The Wrong Boy

by Willy Russell

  And Sandra says now she’ll never forgive herself, leaving that child to go off on her own.

  But it seemed such a nice day to do it, pick flowers. And like Sandra said, ‘Who could have known?’

  Paulette just thought it would be a good shortcut, through the allotments. She watched for a while.

  There was no one about, no gardeners gardening. Paulette got up and over the stile.

  Paulette was a good girl who kept to the path, not one of those kids who trampled the plots,

  Pulled up the lettuces, stole the potatoes, smashed the hut windows and broke up the pots.

  Paulette would never do anything so naughty; all she was doing was to take the shortcut.

  But Paulette just stopped and stared and said nothing when the man with the fork came out of the hut.

  He stood for a second and stared at the girl, his mouth puckered up and his eyes bulging out.

  Then he started to growl and dropped the fork as he rushed towards her and started to shout

  About vandals and brats and right little bastards and radishes ripped up, lettuces too.

  ‘I’ll get you,’ he threatened; ‘come here, you little bitch. Just wait till I get my hands on you!’

  Paulette went running, skittering skeltering, zigzagging over the patchwork of plots,

  Scrambling, stumbling on potato drills, treading through the leeks and the lettuce cloche;

  Boots pounding, the Man from the Hut shouted, ‘I’ll get you!’ as she ran for the hedge,

  Tears stinging her eyes now and hot shameful water starting to trickle down her legs

  As she scrambled in the tangle of privet, bindweed, bramble and thorn,

  Her arms, her legs, her face scratched and bloodied, her green dress ripped and torn;

  The Man from the Hut started laughing, as she thrashed and flailed to find a way through,

  His gnarled-knuckle fingers reaching into the bushes telling the girl, ‘Oh I’ll soon have you.’

  Snared in the thicket, Paulette pleaded, whimpered and cried as the Man from the Hut

  Felt through the branches until his hard bony fingers found what they sought and seized the small foot,

  Making Paulette start thrashing in vain, screaming and straining to get free of his grasp;

  Tugging and trying to pull free from the fingers until the clapped-out rusted clasp

  Of her sandal snapped free and she was falling out of the dark hedge and back into the sun.

  Leaving the Man from the Hut with nowt but a sandal, she scuttled to her feet and began to run

  Down the bank and through the nettles, scrambling across the railway track,

  As the Man from the Hut shouted, ‘Don’t you worry! I’ll be waiting for y’ when you come back!’

  Paulette Patterson kept on running, one shoe off and one shoe on,

  Knickers wet, scratches stinging, dress all ripped and buttons gone.

  But Paulette thought if she kept on running, she’d somehow manage to find her way

  Back to the park, the swings, the sandpit, mothers watching their toddlers play.

  But Paulette never turned up at the swings, all the mothers were absolutely sure.

  Mrs McGann, who knew the girl well, said she’d been at the sandpit till half-past four

  And she’d not seen hide nor hair of the child and she’d definitely remember if she had

  Because Paulette always came to the sandpit and always played with her little lad.

  But that afternoon, that hot afternoon, that afternoon they would never forget,

  None of the mothers in the park could recall seeing hide nor hair of little Paulette.

  Too tired, too hot to run any more, lost and wandering along a cinder track,

  Paulette tried not to think about how she was ever going to find her way back.

  She tried not to cry and not be afraid. But she was in bad trouble she knew;

  Even if she managed to find her way home her mam would be sure to notice her shoe

  Was missing, her dress was all torn. And, worst of all, her knickers were wet!

  And the last time it had happened her mam had warned her, told her exactly what she’d get;

  ‘Once more, just do it once more, wet your knickers again and I bloody well swear,

  I’m taking you to the hospital, I am! And then I’m fuckin’ well leaving you there!’

  Paulette was in very bad trouble, she’d trampled the vegetables down.

  And her mam had told her to stay in the house while she took their Darryl to town.

  And Paulette’s mam would slap her legs, ‘You downright defiant little cow.

  And for leaving the house when you’d been told not to, you can get yourself to bed right now.’

  And Paulette’s dad would sneak in later and tell her, ‘It’s all right, love, it’s all right.’

  At first, she’d be glad that her dad still loved her. But then her dad would switch off the light

  And … Paulette stopped thinking! Tried to concentrate instead on how to make things better

  So her mam wouldn’t take her to the hospital, so her mam wouldn’t shout and hit her.

  The grass at the side of the cinder track was thick and deep and tall

  And the day so perfectly warm and windless, it wouldn’t take much time at all

  For her knickers to dry out. Paulette quickly decided and then slipped into the field;

  And when she was sure she couldn’t be seen, she ducked down and she peeled

  Off her damp pants and laid them on the grass in the smoothed-out hollow she’d made.

  And then knelt down, closed her eyes, put her hands together and prayed

  That everything would be all right now. And as soon as the sun had dried her pants

  She’d run back home as fast as she could; and with a bit of luck there was still a chance

  She’d get back to the house before her mam and their Darryl got back from town.

  And she wouldn’t be in trouble then. It’d all be all right! Paulette sat herself down

  In the grass, at the side of her knickers, waiting for them to dry;

  And that was when she saw it fluttering above her: the capricious red butterfly.

  It seemed as if it was waving at Paulette, inviting her to come and to play,

  Gliding down, almost touching her nose and then soaring up and away

  Before settling on a head of grass, fluttering its wings at the child in the hollow

  As if waiting for her, its winged eyes winking, bidding Paulette to come follow.

  It was the butterfly’s fault, that’s what caused it, the mischievous butterfly;

  Whenever Paulette got to within a touch of it, off and up it would fly

  Again, always just out of reach, just beyond the touch of the girl;

  Seeming always to stop and to wait for her but then always to swirl

  Up into the air once more, fluttering above her head

  Before settling on another flower a few more yards up ahead.

  And again Paulette crept up on the creature but again it took to the air

  And, laughing now as she ran through the grass, Paulette called out, ‘It’s not fair, not fair;

  You’re a cheat! Because you can fly and I can only run

  And wings against legs, that’s not fair; you can ask anyone.’

  Paulette was right, wings versus legs, it was never an equal match.

  And hot now, hot and bored and knowing she’d never be able to catch

  The capricious butterfly, she turned and began to make her way back

  To where she’d left her knickers drying, at the edge of the cinder track.

  And Paulette was certain she knew the way; all she had to do was follow

  Her footsteps back the way she’d come and she’d soon be back at the hollow

  Where her knickers would be dry by now. She’d be able to put them back on

  And then run right home as fast as she could before anyone realised
she’d been gone;

  And perhaps (if miracles were there for the taking) it might just be that her mam

  Had brought her a present back from town, a doll or a skipping rope, a toy pram,

  A new painting set, some felt-tip pens, the whitest of white school socks,

  Or a pencil case, a proper satchel or a Winnie the Pooh luncheon box.

  And then she’d be the girl that Miss Miller liked, the one who always got praise

  For the neatness of her colouring in; the girl who got to put out the trays,

  The books, the crayons, the water jars, the one who got to stay in at break,

  The clever girl, the trusted girl, the one who was allowed to take

  The hamster home in the holidays and whose workbooks were proudly displayed

  In the glass cabinet by the headmaster’s room on parents’ and governors’ days.

  And then she would be … Paulette stopped! Such sweet dreams instantly banished

  As she reached the meadow’s edge and saw that the cinder track had vanished!

  It wasn’t there. She’d walked the right way! But the cinder track wasn’t there!

  And in its place was a stretch of dank dark water that fouled and filled the air

  With the scent of something gone bad. Gnats hovered and flies buzzed furiously.

  And although she’d never been to this place before, Paulette knew instantly

  This was the home of the Beast of a Boy. Time and again, along with every other kid,

  She’d been told she was never to come to this place; how she’d be in trouble if she did.

  Paulette had heard all the mothers, all of them talking, whispering at the swings,

  About the Filthy Beast Boy down by the canal who did unspeakable things.

  ‘And looking at him,’ Mrs Kershall had said, ‘you’d think him an ordinary lad.’

  ‘But just from looking,’ Mrs Durney had replied, ‘you can never tell good from bad!

  They change, you see, when they’re that way inclined; they look normal but they’re not.

  Something goes off, up here in the head and then … an animal, that’s what you’ve got!

  You mark my words; he might look normal, he might look like an ordinary kid.

  But ask yourselves this, would an ordinary kid ever do what that kid did?’

  And when Paulette had asked Mrs McGann what the Beast of a Boy had done,

  Mrs McGann had looked sour and stern and said that very bad things had gone on.

  And when Paulette asked her about it, asked what kind of bad things she meant,

  Mrs McGann told her to shush and just make sure that she never ever went

  Where the Filthy Bad Boy was lurking, ‘Just waiting for little children like you!

  He gets them under his spell, he blinds them he does; then he forces them to do

  Things they don’t want to, things that aren’t nice. Things you’re too young to know.

  So you just remember, Paulette Patterson, if you’re ever tempted to go

  Anywhere near that canal, you just think on what you’ve been told.’

  Paulette did remember; the hot summer’s air suddenly chilled and fear’s cold

  Fingers caressing her skin as she imagined him lurking there in the canal,

  The boy who had something that went off in his head; the boy who became an animal,

  The Filthy Beast Boy, hidden below the water’s surface, his eyes already fixed on her

  As he prepared to spring up and out of his foul and fetid watery lair

  To snatch her and catch her for daring to tread

  In this dark foul place where all the mothers had said

  Little children should never ever be foolish enough to go.

  Slowly, Paulette edged back from the canal and turned towards the meadow

  Where the sun still shone and the air was sweet and warm

  And there was nothing there that could do a small child any harm;

  In the cover of the long grass she’d be hidden and she’d be safe.

  But Paulette faltered, stopped and stared at the grass; the terrified waif

  Suddenly aware of the silent swell, the shifting motion,

  The billowing rise and fall in the swaying green ocean.

  Paulette stood, convinced now that the merest tremble of the smallest blade,

  The softest tremor in the sea of grass was being made

  Not by sun or breeze or any normal process of nature

  But by him! The boy who turned into the animal; the creature!

  And then, she heard it! Coming towards her, the unmistakable sound

  Of something moving through the grass, running feet pounding the ground

  And the noise of something gulping at the air, gasping

  As it scythed its way towards Paulette, its limbs rasping

  Through the grass as Paulette stood rigid with fear, unable to run

  As she watched it rising out of the grass, the head silhouetted by the sun,

  So that Paulette didn’t see that what she was seeing was just a young boy’s head;

  Just a young boy, running through the meadow. What Paulette saw instead

  Was a face that contorted as it bore down upon her, its form and each feature

  Bending and twisting until the face became that of the Creature:

  Its neck thickening, its head engorged, eyes swollen and a bulbous pitted nose

  Erupting as jowls of skin unfolded and large leather-skinned ears rose

  Like gnarled ancient mushrooms on the side of the mutant creature’s head;

  A head that Paulette Patterson knew! Its face familiar. Paulette turned and, finally, fled

  Along the towpath now, not knowing or caring where she was going,

  As she fled from him, from the face she dreaded, running from knowing:

  That in the face of the Filthy Bad Boy Creature

  She’d seen the unmistakable face of her own father.

  Not her nice daddy, the daddy she loved; the one who tried his best

  To stand up for her when her mam kicked off; the daddy she’d never have guessed

  Could turn into that other daddy, the one who told her she mustn’t cry;

  The one who said how special she was and tried to convince her that’s why

  Daddy does it. And when he does it, he only does it so she’ll know

  How precious she is and how much she means to him; does it to show

  Just how much he really loves her (and a daddy’s love is always the best).

  And that’s why she must never tell a soul – because some people, they’re obsessed

  With confusing things and twisting things, making them what they’re not.

  And that’s why Paulette must never breathe a word. Because if those people got

  Wind of how much her daddy loved her they’d twist it into something not nice,

  Tampering with the truth and dressing it up in the poisonous slime of their lies:

  ‘Wicked’ and ‘evil’, ‘disgusting’ and ‘wrong’; that’s what those people would say.

  And Paulette wouldn’t have a daddy then. Because they’d take her daddy away!

  And though Paulette dreaded what her daddy became whenever he found her alone

  She dreaded it more to think of him gone, to think she might be left on her own

  With her mam, who shouted and said she was stupid, and Darryl, her little brother.

  If those people took her daddy away, then she’d have nobody to love her.

  And when he was being her proper daddy, the daddy she loved so much,

  She knew she had nothing to fear from him then, knew that his words, even his touch

  Were those of the daddy who really loved her, loved her like a father should.

  And Paulette could almost forget, then, the other daddy, the one who made her blood

  Turn to iced water and caused a wave of sickness to swell through her

  As the daddy she loved turned
into the other daddy, the one who did bad things to her,

  The one who crawled, uninvited, into her dreams; the one whose face she would suddenly see

  Looking down at her from the platform in the hall at school as she stood in assembly

  Or as she glanced up from the picture she was colouring in, to see it was no longer the teacher

  She was looking at now but the sickening face of the Creature;

  The Creature who was chasing her now, his feet drumming behind her

  As she fled along the towpath at the edge of the field, frantically trying to find a

  Way to escape the Creature, knowing now that he intended to kill her!

  For what she’d hidden behind the skirting board, the story she’d written when Miss Miller

  Had said they could write about anything they wanted; and Paulette had spent ages and ages

  Writing out the story about the girl called Lucy, the story that filled four whole pages

  All about the girl who lived with a giant, a warm and lovely giant, who Lucy Brown adored.

  But inside this giant was another giant, a cruel one who sometimes clawed

  His way out and took the place of the lovely giant. This cruel giant, Lucy hated.

  And every day, Lucy Brown would pray that the two could be separated.

  So then Lucy could be with the giant she loved, the one she wanted to stay

  The gentle giant who truly loved her. And then the other one could be taken away

  By the people she mustn’t talk to, the mothers, the dinner ladies, the teachers;

  The people who knew how to rescue her and the nice giant from the awful creature’s

  Grasp. When she’d handed in the story of Lucy Brown, Paulette had waited each day

  For Miss to look up from her desk and, smiling, ask Paulette to please stay

  Behind after class. And then when all the other girls and boys had gone out,

  Miss Miller would tell Paulette she knew just who the story was really about.

  And Paulette would tell Miss Miller everything then. And Miss Miller would hug Paulette

  And tell her she didn’t need to be afraid any longer, she didn’t need to worry or fret

  Because Miss Miller would be able to make it all right. Miss Miller, so pretty and clever,

  Would know exactly what to do to make the cruel giant disappear for ever.

  And Paulette would have just her real daddy then, her proper daddy, just the one;