The Wrong Boy

by Willy Russell

  Deak shook his head, tears in his eyes, unable to go on, leaving it to Slim who said, ‘The singing suddenly stopped!’

  Slim frowned deeply. Cindy-Charlene was just staring down at her high-heeled boots, and Deak was starting to cry now.

  ‘They began calling out,’ Slim said, ‘the other prisoners, addressing the Cowboy himself at first, calling, “Come on, mate, keep on singing, singer, don’t stop now, mate.” And then, when their words had no effect, they started banging on the bars of their cells, shouting to the sergeant, telling him to go and have a word with the singer and ask him to croon up his sad songs again. The sergeant told them to shut the fuck up, called them rabble and scum and not fit for this earth. But knowing how the Cowboy’s sad-hearted singing had kept all the rabble quiet in their cells, the sergeant relented, said he’d go down to cell twenty-nine and try and persuade him to sing a bit more.’

  ‘And that’s how they found him,’ Cindy-Charlene said. ‘That desk sergeant found him hanging there by the strings of his own guitar.’

  Cindy-Charlene shuddered at the memory.

  ‘The sergeant managed to save him,’ she said, ‘cut him down in time.’

  Sowerby Slim lowered his big bearded head and shook it sadly. ‘But they couldn’t save his voice. The strings had severed his vocal cords.’

  Deak nodded, wiping at his tears with the back of his hand.

  And I sat there, on a flight case; with my mind all confused and jumbled up, not knowing what to think or say or do. Because what can you do? What can you say or think, when you’ve just been told all kinds of things that you never knew; things about your own father! And not only that; because you know now that you met him! Day in and day out in Swintonfield, sat with him on summer afternoons, drinking sugary tea with not much milk, listening to the wind in the branches of the big chestnut tree. And never ever, not once did you even begin to guess that that same gardener man, the one who had lost his voice, the man who’d made you a present of his guitar, was the man who was your father.

  That’s what I was thinking about, Morrissey, when I heard Deak saying, ‘Here we are then.’ I looked up and saw we were passing the sign that said we were coming into Plinxton.

  ‘Where did you say you were headed?’ Slim asked me. When I said, ‘Grimsby,’ they all looked surprised.

  Deak said, ‘Fuckin’ hell, you should have got out miles back at the M180.’

  I just shrugged. ‘It doesn’t matter,’ I said.

  Deak stared at me like I was a bit soft.

  We were pulling into a car park. And when we all got out, I found myself staring at it, the Allied Butchers’ and Architects’ Club. All sorts of people with stetson hats and beer bellies were queuing up to get in. Some of them even wore spurs and lurid tee shirts saying things like I’m doing fine. I’m walking the line: now that I’m into Country.

  ‘Are y’ comin’ in with us?’ Cindy-Charlene asked. ‘Y’ could catch our gig if you like.’

  But before I could even shake my head, Deak said, ‘For God’s sake, Charlene! Come on!’

  ‘What?’ she asked.

  But Deak turned to me and he said, ‘Look, no offence, son, but dressed like that, at a place like this, well, it’s not really on, lad.’

  Cindy-Charlene started to argue with him but I just nodded and said, ‘It’s all right. I’ve got to get off now anyway.’

  I didn’t have the heart to tell Deak he needn’t worry and that I’d rather catch dysentery than catch their gig. So I just thanked Cindy-Charlene and said I had to be on my way. I could tell Deak was relieved. Slim shook me by the hand and wished me all the best for getting to Grimsby. Then he told Deak they’d better start getting the gear unloaded. And in their own way, they’d been really nice to me, the Desperadoes. That’s why I knew that I couldn’t just go off without telling them. We were stood around the back of the van. Deak and Slim were getting busy sliding out the amps and the flight cases. And I said, ‘Before I get off, I just want you all to know something.’

  ‘Yeah, what’s that then?’ Deak said in an uninterested fashion as he picked up one end of a flight case and Slim grabbed the other.

  ‘Well, I just wanted to tell y’,’ I said, ‘the reason I knew that the Kexborough Cowboy had lost his voice was because he was my Dad. He was my father.’

  They looked at me. I just nodded at them all. And they looked at one another like they were a bit embarrassed. Then Deak and Slim started off towards the doors of the club, carrying the flight case. And that’s when I heard Deak laughing as he said, ‘I fuckin’ told y’, Slim. I said we should never have picked him up in the first place. Y’ could tell, from fifty yards away; a kid like that, y’ could tell straight off he was Care in the Community!’

  They both disappeared inside the club then. I just nodded at Cindy-Charlene who was staring at me with a concerned expression on her face. But I just smiled and told her tarar and started walking away across the car park. I’d almost got to the gates when I heard her running up behind me. And when I turned around she was looking even more worried and concerned. And she said, ‘Now look! Are you sure you’ll be all right? It’ll be getting dark soon, y’ know.’

  I shrugged. ‘I’ll be fine,’ I said.

  But she wasn’t convinced. She frowned and she said, ‘Are y’ sure you know where you’re going?’

  ‘Yeah,’ I said, ‘Grimsby!’

  ‘Well, how will you get there?’ she said. ‘Have y’ got any money?’

  ‘It’s all right!’ I said. ‘I don’t need any money. I’ll be fine.’

  ‘Here,’ she said, and she was opening up her handbag and taking some money out.

  ‘Look,’ I said, ‘you don’t need to do that, I’ve …’

  But she wouldn’t listen and she said, ‘Come on, here, take this.’

  ‘It’s all right,’ I told her, ‘I’m not really feebleminded, y’ know. Y’ don’t have to worry.’

  But I could see that she was worried; worried about someone who was soft in the head and leaving him in a place he’d never been before. I just took the money and thanked her. Then I told her, ‘It is true, y’ know. He was my Dad.’

  But she just nodded and winked as she said, ‘Yeah. Sure … sure.’

  But it was just like people used to say that sort of thing when I was in Swintonfield; so I knew she didn’t believe me.

  ‘You just make sure you look after yourself now, won’t y’?’

  I nodded and she started making her way back towards the club. And that’s when I realised, when I remembered what I was carrying. And I called out to her then, ‘Charlene … Cindy-Charlene, wait.’

  As I began walking over to her I started opening the zipper on my guitar bag. ‘Look,’ I said.

  Cindy-Charlene frowned. ‘What?’ she asked.

  I pulled back the cover on the bag revealing the neck of the guitar and the head with the missing ivory tuning peg. Cindy-Charlene stared, her eyes widening as an involuntary hand was lifted to her mouth and in barely a whisper she said, ‘Oh my God.’ She looked up at me then. ‘Oh my God!’ she said again. And I saw that her eyes had filled up with tears. And then, her voice beginning to choke, she said, ‘I loved him!’

  I nodded.

  ‘I know!’ I said, ‘I know that. And I just wish that he’d loved you instead of … y’ know.’

  Cindy-Charlene’s face creased up with the tears. But then she pulled herself back together as she said, ‘Come on! Come back with me, into the club. Show them, Deak and Slim, show them the guit—’

  But I shook my head and zipped up the guitar case. ‘No. It’s all right,’ I said. ‘I just wanted you to know. But I’ve got to be going now.’

  She grabbed me by the arm. ‘Where is he?’ she said. ‘What’s he up to? What’s he doing these days, is he all right?’

  I just shrugged. I said, ‘I don’t really know.’ I said, ‘It’s years since I last saw him. And then, when I did, I didn’t even know he was my Dad.’

  Cind
y-Charlene frowned.

  And I shrugged and said, ‘But he wasn’t the Kexborough Cowboy any more.’

  Cindy-Charlene was crying. Then, behind her, Deak started calling from the stage door, telling her it was time for her to do her soundcheck. Cindy-Charlene nodded. Then she stepped towards me and hugged me to her. As she stood back, she took my head in her hands and stared at me. ‘He was a star,’ she said, ‘your dad. He was a real star.’

  She stood there blinking back the tears, until Deak called out again and told her to get a move on. And Cindy-Charlene, who’d loved my father, turned and went high-heeling it back to the stage door of the Allied Butchers’ and Architects’ Club. The last I ever saw of her, she was stood silhouetted in the light that spilled out from the stage door, her hand raised as she blew me a kiss.

  And on behalf of my Dad, I blew one back for Cindy-Charlene.

  Yours sincerely,

  Raymond Marks

  The Big Bite Services,

  A1(M),

  Nr Doncaster

  Dear Morrissey,

  It’s nice sitting here, overlooking the motorway; looking out and seeing nothing but the headlights and the tail lights coming and going in the dark. It’s really quiet in here. I suppose that’s because it’s so late. And all those people down there in their cars or their lorries, I suppose they’re all wanting to get home.

  It’s all right in here though. The lights are all dimmed and it’s quiet; like being in a hospital at night, where the only sounds you can hear are far-off sounds and you can’t quite make out what they are.

  I got a taxi. With the money Cindy-Charlene gave me I got a taxi back to the motorway. And I know I should have just started hitch-hiking again. I came in here though, for something to eat.

  And I’m sorry, Morrissey; I really am sorry. But suddenly it didn’t seem to matter that much. If there’d been something decently vegetarian on the menu then I would have had it. But when I came in here I just felt a bit low, I suppose; like I wanted something to warm me up and fill me up, so I wouldn’t feel so empty.

  I am sorry, Morrissey. I know I could just keep quiet about it and then you wouldn’t even know. But I couldn’t do that. I just couldn’t write to you, Morrissey, if I was holding anything back and not telling you the whole of the truth.

  And the truth is that I did it!

  I ordered chicken casserole. And I ate it!

  I’m not trying to make excuses, Morrissey, but I did check with the lady on the counter and she said that they only ever used free-range chickens that had been fed properly on corn and stuff. So at least, Morrissey, at least the chicken in the casserole was a chicken that had had a relatively reasonable lifestyle and most likely lived quite a happy life.

  I know you’re probably deeply offended and appalled, Morrissey. Normally I would have been appalled myself, at the thought that I could so easily break my vegetarian vows. But after what had happened, after finding out about my Dad, it somehow seemed all a bit pointless really, worrying about what I ate.

  I never knew, Morrissey, that my Dad had tried to kill himself.

  That’s what they said I’d been doing, the night they pulled me out from beneath the ice. The night they put me into Swintonfield.

  They said I’d become a danger to myself. They said I needed protecting from myself. That’s why my Mam signed the consent forms. But what else was she supposed to do? My Mam thought she was helping and protecting me. And that’s why I don’t blame my Mam; I don’t blame her at all because everybody told her that Swintonfield was the best place for me.

  And nowadays my Mam says me being ill had nothing to do with my Dad. She says that if I was mad, back then, it was only because I got driven mad by everything that happened. And my Mam says that if she blames anyone, she blames herself. But I don’t blame her. Paulette Patterson’s dad, my Uncle Bastard Jason and Wilson the Lert, that’s who I blame.

  The night they took me there, the night I’d got trapped under the ice, they said the unit in Swintonfield was the safest place for me. I couldn’t stop the jabbering; jabbering, stop jabbering, couldn’t stop jabbering at all, jabbering jabbering.

  Even when I was pulled out from under the ice, con-cussed and half unconscious, that’s what it was like, Morrissey. I kept saying things over and over again.

  And Wilson told my Mam that this latest attempt on my own life was something he’d been expecting for some time. He said he’d seen all the signs. And afterwards, he said my Mam shouldn’t even hesitate to sign the consent papers because that was the only way I could truly be protected from myself.

  Everybody said he was a hero, Mr Wilson; breaking through the ice, risking his own life to rescue me from the frozen water. My Mam knew she had very great cause to be grateful to Mr Wilson. Everybody said he was a hero. And nobody ever said anything about what a stupid bastard he was; and if he hadn’t just leaped out of bleeding nowhere and startled the shit out of me then I never would have needed rescuing in the first place. Nobody said nothing about that. They just said he was a hero.

  And Corkerdale, the consultant, said Mr Wilson had shown remarkable foresight in knowing exactly where I’d be that night. Mr Wilson was very modest about that though; he explained to the consultant that for a man who’d been able to observe my behaviour over quite a period of time, for a man who’d made himself familiar with my unfortunate history, it hadn’t taken much to work out where I might end up that night. And Mr Wilson just thanked the lord he’d been able to get there in the nick of time. But the consultant insisted and said that as well as thanking the lord, there was a great debt of thanks owing to Mr Wilson himself.

  They got on very well, Mr Wilson and the consultant. Dr Corkerdale said it was always a great help in cases such as this, having the benefit of an understanding and articulate third party, one who could provide vital insights and information regarding the patient. And Mr Wilson said perhaps the doctor would like to see the file that he’d kept as part of his Open University studies; not that he wanted to step on the toes of the professionals, as it were.

  But the doctor said on the contrary, and how sometimes it’s the informed layperson who can provide the sort of clues and insights that can elude even the best professional. They got on very well together, Wilson and Corkerdale. They both agreed that my Mam was doing the best thing, in signing the consent forms.

  The male nurse said I’d been as quiet as a mouse for the last couple of days. He said I’d quietened down considerably now they were trying me on this new medication. All the jabbering, jibbering jabbering, running off at the mouth, it had all stopped, he said.

  And that’s why he thought it would probably be all right now, me seeing the visitor. Brendan said he thought it might even be nice for me, to see my rescuer, that brave man who’d put his own life at risk in order to save mine.

  ‘Raymond,’ I heard Nurse Brendan’s voice, somewhere far off in the distance, ‘Raymond, come on, look. You’ve a visitor. Come on now.’

  I didn’t want to be bothered though. I just wanted to lie there with my eyes shut, with everything far off in the distance.

  But Brendan was gently shaking me by the shoulder, saying, ‘Come on, Raymond. Look. Look who’s here.’

  And I thought he might leave me alone, if I just opened my eyes and took a quick look at whoever it was. So I concentrated, concentrated really hard so that I could drag open my eyes and look. And that’s when I saw him stood there at the foot of the bed. That’s when I started screaming and shouting and Nurse Brendan started trying to calm me down, saying it must be the concussion. But it wasn’t the concussion and I couldn’t calm down because there was a Lert at the foot of my bed, a Lert who’d come to get me and I told the nurse, told the nurse, get him out, get him out get him out. I was struggling in the bed, trying to get away, trying to move, trying to escape, to escape. But Nurse Brendan wouldn’t let me and had hold of me, holding me down on the bed and shouting for someone to come and help. And I was screaming, screaming and cryin
g about how the Lert had kidnapped my Mam and how the Lert had made me fall, made me go crashing through the ice. And how the Lerts were taking over the world! Taking over my world. I was screaming and thrashing about on the bed, with Brendan still trying to hold me down. And then suddenly there was blood everywhere and Brendan was cupping his nose with his hand and all this blood seeping through his fingers as other nurses appeared and more hands grabbed hold of me and pinned me down on the bed as I screamed and screamed and told them, told them, kept telling them and telling them it was the Lert, it was the Lert; the Lert who’d made me get trapped beneath the ice, the Lert who’d kidnapped my Mam; and now there he was, at the foot of the bed, come to kidnap me.

  I tried to tell them. I tried. But they didn’t listen. And the more I shouted, the more I screamed, the more they pinned me down. Then somebody was telling somebody to stand back. And somebody was saying, give me his arm, give me his arm. Then somebody was sticking a needle in. I was still shouting, still screaming, at first. But then everything started to feel far off in the distance again.

  And it was nice like that, with everything far off in the distance and my eyes just starting to close. It was nice. And he wasn’t there any more, the Lert at the foot of the bed.

  And for ages after that, I hardly ever knew if I was awake or dreaming. Sometimes it seemed like there were other people at the foot of the bed, people like my Mam, looking like she was trying very hard not to cry as she explained that I’d become a danger to myself. But I didn’t want to know about any of that. I just wanted to know how she’d managed to escape from the Lerts. When she came to hold my hand, when she kissed me, I asked her how she’d managed it. But she only looked at me with a puzzled look on her face. And from the far-off place inside my head, I managed to find the words and tell her, ‘A1 at Lloyd’s, Mam. A1 at Lloyd’s now you’ve escaped from Lertland.’