The Boy with Two Heads

  ‘I get ear-ache,’ said Rolo. ‘I get this real pain in my ears.’

  ‘You get finger-ache too?’ Rikki had noticed that the boy was wearing gloves. Again, he was the only one. A crowd was now building up around the doors, listening to the conversation.

  ‘Yeah,’ said Rolo. ‘It’s a pain, but I have to keep warm. No cap, no play. No gloves – no play.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘I don’t know. I have to keep warm.’

  ‘You a retard, Rolo?’

  ‘Rikki!’ said Richard. ‘You better shut up, now. I’m warning you.’

  ‘Retard?’ said Rolo. ‘I’m not a retard. I get cold easy – that doesn’t mean anything. How’d you like it if I called you a retard?’

  ‘But I’m not a retard, so it wouldn’t bother me. How old are you anyway, cap-head?’

  ‘Seven. And I’m not a cap-head.’

  Rikki smiled. ‘Bet you don’t make eight,’ he said. ‘I remember you now, and I think you’re dying.’

  Those listening gasped, and the bell rang loudly above their heads.

  Richard got Rikki away to their classroom, where they picked up their snack, and soon they were with Eric, Mark, Jeff and others, setting up for football. Five minutes later – just as the game had got going – Richard saw Rolo’s sister, Salome, heading straight towards him. She was a powerful girl, and though Richard thought of her as a friend, she was not looking friendly.

  He decided to move.

  ‘What are we doing?’ said Rikki.

  ‘I think we’d better get inside,’ said Richard.

  ‘Why?’

  ‘You know why.’

  Richard trotted behind the old drama studio, and in through the nearest door. Ignoring Rikki’s protests, he made for the library. It was pointless hiding from Salome, but if he could get somewhere close to a teacher, there might be a peaceful outcome.

  Unfortunately, there were no teachers in sight.

  He moved on, towards the cafeteria, where there was normally someone on duty. There were just a handful of juniors eating their snacks. Salome had come the other way, and emerged in front of him, cutting off the exit.

  ‘Richard,’ she said. ‘Can I see you a moment?’

  A small group had followed her. Jeff, Mark and Eric were all there, as were two of Salome’s best friends – two girls called Lydia and Carla. Between them stood Rolo. Including the snack-eaters, it was quite an audience.

  ‘Hi, Salome,’ said Richard.

  She looked furious, and Richard felt a curious lightness. It was that feeling of knowing exactly what was coming, and not being able to do anything about it. Salome was not just powerful, she was tough. She was well known for her fearsome temper, and she jumped to conclusions fast. Richard could not remember a time when he’d seen her this angry, though – and certainly not with him. She was so furious that her nostrils were twitching. Her brother, Rolo, had been pushed forward and was next to her. Her arm was round his shoulders, pulling him close.

  ‘That’s the one,’ said Rolo. ‘I didn’t say nothing.’

  ‘What did you call my brother?’ said Salome quietly. She was looking directly at Rikki.

  ‘I don’t remember.’

  ‘You call him “retard”?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Yes he did. He called me “cap-head” too. Said I was going to die.’

  ‘Salome,’ said Jeff. ‘It’s his first day.’

  ‘Stay out of it.’ She looked back at Rikki. ‘How long have you been at this school, that you think you can insult people?’

  ‘He didn’t mean anything,’ said Richard. ‘He’s not used to things yet.’

  Salome put a finger close to Richard’s nose. ‘You stay out of it too. This is between me and him.’ Her voice was trembling. ‘What do they call you? Rikki? This is your first day, isn’t it? Like Jeff said.’

  ‘Yes, this is my first day – I think you probably know that, being as you haven’t seen me around before.’

  ‘You call my brother a retard on your first day? You think that’s wise?’

  ‘He gave me a mouthful. He called me a two-headed freak.’

  ‘That’s a lie,’ said Rolo.

  ‘Your brother’s out of control,’ said Rikki. ‘He spat at me, too.’

  ‘Look, I honestly think there was a misunderstanding,’ said Richard. ‘We like Rolo – everyone knows that.’

  ‘Yeah,’ said Rikki. ‘I don’t know what we’re doing here arguing about a kid. I think we’ve got better things to do.’

  ‘My brother gets sick, all right?’ said Salome. She was taking shallow breaths. ‘He’s got a condition where he picks up germs and bugs really easily, so one of the ways we deal with that is to make him dress up warm.’

  ‘I’m on medicine too,’ said Rolo.

  ‘It’s a pain for all of us, but we have to do it. He got really sick last year, so now he has a rule: “No cap, no play.” You understand that now?’

  Rikki nodded. ‘It seems very clear.’

  ‘Good.’

  There was a silence.

  ‘I’m going to give you the benefit of the doubt,’ said Salome at last. ‘It’s your first day, like you said. So I’m going to assume you were just mucking about and didn’t remember stuff. But I tell you now, you ever say anything like that to my brother again – you ever mention dying – I’ll hurt you bad. I’ll put you back in the hospital you just came out of.’

  Rikki smiled brightly. ‘OK. I get it.’

  ‘You’ve got it?’

  ‘For sure.’

  ‘Fine.’

  Salome allowed herself to be turned round by one of her friends. She had her back to Richard and Rikki, and the confrontation might have ended there had Rikki not said what he said.

  He spoke loudly. ‘So just to be clear . . . Let me check this: I’m not allowed to call your half-dead brother a retard, even though he’s clearly ready for the graveyard, chasing a box and a headstone, on his way to Jesus?’

  Salome simply turned again and punched Rikki with all her might, full in the face.

  She hit him so hard that he was knocked flat to the floor. Richard lay on his back, wide awake, gazing at the ceiling. Rikki was out like a light.

  He was lifted up, blood pouring from his nose. Teachers arrived. The headmaster was called, and Dr Warren was beside him in a moment. Within thirty minutes, Richard and Rikki were back in an ambulance.

  They did not go to the hospital this time, however: the ambulance was private. It sped out of town, and zoomed off to the motorway. Two hours later it was spinning down a leafy lane, then pausing before electronic gates. The gates eased open and a team of orderlies was there to receive them. ‘The Rechner Institute’, said a plate on the wall. ‘Neurological Research and Observation Centre’. Another sign said, ‘Strictly Private – Authorized Personnel Only’, and cameras gazed down from every angle.

  Richard and Rikki were loaded onto a trolley and wheeled inside. Dr Warren moved briskly beside them.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  A number of things happened, all with remarkable speed.

  Salome was put into immediate isolation, then suspended for assaulting another pupil. Her mother came to collect her, and the two of them were gone by lunch time.

  Rikki and Richard found themselves in a white room, where everyone whispered and even the footsteps were quiet. Half of Rikki’s face was black from bruising, and there was mild concussion. His skull and brain had so recently formed that the doctors insisted on forty-eight hours of observation, and extensive tests. Dr Summersby was called in by satellite and updated.

  Mr and Mrs Westlake remained at his bedside. Dr Warren sat in the corner, listening, writing and recording.

  ‘What did you say to her?’ asked Mr Westlake.

  ‘Nothing,’ said Rikki softly. There was a patch and bandage over one eye, and he was attached to a dozen electrodes.

  ‘I find that hard to believe. I know what a mouth you’ve got, and I know how provocat
ive you can be.’

  ‘She called me a two-headed monster. I told her I was going to tell – and that’s when she hit me.’

  ‘Is that true, Richard?’ said Mr Westlake.

  Richard had his head on the pillow, and lay with closed eyes. ‘No, Dad.’

  ‘Oh, here we go!’ said Rikki.

  ‘Keep calm,’ said Dr Warren. ‘Tell us what happened – in your own words. Take your time, OK?’

  ‘And you’re all going to believe him,’ said Rikki. ‘Aren’t you? Richard’s the favourite! Richard can do no wrong—’

  ‘Hush!’ said Mr Westlake. ‘I want to hear what he’s got to say.’

  Dr Warren leaned forward. ‘This is not unexpected,’ he whispered. ‘There’s bound to be an internal conflict: we have to accept that. He’s at a very delicate stage.’

  ‘I can hear you,’ said Rikki.

  ‘Let Richard speak,’ said his father. ‘I want to know the facts.’

  ‘OK,’ said Richard. ‘It was pretty straightforward. Rikki called Salome’s brother a half-dead retard – I don’t know why. She told him not to, so he did it again, and she punched him out. We got what we deserved.’

  Mr Westlake closed his eyes.

  ‘Were there other people there, love?’ said Mrs Westlake.

  ‘Loads. He was really rude – he’s been rude all day, and I can’t stand it.’

  ‘I was having a joke,’ said Rikki.

  ‘Then why was no one laughing?’ said Richard. ‘And what are you going to do next?’

  ‘No one stuck up for me,’ said Rikki. ‘Those are the kinds of friends we’ve got! Don’t you see that now? Well, I say school sucks. I’m never going back. I’m going to write to the papers about that place, and about that girl.’

  ‘You know what I think?’ said Mr Westlake. ‘I think you’ve got an attitude problem, and you have to do something about it, fast.’

  Mrs Westlake took her son’s hand. ‘What did Danda tell you?’ she said.

  ‘Grandad,’ said Rikki. ‘Call him by the right name!’

  ‘I don’t know,’ said Richard.

  ‘Nor do I,’ said Rikki. ‘What did he tell us?’

  ‘Be honest. Be courteous.’ Mrs Westlake let the words sink in. ‘If you manage to be both—’

  ‘Oh yes,’ said Rikki. ‘He said that just before he snuffed it.’

  ‘Yes, love. But—’

  ‘We burned him up, as I remember. He was a skinny old bore, anyway – said all kinds of crap. We’re better off without him.’

  Richard’s eyes were closed, so he didn’t see his father clench his fists. His mother was struck dumb – her mouth opened and closed, and no words emerged.

  Dr Warren stared, his pen poised over his pad. ‘Rikki,’ he said.

  ‘What?’

  ‘You were close to him, I think?’ he said.

  ‘Not really,’ said Rikki.

  ‘You were with him, weren’t you? When he died?’

  ‘Who cares?’

  ‘Can we talk about it?’

  ‘I don’t remember. I’m confused. And anyway, if Grandad was so important to everyone, how come you emptied his bedroom, Dad? How come we don’t ever talk about him, when it was his house?’

  ‘Rikki,’ said his father. ‘We talk about him a lot.’

  ‘No, we don’t.’

  ‘I just mentioned him,’ said his mother. ‘We can talk about him whenever—’

  ‘You’ve forgotten he even existed! And a good thing too.’

  ‘He’s not forgotten,’ said Mr Westlake. ‘You know he isn’t.’

  ‘It’s his house, still.’

  ‘It’s our house. It’s the family home, love,’ said Mrs Westlake. ‘And as for his room, I thought we’d agreed all that. Your father needed the space.’

  ‘I needed an office, Rikki – you helped me decorate it, remember? Grandad’s been gone for nearly a year, and we agreed to make changes.’

  ‘You’ve got no right to be in there,’ said Rikki. ‘No right.’

  Dr Warren leaned in, and put his hand on Richard’s arm. ‘Let’s try to go slow, shall we?’ he said.

  ‘Don’t touch me,’ said Richard.

  ‘Listen a moment,’ said Mr Westlake quietly. ‘Just listen a minute – shh! There are issues here, I can see that – but Doctor Warren is helping us, and he’s keen to chat to you, properly – one to one. I think it’s about time we did that. Then, when you’re back at school, you’re going to deal with the damage.’

  ‘What damage?’

  ‘You’ve caused a lot of upset, love,’ said Mrs Westlake.

  ‘And what about the psycho who hit me? You’re on her side, I imagine?’

  ‘Of course not,’ said Mr Westlake. ‘But if you insult people, you can expect to be battered. Is that hard to understand?’

  ‘Oh, so she can just beat people up if she wants to? How is that “courteous”, going back to the wisdom of . . . of . . .’

  Mr Westlake paused, and felt his wife’s hand on his. He looked at Richard, and then at Rikki. ‘I’m not saying violence is right,’ he said.

  ‘Grandad knew how to fight.’

  ‘Did he?’

  ‘He was in the war. He wasn’t flying around for fun, you know. What do you think he had bombs for?’

  ‘I’m sure that’s true. But he didn’t like violence, and nor do I. You provoked someone, Rikki, and got just what you deserved. I hate to say it, because I don’t ever want to see you hurt. But you can’t say things like the things you say, and not expect consequences.’

  ‘He hates me,’ said Rikki, later that night.

  The machines buzzed and bleeped, and the ward was in darkness.

  ‘Nobody hates you,’ said Richard. ‘Yet.’

  ‘You do.’

  ‘No, I don’t. But you’re making life so difficult.’

  ‘You should have stuck up for me. Dad asks you what I said, and you dobbed me straight in. Not exactly loyal, are you, Richard?’

  ‘You want me to lie?’

  ‘Yes. You should be on my side. We’re the same person.’

  ‘And when Dad asks Jeff or Mark – or Salome? Everyone heard what you said. And anyway’ – Richard turned to stare at his second head – ‘I am not going to lie for you, ever. What you said, and what you have been saying about people, was really horrible.’

  ‘Oh, you are such a dweeb.’

  ‘OK, I’m a dweeb. I’ve been a dweeb for eleven years—’

  ‘You wait till you get out into the big wide world, boy. It’s not about being the blasted bus-monitor. Plastic planes, Richard – you’re the half-dead retard, don’t you see that? And I’m going to get that cow – what was her name?’

  ‘Salome. She’s not a—’

  ‘I don’t forgive. Ever.’

  ‘She’ll wipe the floor with you. She’ll wipe the floor with us – and she’s got three older brothers. If they come looking for us, we will be seriously dead. You know what her dad does for a living?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘You do. He runs the boxing club, Rikki: that’s where Salome learned to punch like that. He makes our dad look like a . . . mouse.’

  ‘Our dad is a mouse.’

  Richard sighed. ‘You are horrible, aren’t you? And what you said about . . . Grandad was . . . Why are you so sick?’

  ‘What did I say?’

  ‘About him being . . . burned. The way you said it!’

  ‘We put him in a furnace, Richard. You were there.’

  ‘He was cremated.’

  ‘Same blasted, bloody thing, so get used to the truth. We burned him up and sent his stuff off to the Oxfam shop: he’s gone. You see him in the mirror but he’s not there, do you understand that? So we’ve got some growing up to do now, and Dad is a mouse compared to him – he will never protect us. All your life you’ve known it: dead-end Dad, and a coward as well, and Grandad was . . . a hero! Remember? And it takes me to bring it out into the open. I’m not a soft, watery, dweeby little
pansy, hiding from life, brother. I won’t do anything physical to that girl, sure – I’m not dumb enough to fight her with our fists. There are better ways. And I’ll warn you now – so far, you think you call the shots because you have muscular control. That, friend, is going to change.’

  Richard stared. ‘What do you mean?’

  Rikki lifted his right hand and took hold of Richard’s nose. He pinched it gently, and then twisted it.

  Richard winced.

  ‘Did you do that?’ said Rikki.

  ‘No. I mean . . . yes.’

  ‘You squeezed your own nose, did you?’

  ‘Well . . . you did it and I . . . kind of . . . I suppose I let you.’

  Rikki started to laugh. ‘You think you have control. You think life is all gold stars from lovely Mr Bra-low. It’s about to get complicated. Retard.’

  ‘We have to see that counsellor tomorrow, because of you.’

  ‘Bring it on. I can’t wait to be counselled by that schmuck. “We’re going to be friends.” That’s what he said to me! “Life will be OK . . .”’

  ‘My God, Rikki . . .’ Richard stared at the ceiling. ‘Maybe it could be.’

  ‘Never.’

  Richard felt tears prick his eyes. ‘You know something?’ he said. ‘The only time I’ve had peace lately was when you were unconscious.’

  ‘What happens when you go unconscious? I tell you what, Richard . . . there are going to be times when I’m on my own, and when things are going to be the way I want them. Times when you feel a little bit sleepy, and I’m in charge. I hold the keys, buddy.’

  ‘Why do you speak like you’re from America?’

  ‘I don’t.’

  ‘What do you want?’

  ‘Nothing. Metamorphosis.’

  Richard looked at Rikki again. ‘You think about Grandad. All the time.’

  ‘No I don’t.’

  ‘You do, Rikki. What do we do – please? Are we going to . . . burn the house down?’

  ‘Why not?’

  Richard closed his eyes, and the tears ran down his cheeks.

  Rikki said, ‘I will trash everything. Nothing’s worth anything, Richard, and that’s what we’ve got to learn – or we just won’t survive. That’s why I was born, my friend: to make you strong.’ He looked hard at Richard’s profile. ‘So dry your eyes, you little queer. And grow up.’