The Wrong Boy

by Willy Russell

  ‘You just leave my son alone,’ she told Wilson. ‘And his friends, you just leave these lads alone.’

  He glared at my Mam. And then, half raising a finger, he said, ‘Now look, Shelagh, I understand that this has been a very stressful time for you and my advice would be …’

  ‘I said, leave them!’ my Mam insisted. ‘I asked these lads to come here today. I wrote to London and I invited them here. So you leave them alone, all right? And you leave me alone!’

  There was a pause as Wilson stood there, frowning at my Mam. And in the background I heard my Uncle Jason start kicking off about how he wasn’t having his mother buried in the presence of a pair of poofs!

  ‘Shelagh, what are you saying?’ Wilson asked my Mam.

  But my Mam ignored him. And that’s when she reached out and took my hand in hers. And on her other side she reached out and took Norman’s hand. Until my Mam, me, Norman and Twinky were all stood there, hand in hand at the side of the grave. And I think I loved my Mam then more than I’d ever loved her in all my life; when she held the hands of me and my friends.

  And turned her back on the Lert.

  And I didn’t even realise I was saying it out loud, I thought I was just saying it in my head, in my joyous joyous head as I said, ‘My Mam’s free, she’s free, she’s free, she’s free of the Lerts at last. Escaped, got out got out got out. Mam Mam Mam, my Mam’s free, Mam’s free.’

  Lerts don’t give up that easily though.

  Because that’s when Wilson went across and started speaking to my Uncle Bastard Jason. And then they were coming across towards us, Wilson, my Uncle and one of his mates who’d been helping to carry the coffin.

  And Wilson said to my Mam, ‘I’m sorry, Shelagh, but it’s my opinion that your present grief is affecting your judgement. I’ve got to insist, Shelagh; you might be his mother, but Raymond’s welfare has been entrusted to me for today. And that means that as long as I am acting in loco parentis I have to insist that, for his own good, Raymond comes back to the hospital now, with me.’

  I felt my Mam’s grip tightening around my hand as she defiantly glared at Wilson.

  And I was saying, ‘Good good good good Mam I’m not I’m not going, not! I’m with my friends, my friends I love my friends friends I’m with love …’

  That’s when my Uncle Bastard said, ‘Sod this!’ as him and his mate pushed past Wilson and moved towards me. And I knew they were going to grab me then and pull me away from my Mam and make me go back with the Lert, locked in the car with the Lert and carried back to Swintonfield and locked in the unit with my friends all gone and disappeared, Twinky and Norman gone and then the Lert would capture my Mam again and I wouldn’t have anything or anybody, just the far-offness in my head.

  And that’s why I let go of my Mam’s hand; that was why I leaped across the open grave and started running. Before my Uncle Bastard could get his hands on me. Before Wilson could stop me. I knew, I knew now, the real reason Twinky and Norman were here. They’d come for me at last, they’d come to collect me and take me back to London with them. We had to get to London! We had to run fast, fast; they were telling me to stop, Norman and Twinky, were telling me to stop as they ran after me. But I shouted back as I sped across the grass, dodging the tombstones and calling to my friends, ‘Come on, Twinky, Norman Norman Norman, come on, they’ll never catch us, catch us now they never will cos we’re too fast, the Failsworth Three fleet-footed faster than fury, come on!’

  I scrambled across the church wall and dropped down onto the road, legging it along the pavement, Twinky and Norman trying to catch up with me and shouting, telling me to stop, to wait.

  But I couldn’t understand what they were on about because we had to hurry up, all of us, we had to get to the coach the coach the coach! It might be going be going without us, for London leaving, leaving without us if we didn’t hurry, hurry hurry up Twinky hurry up Norman. We’d get the bus, we’d have to get the bus, the bus to towntown there and there we’d get the coach, the coach the coach to London. Running running running down the road, Twinky, Norman behind me, running running behind me trying to catch up but they couldn’t couldn’t even Norman and he’d been my train train trainer, couldn’t catch me I was so so fast so fast and got to the bus stop got to the stop stop without them and stood, waiting for them to catch up, laughing laughing laughing, doubled up hyena laughing and pointing at Twinky and Norman as they came running up towards the bus shelter, me doubled up and laughing, pointing and shouting and laughing, telling them they weren’t fit weren’t fit and the people in the bus shelter looking at me, looking at me, moving away from me, moving away, giving me more room room room.

  ‘Going to London,’ I told them all. ‘Me and my friends my friends, look these are my friends, here they are Twinky and Norman, my friends.’

  The people at the bus stop trying to look away, trying to look anywhere and me laughing laughing as my friends caught caught up and came running up to the bus stop, the two of them stood there looking at me as they gasped to get their breath back and I laughed and told the people in the bus queue, ‘We’re the Failsworth Three but when we get to London London we’ll probably be the something else three something else three something else Piccadilly pick a lily pick a rose pick a pocket or two, Piccadilly lily lilylilylilylilylilylily.’

  I was laughing, smiling at them all the persons persons in the queue, laughing laughing laughing.

  And then they had hold of my hands, Twinky and Norman, gently holding me and leading me out of the bus shelter and away from the people till we were standing by the wall. And I just kept laughing and laughing, laughing every time I looked at my lovely friends and felt all the lovely bubbly niceness washing up and over me, making me laugh laugh laugh.

  Only, my friends weren’t laughing. Twinky and Norman weren’t laughing at all. Norman looked really upset. And Twinky was just staring at me. Then Norman was crying and shaking his head as he said, ‘Fuckin’ hell, Fly! What have they done to y’?’

  I tried to tell him, tried to tell Norman that nobody had done anything to me. ‘A1, Norman,’ I said, ‘A1 at Lloyd’s.’ And I laughed again so Norman would know that I was all right.

  But Twinky and Norman just looked at each other. And it was stupid because it was like they didn’t get it didn’t get it didn’t understand and I said I said, ‘We’re going, we’re going, we’re going and we’re all going together this time aren’t we, all crossing the Straits of Messina together.’

  That’s when I saw the bus and I ran back towards the shelter, telling my friends, ‘Come on come on, this is it this is it, this goes to the coach station, come on, the coach might leave might leave for London, the coach might leave without us.’

  They followed me, Twinky and Norman, followed me into the bus shelter. And I was telling them, telling all the people in front of us how we were on our way now, me and my friends on our way to London. We got to the front of the bus shelter, all the people in front of me had got on. And then I was just about to step onto the platform. But that was when I felt this pair of arms wrap themselves around me and suddenly I couldn’t move. Then the driver was looking down and saying, ‘Come on! Are you lads getting on or what?’

  And that’s when I saw Twinky, at the side of me, slowly shaking his head. And I felt myself being lifted off my feet and carried back into the bus shelter as the bus doors hissed shut and the bus began to pull away and I couldn’t stop couldn’t stop couldn’t stop the jibberjabberjibberjabberjibbering telling my friendsmyfriends we’d miss the coach now missthecoachmissthecoach! And I knew IknewIknewI knewknew the way Twinky was looking at me, the way Norman was holding onto me and saying he was sorry and Twinky was saying he was sorry and I knewIknewIknewIknew. I was crying Iwascrying Iwascrying, because Iknewknewknew IknewIknew. I wasn’t going.

  Twinky said, ‘Fly, you know that we love you, Fly. But we’ve got to take you home. Not to London, Fly. We’ve got to take you home to your Mam.’

  And Norman h
ad tears running down his cheeks as he said, ‘You’ve got to fuckin’ trust us, Fly. Me an’ Twink, we’d fuckin’ love you to come to London with us. But Fly, you can’t fuckin’ go anywhere, not like this. You should hear y’self, Fly, because honest, you’re as fuckin’ mad as a demented fucker.’

  And I knew that. I knew I was a demented fucker. I knew that I couldn’t go anywhere.

  Twinky held my hand then. And he said, ‘Do you think you could do it, Fly? Do you think you could trust Norman and me?’

  I nodded my head at Twinky. And through my tears, I told him, ‘You knowyou know you know I’d trust you. I’d trusttrust trust you and Norman more than I’d evereverevereverever trust any any anyone.’

  That’s when Norman began to release his grip on me.

  And Twinky said, ‘Come on then, sweetheart, let’s get you home to your Mam.’

  You see, the thing is, Morrissey, that my Mam didn’t have any choice. She said, she said she’d do everything she could to make sure I got out of there at the earliest opportunity. But for now I had to go back, she said. She hugged me. And told me again like she’d told me a hundred times already how sorry she was and what a stupid, stupid person she’d been to have ever got involved with Wilson in the first place. My Mam said she doubted that I’d ever have ended up in Swintonfield if it hadn’t been for Wilson and his interfering. But even so, she said, she blamed herself; blamed herself because she’d been desperate, desperate about me, desperate about not being married and maybe having to live the rest of her life on her own. And because she’d been desperate, she’d become daft as well as desperate, allowing herself to be taken in and taken over by a know-all interfering menace who seemed to feed and thrive on the misfortunes of others.

  My Mam even apologised to Twinky and Norman. She said she was ashamed of herself, the way she’d let Wilson turn her against them when she hadn’t even known them and all the time they’d been such nice lads and such good friends to me.

  That’s what made me cry again, hearing my Mam say that and knowing now that my Mam liked my friends, that’s what made me start crying; right in the middle of laughing, start crying again.

  And my Mam explained how she had to take me back to Swintonfield. She said, ‘Look, Raymond, even your friends, your friends can see that you’re not well, can’t you, boys?’

  Twinky and Norman nodded. But my Mam didn’t even need to explain. She didn’t need to say she was sorry, because I knew I wasn’t well; one minute I’d be crying, the next I’d be jibberjabbering, laughing my head off at things that weren’t even funny. I was crying about my Gran and then laughing and laughing and telling my Mam, telling Twinky and Norman about the big black bus and the Master of Misery who’d come to collect my Gran but he wouldn’t be taking her to heaven because it would just be hell for my Gran in heaven and like Norman had said, when you think about it, it could be a right shithole in heaven.

  They took me in a taxi, Norman, Twinky and my Mam, the three of them being really nice to me, all of them sitting with me and holding my hand. And I never knew, not till a long long time afterwards, that they’d been holding me down, holding me safe and keeping me from harm as I jibber-jabbered, cried and laughed and jibber-jabbered all the way back to Swintonfield, coming up with brilliant ideas like why didn’t we all run back to Swintonfield instead! That’s why I kept trying to open the door and get out of the moving taxi, believing it wouldn’t do me the least bit of harm to open the door and walk out of a taxi at forty-five miles an hour.

  Morrissey, it’s occurred to me for some time now, what you might be thinking from reading these letters; and how you might very well be tempted to conclude that perhaps I really am an unfortunate mad person. I wouldn’t even blame you if you did think that, Morrissey; because there were all sorts of people, people who knew me, and they all thought I was mad, thought there was something wrong with me and I’d never be right again. But it wasn’t like that, Morrissey.

  That’s why I just want to reassure you; because I know that a person in your position gets all kinds of unwelcome attention and correspondence from people who have somewhat lost the plot. Just from talking to other fans, I know there are plenty of people who start to confuse reality and end up believing they have some kind of affinity with you personally. But Morrissey, I’m not such a person.

  I know I wasn’t well. But when I did go through that period where I’d lost touch with reality, it was just because of everything that had happened. And my Mam says that even if I was a bit mad, back then, it was only because I got driven mad.

  It was just a phase, you see, Morrissey, just something I was going through at the time. And after I finally got out of Swintonfield I never ever had any sort of attacks. They said they thought it had been brought on because of all the stress and the pressure and anxiety about things. And keeping me on the drugs, they said that would provide my mind with the rest it needed.

  I told them I didn’t feel under any pressure or stress or anxiety. After the funeral, when my Mam and Twinky and Norman took me back, I told them I wasn’t a bit depressed. Even when I was crying I was happy. And as my Mam and my friends led me through the doors and up to the reception, I was buzzing like a bee, charged up and loaded, all cylinders firing, elated, ideas pouring into my head and out of my mouth about all the things we were going to do and no-one could stop us and anything that we ever ever wanted to do we could do it, without a doubt or hesitation, without fear of any kind of consequence. As my Mam spoke to the nurse on reception and told her I was back, I was telling Twinky and Norman how they could both come and stay with me on the unit and then we’d all be living there together and my Mam could come and visit us and bring us nice things to eat and we could have picnics on the ward. Twinky said that sounded divine. And Norman nodded.

  But there were tears in everyone’s eyes as they looked at each other.

  Then Brendan was there, and the shaved-head nurse and some others. They had hold of me by the arms and were talking to me like I was a child person. And then they were leading me towards the lifts. But nobody was coming with me. Twinky and Norman and my Mam weren’t there any more. I tried to turn round to see them, but the nurses kept marching me towards the lifts. And I had to struggle because they wouldn’t stop, they wouldn’t let me turn round and see my Mam and see my friends. I wasn’t trying to hurt anyone or hit anyone or anything like that. I was just trying to get them to LET GO OF ME so that I could turn round and look. And when I started shouting out, I didn’t mean to frighten anybody or startle the old lady who was coming out of the lift. I was just trying to MAKE THEM LET GO OF ME. Because all I wanted to do was turn round and see my friends and see my Mam. But they WOULDN’T LET ME. Brendan and the nurses WOULDN’T LET GO OF ME. And that’s the only reason I made my legs go limp beneath me, dropping to the floor, wailing for my friends and my Mam as I twisted and struggled and cried and shouted until they LIFTED ME UP off my feet, carrying me into the lift and holding me there; where I finally managed to twist myself round before the lift doors closed; and I saw them, Twinky, Norman and my Mam, still stood by the reception desk, my Mam with a hand raised to her mouth, Norman turned away, his head bent down. And Twinky, looking at me, his hand half raised in a wave, before the doors of the lift closed over; and it seemed like everyone was gone for ever.

  I’m not denying that I was ill, Morrissey. I know I was. And I’d never try and deny that. The day after the funeral, when my Mam came to see me, she said she was so shocked at how ill I looked she tried to take me back home again. All the jabbering and the jibbering and gabbling had stopped. But it was like everything else had stopped as well. My Mam said it was like my brain had stopped. She said it was like seeing a lump of jelly lying there.

  She told them she was taking me home. She even started trying to get me out of the bed and get me dressed. Brendan had to stop my Mam and explain to her that it was just because of the drugs they’d had to give me, because I’d been so manic. My Mam was crying though, trying to ge
t me dressed and out of there. They had to send for the consultant. And Dr Corkerdale explained to my Mam that the reason I looked like a wrung-out dishcloth was just the natural result of both the depression and the therapy. He told my Mam it was quite normal. It was much much better, he said, that I was calm now and resting, instead of gabbling and babbling manic, because that was when I was at most danger from myself, when I was hyper manic and self-inflated and full of grandiose schemes.

  ‘Because it’s at times such as those,’ he told my Mam, ‘that the patient can form the illusion that he is indestructible. And I don’t think we want that now, do we, mummy? I don’t think you’d want him leaping off bridges or buildings or in front of trains. Or, indeed, into canals again, now would you?’

  And then, when my Mam shook her head, calmer now and frightened for me, the smiling consultant told her I’d probably be a lot brighter when she next came in. He said that as soon as he was confident the manic phase was over he’d reduce the lithium; and then I’d soon be back to something like my old self.

  Only I never was, Morrissey, not while I was in Swintonfield; I never did get back to being my old self.

  I tried to tell them at first, about it all being a mistake, and I’d never ever made any suicide attempts. But Dr Corkerdale just used to smile at me and then ruffle me by the hair of my head as he told his students, ‘You see, this is fairly typical of bipolarisation. This young chap’s already recorded at least two suicidal episodes but continues to remain in denial, largely, I’d suggest, because of the tendency in some b.p.1s towards schizoaffective disorder. In his current, controlled state he denies or simply fails to recognise episodes associated with his previous manic phases.’

  The students nodded and made notes while the consultant smiled and played with one of his cuff links.

  I kept on trying, for a while; trying to tell them that I hadn’t ever tried to commit suicide; to tell them that the person they kept on talking about wasn’t the person I was.