Twinky pointed at the picture of the voluptuous ladies and said they were brilliantly beautiful because they were truly bona fide fat persons and comfortable with their corpulence.
We shouldn’t have been in the art gallery really. We were supposed to be outside with all the others who’d been picked to participate in the human geography project. But Twinky had said he was pissed off and he’d only volunteered for the project in the first place because he’d thought human geography was something to do with studying handsome and highly attractive people. But it turned out it was just standing in the city centre with a clipboard and a questionnaire, asking passers-by whether they wanted the trams to come back. So Twinky just said he wasn’t doing it. Mr McKenzie tried to argue with him at first but Twinky just flounced off and said he had absolutely no intention of standing in a scabby street talking to ugly people about an ugly and outmoded form of transport. Mr McKenzie told him to come back but Twinky ignored him and said he was going to the art gallery where there was beauty in abundance so it was a far more fitting environment for a person of his refined sensibilities. Mr McKenzie sighed and shook his head and called out after Twinky, telling him not to go anywhere else but the art gallery and make sure he was back in time for the minibus. But then Norman, who’d been dead quiet all day, started walking off as well and Mr McKenzie said, ‘Gorman, where the hell do you think you’re going?’
‘The art gallery!’ Norman said. ‘With Twinky.’
‘No!’ Mr McKenzie told him. ‘You’re staying here.’
‘I’m fuckin’ not!’ Norman said. ‘Who’s gonna look after Twink if I’m here and he’s in the art gallery?’
‘I’m quite sure that Twinky can look after himself,’ Mr McKenzie insisted.
‘He fuckin’ can’t,’ Norman said. ‘The skins’ll get him, won’t they? There’s fuckin’ skinheads everywhere and they’re always on the lookout for queers so I’m not fuckin’ standing here wankin’ on about trams and shit when Twink could be gettin’ griefed up by a fuckin’ posse of crack-brained slapheads.’
Mr McKenzie just closed his eyes and sighed and said, ‘Norman, Norman. I thought we were working on the swearing, Norman!’
But Norman obviously wasn’t in the mood for working on the swearing because he just said, ‘Oh fuck off, sir, you’re doin’ my head in!’
Mr McKenzie went to say something else but Elvis Fitzsimmons and Chantelle Smith had started a fight about which one of them was doing the interview with the pensioner lady who’d stopped and said she’d worked on trams in the olden days so she could provide particularly pertinent insights to help the survey. And while Mr McKenzie was deflected, dealing with the fracas between Chantelle and Elvis, Norman started walking off. But then he stopped and he called out to me. He said, ‘Come on, Fly! Come the fuckin’ art gallery. Y’ can perv the nudes with me an’ Twink.’
I didn’t particularly want to go perving the nudes. But neither did I particularly want to talk about trams in a freezing cold street while my two best friends were in the art gallery without me.
So I looked at Mr McKenzie and I knew he wouldn’t notice because Chantelle Smith had started holding her breath and going into a fit which is what she always did when she didn’t get her own way. I ran off and caught up with Norman. I thought Norman might have cheered up a bit by now; but as we walked along towards the gallery he was still dead quiet and seemed to be miles away. I started to think it might be me and I might have upset him in some way. So I said, ‘Are you all right, Norman?’
But he just nodded and kept staring straight ahead. He still didn’t say anything, not till we were going up the steps of the art gallery. And that’s when he said, ‘Y’ know your mam and dad, Fly, are they like … still together?’
I shook my head and I told Norman, ‘No. My dad went away when I was just a little baby.’
Norman stopped walking up the steps then and sat down instead and stared out. I sat down beside him. And we both sat there for a while, saying nowt and just staring out at the traffic and the people passing by. And then Norman sighed this big deep sigh and he said, ‘I wish mine would just fuckin’ go away!’
I looked at him. ‘Your dad?’ I said.
Norman nodded.
‘Isn’t he a nice person, Norman?’ I said.
‘He’s one big fuckin’ bastard!’ Norman said.
‘What’s he done, Norman?’ I asked.
Norman looked at me. Then he untucked a bit of his shirt from out of his trousers and said, ‘Look!’
I just stared at the big angry bruise on the side of Norman’s ribcage. Then I looked at Norman and there were tears filling up his eyes.
‘This mornin’,’ Norman said. ‘Fuckin’ got me while I wasn’t lookin’ an’ punched me off my feet, the fuckin’ bastard.’
I stared at the horrible bruise and I said, ‘Why did he do that?’
Norman shook his head, like he couldn’t understand it. Then as he started tucking his shirt back in and blinking back his tears he said, ‘Because he fuckin’ knows I hang round with Twink.’ Norman shrugged then as he said, ‘But if he wasn’t beltin’ me for that he’d be fuckin’ beltin’ me for something else. He’s always belted me. And I could fuckin’ drop him, y’ know, Fly. Even if he is a big fuckin’ bastard, I could have dropped him any time from when I was about thirteen. An’ if it wasn’t for my strategies an’ my fuckin’ conflict skills I would have done him by now. But that’s what worries me, Fly; he fuckin’ hurt me this morning, the bastard. And I fuckin’ nearly went, Fly, fuckin’ nearly lost it an’ stuck one on him.’
Norman just stared out across the street. And the tears he was trying to hold back began leaking down his face. That’s when I reached out and took hold of his hand. And we both just sat there on the steps of the art gallery. And Norman squeezed my hand dead tight and said, ‘But I’m not gonna fuckin’ let him win, Fly! And that’s what I’ll be doing, won’t I, if I fuckin’ let him make me lose my rag an’ I go for him, that’s what I’ll be fuckin’ doin’, just throwin’ it all away, every fuckin’ thing that I’ve learned, an’ all the things I’m dead proud of now, like keeping my fuckin’ head cool and not kickin’ off, an’ fuckin’ controllin’ it, Fly, controllin’ it. And that’s what I’d be throwin’ away, wouldn’t I, every fuckin’ thing I’ve gained. If I stuck one on him I’d just be throwin’ all that away, wouldn’t I, Fly?’
Norman was looking at me, his eyes all wet and fierce with appeal. And I nodded my head and said, ‘I think you’re being really brave, Norman. I think you’re a particularly admirable person.’
That made Norman smile. And even laugh a bit then. And wiping his eyes with the back of his arm, he said, ‘Fuckin’ hell, Fly, you don’t half come out with some shite!’
But he put his arm around my shoulder then and we just sat there for a bit longer, me and my battered best friend.
And it made me think about how lucky I was, not having to put up with something like that, with a father who bashed me up. That was round about the time when I’d started thinking more and more about my own father and wondering if perhaps all the things that had happened to me wouldn’t have happened if my Dad had stayed at home and he hadn’t been in love with all the musical instruments and he’d laid the turf and made a lawn and just been ordinary. But when Norman told me that, about his dad and being bashed up by him, I started to think it might have been better that my Dad had gone away. Because he might have become the sort of person who battered me up. Or battered my Mam up. And I didn’t need a dad anyway. Because I had my Mam; and even though my Gran had started going a bit Alka-Seltzer, I still had her as well. And on top of all that, I had my two fantastic friends. But knowing all that, it made me feel a bit awful, sat there next to Norman, knowing that I was so lucky while my friend was so sad.
But then Norman said, ‘Fuck it, eh Fly!’ and he hugged me dead hard as he said, ‘Fuck it! We’ll be goin’ to London soon, won’t we? An’ he won’t be able to punch me then, will
he? Will he fuck because we’ll be in London and Twinky’ll be a dead famous fuckin’ star in the wonderful world of the West End. And I’ll be his bodyguard and his chef. And you, Fly, you’ll be his … fuckin’ agent or something clever like that. And the three of us, Fly, we’ll all just be together and no fucker’ll ever punch none of us, never ever again.’
Norman looked at me and he was smiling now. And he said, ‘Come on, let’s go an’ find Twink.’
We got up then and started up the last few steps to the gallery doors. But Norman stopped just before we got to them and he said, ‘Don’t tell him though, will y’, Fly? Don’t fuckin’ tell Twink what I’ve just told you.’
‘Cross my heart, Norman,’ I said, ‘I won’t.’
‘I don’t want him fuckin’ gettin’ upset,’ Norman said. ‘Twink’s got enough to put up with already, hasn’t he, with being a gay boy and all that?’
I just nodded. And I thought he was really lovely, Norman, the way he cared about Twinky even more than he cared about himself.
But that’s how it was, we all looked out for each other when we were the Failsworth Three. I couldn’t do anything about Norman’s dad. But I still had 50p left over from my dinner money. And as we went through the shop you have to go through to get into the gallery, I saw this card. And I bought it.
When I gave it to him, Norman looked all surprised. He said, ‘What’s this?’
I said, ‘Look.’ And I showed him the picture. I said, ‘It’s Mahatma Gandhi.’
Norman just stared at it, frowning. And he said, ‘Is he a fuckin’ Paki?’
‘No,’ I said, ‘he was an Indian. My Gran told me all about him. He was a hero and he never hurt anybody in all his life.’
Norman looked at me.
I said, ‘That’s why I bought it for you, Norman.’
‘For me?’ Norman said.
I nodded. ‘Yeah,’ I said, ‘because I think you’re a hero too.’
I could tell Norman didn’t know what to say. He sort of swallowed a bit. Then he looked around him like he didn’t know what to say or do. And in the end he just shrugged and said, ‘Fuckin’ hell, Fly! Come on, let’s go ‘n’ perv the nudes!’
But I could tell he was glad. Because he put the postcard into his pocket dead carefully. And kept looking to make sure it was still there.
When we found Twinky, he was looking at the picture of the voluptuous ladies. But Norman said they were all too fat for him and the nudes next door were miles better.
But Twinky said, ‘No, Norman. Just look at them. Look at those ladies.’
Norman looked at the picture again. Then he said, ‘But they are, Twink. They’re fuckin’ fat.’
Twinky nodded at the picture. ‘Fat,’ he said, ‘but lovely. Look, Norman. Look at their eyes. Look, Fly.’
The three of us just stood there then, looking at the eyes of the big nude ladies. And Norman said, ‘Fuckin’
hell, it’s like they’re alive, isn’t it? It’s like they’re looking at us as much as we’re fuckin’ lookin’ at them.’
Twinky said, ‘That’s because they are alive, Norman.’
Norman frowned a bit then. But Twinky said, ‘They’re alive with all the life that’s inside of them. And that’s what’s flowing out of them, Norman, all the life, flowing out and cascading and tumbling down all the marvellous massive mountainness of them. They’re lovely,’ Twinky said, ‘and they’re all proud and delighted to be up there in that frame, showing off all the expansive excess of all their corpulence.’
And when you looked at the voluptuous ladies like that, Twinky was right, they didn’t just look like fat ladies at all any more; they looked delicious.
And Norman said, ‘You know what I’d like to do with them ladies? I’d like to put my tongue on them and lick them all over their skin.’
We all started laughing at that. And then, when it had died down and we were just stood there, I said, ‘I’m fat!’
Norman and Twink turned and looked at me. And Norman said, ‘Well, y’ fuckin’ might be, Fly, but I don’t wanna lick you all over.’
‘I know,’ I said, ‘but I am, I’m fat.’ I turned and looked back at the picture and I said, ‘But I don’t feel like those ladies feel.’
Twinky nodded then. And he said, ‘You know why that is, Raymond?’
I shook my head and Twinky said, ‘Because you’re not really a fat person at all, Fly.’
I just looked at him and he said, ‘You’re not, Fly! You’re just a very slim person really. But you’ve hidden him, haven’t y’? This slim person. You’ve hidden him behind all that flab.’
I just nodded. I said, ‘It’s all the pasties an’ pies and the pot noodles an’ everything like that. I just got into the habit. And now it feels like it’s dead hard to stop.’
Twinky looked at me. And he shook his head.
I said, ‘It is, Twink. Honest, you don’t know because you don’t …’
‘Norman!’ Twinky interrupted. ‘What was I like?’
Norman shook his head and said, ‘Fuckin’ couldn’t believe it, man. Didn’t even fuckin’ recognise y’, did I, Twink?’
I didn’t understand what they were on about. But Twinky linked my arm then and he said, ‘You never saw me, did you, Fly? You never saw me all that time when I’d stopped dancing, did you?’
I shook my head.
And Twinky said, ‘Tell him, Norman, go on, tell Fly.’
Norman stretched out his arms as wide as he could and said, ‘Fuckin’ like that, he was! Fuckin’ massive, man; weren’t y’, Twink?’
Twinky nodded, still staring at me.
‘I couldn’t believe it,’ Norman said. ‘When I fuckin’ turned up at Sunny Pines, man, and I saw the state of him, I fuckin’ cried, didn’t I, Twink, cried my fuckin’ eyes out. There he was, last time I’d seen him, this fuckin’ slip of nowt; I could have picked him up off that donkey with one fuckin’ hand. Year and a half later, I get to Sunny Pines an’ I couldn’t have picked him up with a fork-lift fuckin’ truck.’
I frowned, looking at Twinky. But Twinky just nodded at me. ‘That’s right, Fly.’
I frowned again. ‘But why?’ I asked him.
Twinky shrugged. ‘I just lost it, Fly,’ he said. ‘After all that shit over the Virgin Mary, I just lost it. It was like I didn’t know who I was any more.’ Twinky was staring at me dead intently. Then he nodded and said, ‘You know what I mean, Fly?’
I nodded back at him. And he said, ‘There was this big empty space inside of me. And the more I tried to fill it with food, the bigger it got. Till, in the end, I was nothing but a lardy ball of flab.’
I stared at Twinky and shook my head. ‘I never knew,’ I said, ‘I never knew that, Twink.’
Twinky nodded at me. And he said, ‘Well, it’s true, Fly.’
And then this lovely shy smile broke out all over Twinky’s face as he turned and looked at Norman and said, ‘And I’d still be the same today and getting fatter by the minute, if it hadn’t been for Norman.’
Norman almost began to blush at that but you could tell he was dead chuffed.
‘What did you do, Norman?’ I asked him.
Norman just shrugged and said, ‘Agh, it was fuckin’ nowt really.’
But Twinky said, ‘Go on. Tell him. Tell Fly what you did, Norman.’
And Norman couldn’t hide the proud little look he had on his face then as he said, ‘I fuckin’ wrote, didn’t I? I didn’t tell Twinky or nobody. But I fuckin’ found where to write. And I fuckin’ wrote the letter, didn’t I, all on my own, wrote the letter to Petula fuckin’ Clark and told her everything, about Twinky and how he’d always loved her an’ admired her an’ always danced and did his pirouettes to her songs. But he’d fuckin’ had it now an’ he couldn’t dance no more and he’d become a right fat twat with his head all shagged up.’ Norman nodded and he said, ‘An’ y’ know summat, Fly, Petula, she fuckin’ wrote back the fuckin’ very next day. Not just one letter neither, two fuckin’ let
ters she wrote; one to me, “My dear Norman …” My dear fuckin’ Norman, it said. And one to Twink, a fuckin’ big long letter it was and she said how dead fuckin’ sorry she was to hear what had happened to him and how he wasn’t dancin’ no more. And she said loads of other things, didn’t she, fuckin’ dead nice things because she’s fuckin’ brilliant, Petula, fuckin’ top she is. And she said she didn’t know if it would help Twink but regarding the weight problem she was enclosing a diet plan that she’d personally used and found dead fuckin’ effective when she’d had her own “little problem with the pounds”. An’ in the PS, y’ know what she said, Fly? She said she wanted to be kept informed about Twink and how he was gettin’ on. And that’s why we still fuckin’ write to her, don’t we?’ Twink nodded. ‘And she always writes back, y’ know, Fly. Never fuckin’ misses. An’ we’re gonna go an’ see her, aren’t we?’ Norman said to Twink. ‘When we run away to London we’re gonna go an’ fuckin’ see Petula.’
Twinky was staring at me. Then he said, ‘So come on, Fly. Are y’ gonna give it a go? Or are y’ gonna go on for ever, hiding those lovely cheekbones and pretending to be happy when you’re not even a proper bona fide fat person in the first place?’
‘I’ll fuckin’ help y’, Fly,’ Norman said. ‘We can work out every dinner hour, while Twink’s doing his dancin’ or his fuckin’ embroidery.’
I just stood there, looking at my two friends. And then Twinky said, ‘Come on, Raymond; you can’t go on being the wrong boy for ever.’
When I told her I didn’t want it, my Mam just stood there looking at me with a face like a cheesed-off checkout girl.
She said, ‘But you always have it! It’s milky coffee and cheese on toast, with all the cheese bubbling up like you like it.’
I shook my head. ‘But I don’t want it,’ I said. ‘I’m not eatin’ stuff like that any more. I’m on a diet. Twinky and Norman are helping me to …’
But she wasn’t listening then because she just turned round and went back into the kitchenette. I heard her throwing the toast into the pedal bin as she said, ‘Twinky and Norman! Twin—I’m sick of them. Sick of the bloody pair of them!’
The Wrong Boy Page 30