Linda Ryan is an actor and writer based in Dublin. Her work spans theatre, television, and film, where she has appeared in a variety of roles that showcase her versatility and creative range. Alongside her acting career, she has written several short films and pieces of creative fiction, exploring character-driven narratives and themes of human connection. Linda’s writing reflects her insight into performance and storytelling, developed through her extensive experience on stage and screen. Balancing both worlds of acting and writing, she continues to create thoughtful, original work that blurs the lines between the seen and the imagined.

Rock the River King

By Linda Ryan

Rock the River King he was calling himself. Mam brought him back from London. She got a strange and unsettling phone call from the girlfriend. He’s not right. He’s acting…very strange. Mam had travelled over to London to a place called Cricklewood in London a typical Irish neighbourhood there in the 80’s. Her sister went with her. Mam was a terrible traveller. She got homesick waiting for the local train to arrive. She picked Rock up at the celebrity rehab centre The Priory. It would be just like him to end up surrounded by the rich and famous. He seemed very surprised to see her in the reception area waiting for him. He sat on the floor of the taxi on the way to the airport. He looked up now and then but mostly just stared ahead with an intense look in his eyes. She said he was terrified on the flight. She couldn’t make head nor tail of what he was saying. He genuflected whenever she passed. It made her uneasy. And embarrassed. The whole thing was weird. Mam arrived back at home anxious beyond belief. She couldn’t really tell us what had happened. She didn’t want to upset Rock. I was about 17 or 18. In a way I wasn’t surprised by what was happening and yet it was truly bizarre. And extremely distressing.
My father was completely at sea. Dad and my brother never really had a relationship. Dad was a strange fish. He didn’t do a lot of talking. He spoke now and then but really, he actually never learned how to speak or what words meant. Years later I would hear that my father’s childhood was one of trauma and pure cruelty and sadness. More often than not he got a heavy duster thrown to the head at school and then would arrive home only to be met by a mother who had had a brain haemorrhage citing that he wasn’t her son and to feck off out of it. By extension, being in his radius as a child I also developed a very limited vocabulary and a limited level of insight. I spoke words and sentences I didn’t really understand. It meant I came across as rude, arrogant, ignorant and dismissive but really, I had no real understanding or connection to what I was saying or really meant. Things would change for me but not for about 20 years. Things wouldn’t really change for Dad.
Rock the River King looked troubled. He seemed contorted like willow, yet his head remained alert in case he should miss something vital in the chat. He’d been heavily medicated for the journey home. The remnants of that were apparent.
I made lunch. Eggs and toast.
Rock looked up and asked, “Do I like eggs, I don’t think I should eat this. I feel the egg is the centre of the Universe”
My mother was a pro.
Yes love; you love eggs.
He did, he had a fried egg on practically everything he cooked before. Oh he said gently; I see.
I began to get quite nervous at this and I imagine so did my father because when I looked in his direction he was trying not to laugh. He looked down; like a child caught giggling by his teacher. Looking back this makes me incredibly sad.
Once we were finished my mother and I stood up, my father went in search of the keys and my brother looked at us nervously.
“What’s happening?”.
We’re going to take you to the Dr, love, is that ok?

I think we need to talk to a Dr?
Gently – oh I see.
We drove the 40 or 50KM to the hospital. It was a cracker of a day. All the windows were down, and it almost seemed like we were on a family day out. The wind blew my hair in the window and Rock stared out. I wondered what he was thinking. My mother was in the passenger front seat and Dad was driving. Little did we know this drive would become one so common to our family over the years that we would almost drive it blindfolded.
The entrance to the Northern Castle Grounds was like an archway into another realm. There were people strolling the grounds and, in many ways, it seemed incredibly picturesque. I became worried at this point and wanted to stay in the car. I could tell my mother was hoping to god that I would accompany her. Dad would be useless. I emptied myself out of the car and helped Rock to the door. It was like he couldn’t walk properly. He could walk perfectly well. It was me who needed support. The building seemed hammered together with glue and random pieces of wood. Structurally sound it was not.
Inside bleach and piss screamed at each. We all looked at each other at the same time. Inside my body was reacting strongly, outside I was supporting my mother. It may have been the same for her. For Dad; he wasn’t grinning. He was looking up at the ceiling. Rock looked at each of us, “what happens now”?
On queue a nurse entered the scene. One of many nurses that we would come to know in relation to my brother. She was expecting us. Rock was nervous at this. How did she have all this information about him. Again, my mother the pro stepped in.
“Rock the Dr in London made contact with her and Dr Gibson. You remember him”?
“Oh, I see”.
We were pulled into a side room; like the nurse had wrapped us all in a blanket and timidly dragged us together. We sat. I remember thinking that this was probably one of the few times I experienced my brother quiet and subdued. He was normally so animated and vital. This would improve over time. It would get worse first.
There was a series of questions. The nurse took the answers from all of us and then thanked us and swiftly left. We breathed.
Then a grand entrance; when the star enters the stage for the first time on opening night; the psychiatrist arrived. It seemed normal to stand up. We didn’t genuflect. We did bow. He dismissed us quickly and excitedly. He flicked his hands and fingers at us.
“Oh, sit down honestly thank you. Thank you”.
He spent a little time asking us some rudimentary questions. I can’t remember what they were now. Me and my parents were then dismissed. We scuttled to the waiting room which was swathed in a cloud of cigarette smoke so dense my eyes watered. I couldn’t stay there so I walked into the main reception area and asked for the loo. I was pointed to a corridor that looked like something you might see in an end of the world movie. Dark, long, cold and again that smell. I took small steady steps as I wondered could I maybe hold this in. But with the drive back taking another good 40 minutes and Rock still talking to the doctor I didn’t know how long I might be holding. I continued and out of nowhere came to a landing. A woman walked out in front of me jolly, huge and eager to talk.
“Hello what are you in for”? I looked at her and said I’m with my brother, he’s not so well.

Ah.
What are you in for I asked, “oh I fell in love”.
I nodded and said right. I saw the sign for the loo. She looked at me, then looked down, then moved on. My heart broke. She fell in love.
The toilets made me retch. There was shit on the walls and the door was made of bevelled glass. But I was desperate at this stage.
I made my way back to the reception area and prayed we would be on our way. My mother and father were seated in the waiting room. My father had good training for it, he’d smoked most of his adult life. My mother was in a daze.
Suddenly the Dr pounced up beside me. Rock was still be in the office.
“We’re going to keep him in for a while”. I said I think I should get my folks.
“We’re going to keep Rock in for a while is that ok”? He used “Rock” like he was old friends with my brother. This did something to me. It made me like this man who before had resembled an arrogant snob. My mother asked what should we do?
“Go home and take it easy, come back to visit him in about 2 weeks. If we need to ask you anything, we’ll call you”. Right said Mam dubiously. We didn’t see Rock before we left.
Dad drove home. The journey was silent. The sun was still shining.

End