The next morning, Richard’s mother laid out her son’s school uniform.
It was a simple set of clothes: grey trousers, a blue jersey and a blue shirt. There were two blue-striped ties. The shirt and jersey now sported two collars, and two V-necks.
‘I can’t wear that,’ said the second head.
‘Look,’ said Richard patiently. ‘We have to go to school. We tried it on yesterday, and—’
‘I don’t remember what we did yesterday.’
‘Of course you do.’
‘I’m adapting, all right? And this is the wrong style, totally.’
‘It’s the uniform, Rikki. It’s what we have to wear.’
‘It’s baby stuff.’ He peered at the jersey, with its golden trim. ‘It’s infantile, pseudo-military, identity-sapping baby stuff – you’re letting them infantilize us. It’s for kids.’
‘I am a kid,’ said Richard.
‘I’m not,’ said Rikki.
‘It’s what everyone wears, dear,’ said Mrs Westlake gently.
‘I know it’s what everyone wears,’ snapped the second head. ‘I am not retarded. But if you think we’re dressing up like a moron, you are mistaken. This is what I’ve been trying to get through to you people for the last month: we’ve moved on now and we’re no longer morons—’
‘You’re going to have to mind your language,’ said Mrs Westlake.
‘Why?’
‘You can’t use words like that.’
‘We’re still at school,’ said Richard. ‘It’s what we do – it’s what everyone does, and it’s what everyone wears.’
‘That’s always been the problem,’ said Rikki. ‘I’ve noticed it since day one – you don’t have any fight in you, Richard! You wear clothes nobody normal would be seen dead in – colours that only a little girl would choose. You have a haircut like a vegetable and everything you say is a way of avoiding conflict.’
Mrs Westlake tried to interrupt, but the second head only raised his voice.
‘Do I talk over you?’ he cried.
He was the same size as Richard now, and though he had a similar hairstyle he made Richard comb it into a little crest. He had a slightly darker complexion too, and his skin seemed tighter. While Richard tended to relax and smile, the second head’s mouth fell naturally into a frown. His eyes had a hunted look, as if he never got quite enough sleep.
‘Do I?’ he said, staring at his mother.
‘Rikki, you have to mind your manners.’
‘I keep a pretty civil tongue in my head, so how is it that whatever I say seems to get shot down before I even finish saying it?’
‘You have to listen, Rikki,’ said Mrs Westlake – who was always confused by the aggression of the second head. ‘Richard’s right: there’s no choice in the matter, if you want to go to school.’
‘Ah, Richard’s right,’ said Rikki. ‘Richard’s right again.’
‘But he is, dear!’
‘He always is right, isn’t he? Richard never does a bad thing – how does that make me feel? And, oh – look! Hey, the debate’s over, is it?’ Richard was pulling on the shirt. ‘So there’s no discussion in this house? Let’s just ride roughshod over the unwanted guest. I tell you something, there needs to be debate. Things are different now.’
‘You think I don’t know that?’ said Richard. ‘You think I’m under any kind of false impression about that?’
‘You can’t dictate to me!’
‘I’m going to school. So are you.’
‘You’re going to have to learn negotiation. You’ve had it easy for eleven years, boy – and I never asked to be born, OK?’
‘I’m being practical,’ said Richard bluntly. ‘I want to see my friends—’
‘Friends?’
‘Yes! And I don’t want to stay stupid all my life, and these are the clothes we wear for school.’
‘We look like a sucker.’
‘I don’t care. Life sucks, and I’m a sucker.’
Richard finished dressing in silence and stepped out of his room. He walked along the landing and up three steps. Then he turned left and took a deep breath. A door stood open, and through it – on the far wall – was a mirror, larger than his own. He had checked his appearance there every morning for years; now it was so different.
He’d stood there, centring his tie. He’d smoothed his hair, hearing the voice of the old man whose room he was looking sideways into. A bedsitting room, complete with kitchenette and bathroom. A long window that poured morning light in oblongs over the carpet, where Richard would stand, knowing his grandad was up and about, dressed and ready for the day.
It was an office now, for his dad, but the mirror remained.
‘I am not a parasite,’ said Rikki quietly.
Richard’s jaw was clamped shut, and he could feel the same tension in Rikki. He could feel his heart beating, fast and furious.
‘I know it,’ he said, at last. ‘You’re me.’
‘I am.’
‘That’s good.’
There was a stink of newness. The office had a new blue carpet, and the old smells of pipe tobacco were covered by the scent of shelves, straight from the showroom. The walls gleamed white and bright, and there was a large, blond desk between two filing cabinets. There was a black leather chair and brightly coloured files. Only the old man’s mirror had stayed, and Richard stared into it.
He adjusted his tie again. Rikki had his eyes closed.
A year ago his grandfather would have spoken from the corner: ‘You’ll do – stop looking at yourself.’
‘I’m checking.’
‘You’ll crack the glass in a minute. You know what you look like!’
Richard would have turned and smiled and said, ‘Are you meeting me?’
‘If I can. Is that all right?’
‘Right as rain.’ The same words, every time.
‘Rain’s not right. I’ve told you that.’
‘It’s football till four.’
Smaller. His grandfather had lost weight, and his clothes were big on him now. His backbone was curved, and he put his head on one side, gazing out of bright eyes.
‘See you at four, then. Get yourself gone – on the double!’
‘See you . . .’
That was the ritual, every morning. That was the script they’d written between them, and the pips would sound on the old man’s radio, which meant it was time to meet Jeff, who’d soon be at the garden gate.
‘See you! Have a good day.’
Rikki said: ‘Say it aloud, buddy.’ The voice was soft in Richard’s ear.
‘No.’
‘You want me to?’
‘You’re me,’ said Richard. ‘We don’t have to argue.’
‘I am not a parasite. You’re me, as much as me – and I’m you. We’re still part of this smashed-up family, boy, standing here in a room that used to be his. This was his house, you know. He owned it.’
‘I’m going to put your tie on, Rikki. Is that all right?’
‘Yes.’
‘I can do that?’
‘Make me look like you, brother. Make me happy.’
Half past three, or four o’clock. Every afternoon, his grandad would be waiting, and they’d walk home together. When had he stopped holding the old man’s hand? When Jeff was around? Though he did hold it to cross the main road, because his grandad was slow and Richard had to help him.
‘I’m on the edge too,’ said Rikki. ‘I’ve got tear ducts, you know – same as you. Don’t ever forget that.’
Richard tied the second tie with trembling hands, and smoothed down his hair. The doorbell rang and he closed his eyes.
‘Oh God,’ he said. All four eyes were full of tears, and he had to rub them away hard with his thumbs. The ghost of his grandad flickered behind him, and Richard swung round to see his mother. ‘That’ll be Jeff!’ he said. ‘We’re late already . . .’
‘Be brave,’ said his mother. ‘Both of you.’ She kissed the two heads, and hugged them hard. ‘You look wonderful, do you understand that? You’re a terrific boy, and you’re going to have a good day, and see all your friends again. Everything’s going to be fine.’
‘I know.’
‘I love you. So does your dad.’