ‘Great.’

  ‘We didn’t let anyone even move your chair. Every time someone tried we said, “That’s Richard’s seat. Leave it.”’

  ‘Rikki’s too, now,’ said Eric. ‘We’ve been waiting for both of you.’

  ‘How are you guys going to do it, though?’ said Mark. ‘Are you going to need two books, two pens, two . . . snacks?’

  There was a short silence, and Rikki looked at Richard. ‘You explain,’ he said.

  ‘It’s hard to understand,’ said Richard. ‘We’re actually the same person. We do stuff the same as we always did, but we kind of do it together.’

  ‘Right.’

  ‘What if you don’t agree?’ said Eric. ‘I mean, in a test. If the question says, “Where’s the River Nile?” – and if you think it’s Brazil but Rikki says America, what do you do?’

  ‘I suppose we argue,’ said Richard.

  ‘But what if there’s a sleepover and Rikki wants to go but you don’t, Richard? What happens then?’

  Rikki said, ‘Like he says: we argue. We thrash it around, and lay our cards on the table. Then I smack him one.’

  Everyone laughed.

  ‘Richard usually comes around to my way of looking at things. We are civilized, you know – I’m not out of the jungle. Who’s the weirdo, waving?’

  ‘Oh, wow,’ said Eric. ‘That’s the guy we were telling you about – our teacher. That’s Mr Bra.’ He laughed. ‘Get ready for the spittle-show.’

  ‘I do remember,’ said Rikki quietly.

  ‘He’s nice,’ said Richard.

  ‘You think so?’