The Wrong Boy

by Willy Russell

  Norman was just staring into my Gran’s face. He even smiled a bit, at hearing my Gran swearing. And I knew that my Gran had captivated him then because when she let go of his arm as she headed for her room, Norman quickly took hold of her hand and put it back on his arm again. And it was almost like Norman was escorting my Gran as they walked into the room, with me and Twinky following and my Gran saying, ‘But when y’ get to my age, Norman, there’s nowt much to be afeared of from death. Unless,’ she said, ‘unless I’ve got it wrong and there really is a heaven up there. Now that would be something to be afraid of,’ my Gran said as she sat down in her chair and Norman kneeled down at the side of her.

  ‘Christ almighty!’ my Gran said. ‘Heaven! It’s bad enough here with balloons and cheerful chirpy nurses, silly sodding songs and bloody biscuits with fancy coloured wafers and nowt to get your teeth into. So God knows’, my Gran said, ‘what sort of a hell you’d be in if you ended up in heaven.’

  Me and Twinky just sat there on the bed and nodded at my Gran.

  But Norman was sat at my Gran’s feet, staring up at her with a sort of awed admiration now. And that’s when he said, ‘I think you’re fuckin’ right, Gran. Because when you think about it, it could be a right fuckin’ shithole, heaven, couldn’t it?’

  My Gran just stared at Norman. I looked at Twink. But he was just sat there with his eyes closed, slowly shaking his head in despair at Norman and his language. Then I looked at my Gran again. And that’s when I saw her smile, as she reached out and stroked Norman on the hair of his head as she said, ‘Well, Norman, yes, I suppose you could put it like that!’

  It was brilliant that day; the last day I ever properly saw my Gran. I knew that Twinky and Norman loved my Gran, just like I loved her. Twinky asked my Gran if he could do her hair for her. And my Gran said he could, just as long as he showed proper constraint and didn’t go overdoing it with backcombing and kiss-curls and making her look like what she wasn’t. Twinky said he wouldn’t dream of backcombing my Gran’s hair because it was lovely and thick and natural just like Katharine Hepburn’s. And my Gran was pleased with that because she always said Katie Hepburn was the only film star she’d ever admired because she was suitably sombre and looked like she had some intelligence.

  So we all sat around eating Garibaldis as Twinky gave my Gran an intelligent-looking hairdo and my Gran told us all sorts of things about the world and living in it. And one of the things she told us about, before we left, was Giuseppe Garibaldi.

  Twinky said, ‘I never realised that, Gran.’

  And Norman said, ‘I just thought it was the name of a fuckin’ biscuit, Gran.’

  So my Gran told us about Giuseppe Garibaldi and how he had to cross the Straits of Messina before Italy could become united. But all that Garibaldi had was a leaking ship, a few ragged volunteers, hardly any weapons and nowt but a couple of salami sandwiches between the lot of them.

  ‘And that’s why’, my Gran said, ‘nobody ever thought he’d ever do it. Nobody believed he’d ever amount to much. But you see, lads, what nobody ever saw, not until it was too late, was that Giuseppe Garibaldi and his volunteers, inside of them they had something that more than made up for the lack of salami or the want of proper weapons; they had unity, they had purpose; and they had love for each other.’

  My Gran nodded at us. She said, ‘And you lads, always try and remember that. Remember that you’ve got love for each other. And if you can keep hold of that, boys, if you can go on looking after each other and looking out for each other, you’ll always find a way to cross the Straits of Messina.’

  And that night, before we left her, we all told my Gran that we would always stick together, and always look out for each other. And I know that when we told her that, Twinky and Norman and me, we were each telling my Gran what we believed to be true. We never doubted, that night, never doubted for a single second that when we had to do it, we’d all be crossing the Straits of Messina together.

  I was really happy that night. I couldn’t believe what a lucky person I was, having a Gran like my Gran and friends like Twinky and Norman. But I should have known! I should have known how dangerous it is to be that happy.

  It was Chantelle Smith who gave me the letter. It was just before the last lesson on Tuesday afternoon. It had been a crap day because I hadn’t seen Twinky or Norman. They hadn’t shown up for school and I’d just gone through the day trying to tell myself there was nothing to worry about and it was probably nothing more than Twinky had come down with a cold or Norman had overslept and missed the bus. If one of them ever had to miss school, the other one always stayed off as well. So I’d been telling myself it was probably just that. But when we were changing lessons, I was walking along the top corridor when Chantelle Smith came past. She just flung this envelope at me and said, ‘Here! The little queer said I’ve got to give you this! I’ll bet it’s a Valentine,’ she said, ‘and it’s not even fuckin’ Valentine’s till next week!’

  Chantelle ran off. And I just stood there, looking down at the envelope. And I knew, even before I opened it, I knew!

  Dear Raymond, dearest Fly,

  We have gone. We had to do it, Fly. We wanted to take you with us. But it would not be right, Fly, because we would be getting into big trouble if we took you with us when you are still so young. We thought we could wait, till you were old enough. We love you, Fly. And that is why me and Norman thought we could wait till you were sixteen and old enough to leave school. That is how we planned it, so that we could wait for you. But in the end we just could not wait. It is Norman’s dad, Fly. Last night, Norman turned up at ours. His dad had battered him up again. I had to take Norman to the hospital and they said he had got broken ribs. But he has got more than that, Ray, because he has got a broken heart with what that bastard has done to him. And I know that Norman cannot take it any more. I know that if his dad tries to touch him again, Norman will go for him. And if Norman does do that, it could be the end of him because he will probably kill his dad or hurt him so much that he will get into all the sort of trouble that he has managed to keep out of for so long now.

  So that is why me and Norman are going, Fly. If anybody asks you about it, just say that you don’t know where we have gone and it is probably somewhere very far away where we can never be found.

  When we get sorted and we have got somewhere to stay, I will write again. I know that this will hurt you, Fly, and I wish with all my heart that I did not have to write it. But I do, Fly. And I am just sorry that you are not coming with us.

  Norman sends his love and says to tell you that he is sorry too. And he also says that we will be together again one day. I know that he is right. I know that there will be a day when we will all cross the Straights of Merseener together.

  Love,

  Twinky and Norman

  PS I am very sorry about my writing. I know it is ugly. But it is something I never properly learned to do.

  I was just stood there staring at it, the tears at the back of my eyes making Twinky’s lovely, stilted writing look like words floating on water as I looked at them and tried to understand.

  But I couldn’t understand anything. Because this was all wrong! It wasn’t meant to be like this. All the plans we’d made; about how we would always stay together, all go to London, together; all be in the Wonderful World of the West End, together. And now they’d gone without me. Twinky and Norman had left me behind.

  I didn’t know I was crying, not till I became aware of the voices, and people around me whispering, saying, ‘He’s crying! Fly’s fucking crying!’

  They were asking me what’s up and what was wrong. But I just turned around, walked off along the corridor and went running back down the stairs with everyone shouting and asking me where I was going. But I just kept running, down the stairs, out of the school and across the field, running and running as fast as I could, tears swimming in front of my eyes and this pain inside of me, all mixed up with a sense of panic and dread and the feeling th
at everything was just falling apart. They’d left me! Twinky and Norman had left me behind! I kept running, running hard and fast like Norman had taught me to do; running, running across the field and over the ditch and into the woods where I’d ran with Twinky and Norman; running and crying and shouting out their names as I ran, running hard and fast, like Norman had showed me, running beyond the pain, through the barrier so that it wouldn’t hurt any more. Only this time, no matter how hard I ran, I couldn’t stop the hurting.

  I leaned up against the tree and read the letter again, trying to understand, trying to tell myself that they had to do it, that Norman couldn’t go on like that. And I did understand that part of it. I didn’t want my battered friend to keep on getting hurt and getting into trouble; but still, they’d gone. My friends … had gone!

  I stood for ages and ages beneath the tree where me and Norman, and sometimes Twinky, used to sit and have a rest at the halfway point when we’d been running; where Norman used to measure my pulse rate and my heart recovery rate. And he always used to say, ‘Fuckin’ brilliant, Fly. Fuckin’ A1 at Lloyd’s!’

  And Norman never even had the first idea of where that saying came from.

  He said, ‘I just know it means that you are one fit fucker, Fly!’

  And so I’d told him, told Norman about Lloyd’s of London and the big brass bell that only ever gets rung when there’s been a disaster at sea.

  And Norman had said, ‘Fuckin’ hell, we’ll go there, Fly. When we all run away to London together. We’ll all go to Lloyd’s and look at that fuckin’ bell! And when we do, when we get to London, we’ll all be fuckin’ “A1 at Lloyd’s”!’

  Only that was never going to happen now. And it didn’t matter any more, that I was ‘A1 at Lloyd’s’, that I was slim again like I used to be. They’d gone.

  The wind was starting to howl now as I stood there beneath the beech tree. And I began to feel how cold it was, with the ground frozen as solid as stone and the mean February wind biting at the bare twig ends of branches, making them tremble against the darkening sky. Once, the speckled sun had shone through those same branches and made a kind of heaven. But there was no sun any more.

  I didn’t want to go home. I didn’t want my Mam asking me what was wrong. My Mam wouldn’t understand, just like she’d never been able to understand, about Norman and Twinky. Like she’d never really understood anything, not since he had been around, not since the Invasion of the Lert! I didn’t want to go home. I wanted to go to London. And be with my friends. But I was too young to go to London. I didn’t even have any money to get to a place like London. And even if I could get there, I didn’t know where I’d find them, Norman and Twinky. I had to go home.

  By the time I got back to the school it was all closed up and the minibus had gone. It was starting to get dark and I had to walk it all the way back to Wythenshawe. But I didn’t care. And I didn’t care about the cold or the wind that was slicing through me. I didn’t care about anything any more. I thought there was nothing worth caring about, not now that my friends had gone off without me. It didn’t even matter that my Mam wouldn’t understand. Nothing mattered; that’s what I thought.

  Until I was back in Wythenshawe, coming round the corner of the block next to ours and walking over towards the car park.

  I wasn’t even surprised! I was just stunned; stunned like I’d stood on a cable carrying ten thousand volts of electricity; as I saw it, the Lert’s car. And inside it, silhouetted against the light spilling out from the downstairs maisonette, the two dark shapes inside the car. I didn’t want to believe it. I wanted to turn away and run. But my legs were like posts that had been hammered into the ground and my feet were like leaden lumps, so that all I could do was stand there in the dark, watching and trying to believe it wasn’t really them, that it must be somebody else; somebody else leaning across towards the passenger seat; somebody else whose arms were outstretched and enfolding him; somebody else he was hugging; two other people, not them! Not my Mam! Not my Mam and the Lert, sat inside a car, kissing each other! But then the car door opened, I saw my Mam get out of the car; and I knew, I had to believe it then. I saw her, smiling as she waved and said tarar. And I saw that same smile start to freeze on her face as she glanced across the roof of that car and saw me stood there, watching her from the shadow of the maisonettes.

  It was like my voice wouldn’t work properly, the words coming out all thin and quiet as I stared back at her and said, ‘What are you doin’?’

  She lifted up her hand. ‘Now hold on,’ she said, ‘hold on!’

  ‘What are you doin’?’ I asked again, the words stronger now, all the horror rushing up from my belly. ‘What are you doin’?’

  But the other door was opening. And he was getting out of the car, smiling! Saying, ‘Hello, Raymond,’ saying, ‘I’m just dropping your mum off.’

  But I ignored him and I screamed! Screamed at my Mam and said, ‘What are you doing?’

  And then! Then they looked at each other. He walked round to the other side of the car. He took my Mam by the hand. And I could hear my Mam saying, ‘No, Ted! Not now, not now!’

  But he said, ‘No, Shelagh. That’s not fair. Raymond deserves an explanation.’

  Then he turned back to me, smiling at me again. And I knew! Before the words came out of his mouth, I knew what they’d be! Knew that they’d be lethal words, bullet words, poison-tipped, killing words, words that he aimed straight at me as he walked around the car and I was already raising my hands, trying to get to my ears and cover them as he fired off the first round of the volley, the smile still on his lips as he said, ‘Raymond. Your Mum and I have got some news.’

  I clamped my hands hard to my ears, trying to shut it out, to protect myself and save myself. But still I could hear it, the muffled shots of words.

  ‘You see,’ he said, ‘I’ve asked your mum, I’ve asked Shelagh, if she’ll do me the great honour of becoming my—’

  I started shouting, my hands still clamped to my ears and my own words filling up my head and keeping his words out; repeating it, all the time saying out loud, ‘Earmuffs, earmuffs, earmuffs,’ over and over and over, all the time so that I wouldn’t hear him, ‘Earmuffs, earmuffs, earmuffs, earmuffs, earmuffs, don’t listen, don’t listen, don’t listen, he’s trying to kill me, don’t listen, earmuffs, earmuffs, earmuffs, keep me safe, don’t kill me, don’t listen, don’t listen, earmuffs, earmuffs, earmuffs …’

  I could see my Mam lowering her head and shaking it. I could see him coming towards me, coming towards me with his mouth moving, his lips moving as he carried on talking, never stopping talking; keeping on talking, always talking, talking, trying to get me, trying to hurt me, trying to aim the words into my ears, trying to kill me.

  ‘Earmuffs, earmuffs, get the sheriff, earmuffs, earmuffs, he’s trying to kill me, keep them out, the words, the words, earmuffs, earmuffs, keep them out, keep them out, he’s trying to kill me, trying to kill me, trying to kill me …’

  I could see my Mam as she opened her mouth, yelling, screaming at me, but doing it all in silence because I couldn’t hear anything outside my own head as I kept up the words that kept out the words that the Lert was trying to kill me with. ‘Mam, Mam, Mam, don’t let him kill me, don’t Mam, don’t Mam, don’t Mam, please, he killed her! He did, his wife, he did, he did. It wasn’t the mussels, it wasn’t the mussels, Mam. He killed her, he did, he did did did. And he’ll kill you like he’s trying to kill me, like he tried to kill the Shoeshine Boy. Earmuffs, earmuffs, earmuffs, Mam, don’t let him kill you, put your earmuffs on …’

  But my Mam was taking no notice. My Mam was just leaning up against the car and now he was coming towards me, his arms outstretched as he moved forward, his lips still moving as he came towards me, still talking, talking, talking as he came towards me. And I knew, I knew, I knew, if he got to me, he’d get me, get me with the words, get under my hands and into my ears and into my brain with the words, the words, the words, the words tha
t were made to kill me. I was backing away, backing away from him, backing away from the look in his eye, the shock in his eyes, the startled shock; because he knew, because he knew he’d been found out. The Lert, the Lert, the Lert was coming after me, trying to catch me, trying to get me. But I was running, running, running away, over the car park, between the blocks and into the dark; away, away; away from the Lert; running, running, leaving him behind, running, scrambling to get out of range, where they couldn’t reach me; the words that he wanted to fire into me! The dumdum bullet words that I knew would shatter on impact, sending bits of shrapnel and shards of steel spiralling through me; and leaving me dead!

  Morrissey, I know! I know it does seem as if I was mad. I even think I probably was mad, that night. But not mad like they said I was mad. The real insanity, Morrissey, the obscene, crippling insanity was what he had tried to tell me! My Mam! And that Lert! My mother, getting married, to him! That was the true madness. That was the lunacy; the schizoid, psychotic, moon-touched, deranged daftness that defied all sense. That was the real madness, Morrissey. The madness that made me run and run and run.

  But if I’d been truly mad that night, if I’d been mad like they said I was mad, I would have tried to run all the way to London. I didn’t try to run to London though! I ran to where I thought I would find some sanity, Morrissey; ran to the one person, the only person in all of the world who would somehow make it all right.

  The nurse asked me if I was OK. She said I looked frozen to my bones and asked me why I wasn’t wearing a coat on such a cold and bitter night. But I told the nurse I wasn’t cold at all. I told her I’d come to see my Gran. Only when she asked me what my Gran’s name was, she suddenly looked a bit anxious and asked me to wait a minute. Then she disappeared into the office and another nurse came out. She told me that my Gran wasn’t very well. She explained that my Gran had had a little setback. And they were waiting for the doctor. I think that was when I started crying. The nurses thought I was just crying for my Gran. And said that perhaps if I didn’t stay for too long I could go in and see her then.