by Jo Brand
‘What are we going to do then?’ said Karen, who always wanted to do things to make people’s lives better, not content with just allowing herself to be a steadfast support to friends.
‘Not much we can do,’ said Mark, ‘except hope she comes through it and Morrissey writes to her.’
‘Duran Duran are playing in Birmingham soon,’ said Karen. ‘Shall we take her?’
‘Oh Jesus, no, that’ll finish her off,’ said Mark. ‘No, let’s just wait and see how things are.’
All right,’ said Karen, frustrated.
Three days later, while Alice lay in bed on a Saturday morning staring at the ceiling and listening to the blather of a Radio 1 DJ who was playing rubbish, her dad shouted, ‘There’s a letter for you!’
Her heart leapt then plummeted. It would be from Grandma or school or something. She dragged down the stairs. It was just a typical envelope but the postmark was Manchester. She felt as if her head was going to explode. Not wanting her dad to see her weep any more, she ran up the stairs, two at a time, slamming her bedroom door behind her. She threw herself on to the bed and as delicately as possible, because she didn’t want to lose even the tiniest atom of it if it was from Morrissey, she ripped the corner very gently and slid her finger into the hole, tearing along the crease.
It was one sheet of paper. She removed it from the envelope and opened it out.
It was from Morrissey.
She put it down, not even wanting to read it in case it disappointed her. She got up from her bed, went downstairs, through the door and out on to the lane from the scrubby front garden and began to walk.
It was a mild day with an all-enveloping light drizzle which tickled her face. All she could think of was him and that at some point in the last few days his dear hand had taken up a pen and written words to her. Her! It was astounding that someone like him should spend even a second thinking about her. He, Morrissey, had taken the time to write to her, Alice, a fifteen-year-old from Herefordshire with a mad mother. She then spent a delicious half an hour speculating what the letter might say ‘I am so happy,’ she said out loud, looking round her at the familiar landscape, the big oak with its cargo of mistletoe, the hills with their shaven mottled look and the enormous dove-grey sky, and began to cry. Then she turned and started to run home.
Finally, in her bedroom, she unfolded the letter and looked at it.
The writing was big and had an old-fashioned look to it. All the letters were big and not joined together, childlike but so old, she thought.
There were two sentences.
Dear Alice (not just a photocopied fob-off letter sent to many then).
Your letter was so sweet (she felt faint and sick).
Thank you for opening your heart.
Morrissey.
Better than she could ever have expected, and so poetic. She picked up the letter, carefully slid it back into its envelope and ran all the way to Mark’s house with it, banging excitedly on the door.
Mark’s dad, of whom she was rather scared, answered the door.
‘Yes?’ He always sounded as if he didn’t know her. Little did she know this was deliberate. He wanted his son to hang around with Joanna, the daughter of Luke Wethersby, the master of the local hunt. Instead he’d decided to spend his time with this mongrel from the village. God forbid it should go any further. His heart fluttered. What if they ended up wanting to marry each other?
I almost wish he was a poof, he said to himself as Alice’s back disappeared up the stairs to Mark’s bedroom.
Mark was on his bed reading and listening to Elvis Costello. Alice shot into the room like a rabbit.
‘Mark,’ she shouted breathlessly ‘It’s come!’
‘What’s come?’ Mark looked puzzled.
A letter from Morrissey! Look! Careful!’ She thrust it under his nose.
Mark scanned the piece of paper.
‘That’s really nice,’ he said.
‘Really nice?’ said Alice. ‘Really nice? Try fucking brilliant or absolutely bloody amazing! He’s written to me, I’m so happy’ She started to cry.
‘Blimey,’ said Mark, ‘that happy?’
Through her tears Alice laughed and hugged him. ‘Mark!’ His mother’s voice sounded from downstairs. She didn’t like him being in his bedroom with a girl. Things could happen and the thought of being in any way allied to the Wildgooses made her feel slightly nauseous. Apart from the fact that it would wind her husband up beyond belief. ‘Can you and Alice come down and feed the chickens?’
All right,’ said Mark. He turned to Alice. ‘That should stop us having illegal intercourse,’ he said with a wink.
Alice grinned.
They went downstairs and towards the field all but destroyed by the enormous gang of scratching hens.
While they were throwing out handfuls of feed, Mark turned to Alice.
‘Can you help me?’ he said.
‘Sure,’ said Alice. ‘What do you need me to do?’
‘I need you to use the Morrissey tickets that Karen and I have bought you for Leicester University on the sixteenth,’ he said.
‘My God.’ Alice wobbled a bit. ‘Oh Mark.’ She hugged him really tightly ‘I can’t believe it.’ Her face darkened. ‘Oh God.’
‘What?’ he said.
‘What if it’s not what I’m hoping? If I don’t like it?’
‘Shut up, you silly cow, and just go and enjoy it,’ he said.
Are you coming?’
‘I can’t,’ he said, ‘and Karen’s parents won’t let her. You’ll have to get someone to go with you.’
Alice’s brain flickered through the other possibilities, few as they were.
‘I’ll ask my dad to go with me,’ she said.
Excited, she ran slightly less fast all the way home.
Keith was in the garden.
‘Dad,’ she shouted as she kicked open the gate. ‘Yes,’ said Keith, thinking he hadn’t seen her this cheerful for months.
‘Mark’s bought me some tickets for the Smiths in Leicester. Can I go? Can you come? Oh God, it’s so exciting.’
‘What about Mum?’ said Keith. ‘We can’t put her in the boot.’ Even though she might quite like it, he thought bitterly to himself.
Keith had absolutely no idea who the Smiths were and it didn’t occur to him that Alice’s mood in recent months may have been controlled or at the very least affected by the existence of these four boys from Manchester.
‘All right,’ he said. ‘I’ll get Nan Wildgoose to come down and sit with Mum. We’ll have a lovely night out. I’ll stand at the back so that people don’t think you’re with some horrible hairy old hippy twice your age.’
‘Thanks, Dad, you’re the best,’ said Alice.
‘After the Smiths,’ he corrected.
16 February 1984
The day that Alice had been waiting for finally dawned. She found herself in an almost hysterical state of excitement and had trouble eating any food all day Nan Wildgoose was due at lunchtime. It was a school day but Keith had allowed Alice to have the day off sick; she only had PE in the afternoon anyway so it wasn’t too bad a day to be skiving.
Nan Wildgoose was dropped off in the lane by Wobbly As he departed with a roar of exhaust she limped up the drive looking a bit cold and tired.
Keith had not told Gina that her mother was essentially coming to baby-sit while he and Alice went out. It seemed safer not to. Gina’s relationship with her mother was occasionally unpredictable but often operated along parallel lines. The two of them would sit in a room, with Ma Wildgoose gossiping about her neighbours, which did not interest her daughter in the least, while Gina occupied herself with the barely audible show going on in her head. This time, however, Gina was not pleased to see her mother and as soon as she stepped over the threshold, Gina spat out the words, ‘What the fuck is she doing here?’
‘Oh, don’t be like that, love,’ said Keith. Alice and I are going out for the evening and your mum’s going to sit
and watch telly with you until we get back.’
‘Well. I don’t want her to,’ said Gina. ‘She’s evil, she’ll try and kill me and I’ll be all on my own.
Keith was tempted to say, ‘Come on, you could knock her out with one punch,’ but he didn’t want to encourage Gina. Instead he said as soothingly as he could, ‘Don’t worry, it’ll be all right.’
Unfortunately this just proved to Gina that Keith was in on the conspiracy to finish her off.
‘You both want to kill me,’ she screeched. She picked up a book from the table and lobbed it in the general direction of her mother. It whooshed past her head and landed near the front door. Ma Wildgoose, who would have made a crap psychiatric nurse, picked it up and lobbed it back with the words, ‘Take that, you silly little fucker.’
A full-blown punch-up looked likely and Keith positioned himself between them.
‘Just tell her to piss off,’ said Gina. ‘She’s not watching telly with me.’
Alice, hearing all this from her vantage point on the stairs, felt despair overtake her. She couldn’t bear it if her mother ruined the evening. She got up and went into the sitting room.
‘Please, Mum,’ she said. ‘It’s really important. Can’t you just get on with Nan for once, please.’
‘Oh, so you’re involved too,’ Gina began.
‘Oh, for fuck’s sake,’ screamed Alice. ‘Why must everything revolve around you and your pathetic illness?’ She kicked the chair nearest her and walked out into the garden.
‘Right,’ Keith heard himself say ‘Everybody calm down. ‘To his complete surprise, everybody did. Desperate for Alice not to miss what seemed to be such an important night, he turned to his mother-in-law.
‘Will you go with Alice tonight?’ he asked.
‘Go where?’ said Ma Wildgoose.
‘To see the Smiths in Leicester,’ he said.
‘Who are the bleeding Smiths?’ said Ma Wildgoose. ‘Some friends?’
‘No, they’re a pop group,’ said Keith. ‘She’s so desperate to go, please, I’ll give you money for the train and cabs.’
‘And a stout?’ said Ma Wildgoose, ever conscious of the possibility of a drink.
All right,’ said Keith. Alice, love?’ he called. Alice came in, looking so sad and defeated, Keith couldn’t bear it.
‘It’s all right, you can go,’ he said. ‘Nan’s going with you.
Oh, what a double-edged sword. Was the purest pleasure of the Smiths show worth the farting, swearing heap that was Nan Wildgoose? Alice decided it was. There was bound to be somewhere she could safely dump her near the gig and escape to meet the Smiths.
Keith deposited Alice and her nan at the station in record time and they both sat staring out of the window with their own thoughts for much of the journey When they finally arrived in Leicester, Alice realised Nan had fallen asleep. She shook her gently Nan woke with a grunt and her customary emission of wind.
‘Where are we?’ she said, bad-tempered as ever.
‘In Leicester going to see the Smiths,’ said Alice, the words giving her a little frisson of excitement.
They rose from their seats and trudged along the platform. Outside, taxis stood lined up and they joined the queue.
An Asian driver smiled and chatted amiably as they traversed the Leicestershire landscape, Alice praying that Nan Wildgoose wouldn’t say something offensive.
‘I want the toilet,’ was what she came up with.
‘We’re nearly there,’ said Alice.
‘I want the toilet,’ said Nan louder.
The driver looked concerned. ‘She won’t have piss in my car?’ he said.
‘No,’ said Alice.
‘I have,’ said Nan triumphantly ‘I couldn’t wait.’
‘Oh my God.’ The taxi driver launched into an unintelligible stream of a language they didn’t understand.
The taxi stopped.
‘Out please,’ he said, barely keeping his temper.
‘I’m sorry,’ said Alice, ‘she didn’t mean it.’
‘Give me all your money,’ said the driver, ‘to clean car.’ Alice regretfully handed over the thirty pounds Keith had given her.
They watched as he disappeared into the distance, having helpfully informed them it was ‘bloody miles’ to Leicester University.
Nan Wildgoose and Alice started to walk. There was a cold and bitter wind and shards of sharp rain whipped into them.
Nan was silent for a few hundred yards.
‘I don’t feel well,’ she said.
‘We’re nearly there.’ said Alice who could see the concrete jumble of the campus not far away.
She looked at her watch. Three-quarters of an hour to go. A bus shelter loomed in the darkness.
‘Let’s sit down for a minute,’ said Alice, relieved. ‘We’ve still got time.’
Nan Wildgoose sat heavily on the narrow plastic seat.
‘What is it?’ Alice asked.
‘Pain,’ said Nan.
‘Where?’ said Alice, guiltily feeling only irritable. ‘Everywhere,’ said Nan. ‘I want to go home.’ Oh Christ, thought Alice. Don’t be ill now, for fuck’s sake, not today of all days.
Nan slumped over on to Alice’s shoulder.
‘Nan?’ said Alice. Getting no answer, her voice rose with alarm. ‘Nan! Nan!’
It was no good, there was no response. Nan Wildgoose was just a big heavy heap of flesh pushing her across the seat. Alice couldn’t hold her and Nan toppled on to the wet, cold pavement.
Alice had absolutely no idea what to do. She’d seen nurses on telly put a finger to the artery on people’s necks but she wasn’t really sure what she was feeling for. Was Nan asleep? Unconscious? Dead? She had no clue. She tried to lift her but Nan’s fourteen-stone frame wouldn’t budge and so Alice sat on the pavement next to Nan Wildgoose and tried to decide what to do. A thought ran through her head that she could just prop Nan up in the bus stop, go to the gig and then sort it all out afterwards. She was so close to seeing Morrissey in the flesh and so desperate for that to happen, surely that would be all right. The thought exited almost immediately, to be replaced by the horror of sitting on a pavement in Leicester next to her grandmother who appeared to be dead. Regretfully she turned away from what had promised to be the best evening of her life. No one seemed to be about. No one to ask, to scream at, to tell. Alice pulled Nan into a sitting position and rested her gently against the side of the bus stop. She took off her coat and laid it over Nan just in case she was still there in the big tired body and ran up the road until she saw a phone box. Her cold fingers dialled 999.
On campus, in front of a huge audience of expectant fans, Morrissey called, ‘Hello, Leicester!’ and the band went straight into ‘Pretty Girls Make Graves’.
A completely neutral, rather nasal voice inquired which service Alice wanted. The voice had no idea that while Morrissey was singing about Nature playing tricks. Alice was experiencing the biggest trick Nature could come up with. As the last breaths sighed from Nan Wildgoose out into the night air, Alice began to lose her faith in womanhood, along with Morrissey She found herself angrily resentful that poor old Nan could not have hung on for one more night. And then she murmured, ‘I’m sorry, Nan. I’m really sorry.
As unruly girls and unruly boys swayed along to the song, she ran back to the bus stop to wait.
The strains of ‘Back To The Old House’ boomed round the hall and Alice, unable to hear anything except the sounds of the night, just wanted to go home.
The final song of the Smiths set, ‘What Difference Does It Make?’ was perhaps the most poignant. Nan had gone, and for years afterwards when Alice heard the line, ‘and you must be looking very old tonight’, an image of Nan Wildgoose’s poor crumpled face entered her mind and the terror of the night came back to her.
A siren pierced the night as the ironic encore of ‘You’ve Got Everything Now’ was played and Morrissey shouted, ‘Goodbye. Leicester! Goodbye!’
Back at home in
her bedroom the following day the whole incident seemed like a surreal drug-induced nightmare.
The ambulance had taken an hour to find them while Alice sat desperately holding Nan, trying to be positive in her head but knowing in reality there was no hope for her. She wanted to phone her dad but had no money and in her despair had forgotten she could reverse the charges. Besides, she didn’t want to leave Nan alone and lonely under the rain that was falling faster and harder. They had had an encounter with a drunk who had mistakenly thought Nan Wildgoose was a member of his merry band of excessive drinkers.
‘Bloody ‘ell, she’s had a few,’ he said, hands on hips, staring down at Nan and Alice.
‘Piss off,’ said Alice, feeling the spirit of Nan behind her words.
‘Only trying to help,’ he said and sauntered off, wobbling and swaying until the darkness swallowed him.
Eventually the screeching of the ambulance heralded its arrival and it drew up at the bus stop. Two chunky men appeared, one carrying a bag, and knelt down beside Alice.
‘Oh, you poor love,’ said the older of the two.
Alice, who had held all her fears and distress inside, was unable to keep them under control because of these kind words and began to sob as if she would never stop.
‘It’s all right, love,’ said the older one. ‘What’s your name?’ Alice,’ said Alice.
‘I’m Del,’ said the man. ‘And who’s this lady?’ ‘My nan,’ said Alice. ‘Is she all right?’
‘Doesn’t look like it,’ said the younger harder-looking one.
The old man shot him a look, and more softly he said, ‘No, I’m afraid not.’
‘I knew it really.’ said Alice and began to cry harder.
‘Let’s get you out of the rain.’ said Del. ‘We’ll take you to the nearest hospital, then you can contact the rest of the family’
They drove through the night and pulled up at a brightly lit casualty department. Nan was taken inside on a wheeled trolley and left in a side room, with Alice beside her. Eventually a tired-looking pubescent male doctor came in and asked her some questions and a kindly receptionist took Alice to a phone on which she could break the news to her dad.