by Eddie Allen
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
A few weeks later, I was working in a house in Bermondsey, when I got a call on my mobile.
“Can I speak to Eddie Allen, please?” the voice asked.
“Yeah, speaking. What can I do for ya?” I said. I didn’t recognise the guy’s voice.
“My name is Mr. Sands. I work in the rehousing office in Grove Park. Something extraordinary has happened, Eddie. The computer has offered you a one bedroomed flat. Your name has been put forward for rehousing by the computer system, and seeing as everything that occurs in the council evolves around the system, I am legally bound to make you the offer.”
I paused for a moment, thinking there must be some sort of mistake. “Are you sure you’ve got the right person?” I asked in an uncertain tone.
“Absolutely,” he assured me. “When can you come and view the property?”
My mind was buzzing with thoughts. My own flat? Bloody hell, what a touch but how and why? There’s gotta be a mistake surely?
“I’ll be there in an hour, if that’s OK?” I said excitedly.
“That’ll be fine. The quicker the better; the council don’t like leaving their properties empty for too long,” he said.
After finishing the call, I stood near my van, feeling slightly dazed and confused. I bet you any money, Eddie boy, that you’ll leg it down there and find out it’s all been a big cock-up, I thought to myself. Thankfully I never listened and screeched down the road like a rally driver. I actually got from Bermondsey to Grove Park in half an hour; my poor old van just about made it. On arriving at the offices, I asked if I could just sign for the flat here and now. The housing officer explained that I had to view the flat first, and that he was coming with me. So we walked around the corner to view my flat, which was five minutes away. Well, you could have knocked me down with a feather; I just loved the place, so I did the honours and signed. I moved into my new home on the fifteenth of February - my forty-second birthday! How strange was that? Well, not really! That’s Karma, believe me. As I have said all the way through, the spirit world had guided me to where I am today for a reason, but that reason has not yet been disclosed to me…or has it? I had nothing, literally nothing; no cooker, fridge, freezer, washing machine, settee, bed, wardrobes, cutlery, linen - nothing. And do ya know what? I didn’t care.
I’d only been in the flat a few weeks when I received a letter from the housing officer, asking me to drop by his office to see him. Well, you can imagine all manner of thoughts were going on in my head. Had they realised they’d made a mistake and decided to take the flat back? Thankfully not, however apparently, someone had phoned the town hall with rumours of corruption and that Yours Truly had bunged Mr. Sands £1,000 to get my flat. Well, what can I say except that same old fucking word, jealousy? But who? I had neither friends nor family, so who could have hated me that much that they wanted to see me in the gutter? Anyway, after explaining to the council that I never had a pot to piss in, let alone £1,000, the matter was dropped. A few weeks later, fate dealt me yet another blow; this time I lost my job. How many bloody times was I going to get laid off? It was during my visits to the job centre that I meet this guy Dave again. I knew him when I lived at my bedsit. He wasn’t a mate at the time, just an acquaintance, or, should I say, drinking partner. Well, if you think I’m a loser you should have met Dave. At least I had bundles of virtues; this guy had sod all.
Over the next year or so he treated my flat like a hotel and I fed him and lent him money. Why? I hear you ask, simply for the company. Sad eh. Now, I must admit at being a bit naïve on certain issues. Dave always had the sniffles and a runny nose. To be honest, I thought he suffered from hayfever or some sort of allergy. It never occurred to me that he was a junkie. He was smart and always took pride in his appearance and his erratic behaviour I put down to wacky baccy - never had a clue he was bang on crack and cocaine. What a plum I can be sometimes. Anyway, these were desperate times. My van finally gave up the ghost and retired to the local scrapyard, so I was unemployed with no van and my tools were stuffed in the cupboards, waiting to come out and earn me some dosh. I walked for miles looking for work; my £46 a week jobseeker’s allowance lasted five minutes, so consequently I was always polo mint. I lost so much weight at one stage I was a tad thinner round the waist than Edward! Every time I phoned for a job from the local rags I was told it had gone, so I just left my name and number, hoping that I’d get a call if anything cropped up. Well, I did. Three months before Christmas, I got a call offering me a job as a multi-trade in Peckham, so I met this guy called Peter in a café off Rye Lane. He gave me a start and informed me I could use the firm’s old van for getting about in.
The first four weeks went well; my money was on time every Friday and I was mobile. Then one Monday morning he informed me that I would now be paid on a monthly basis and seeing as it was the middle of November my next payday wouldn’t be until 19th December. I wasn’t happy about it, but at the end of the day I had no choice. So all I had was £200 to last me nearly five weeks. Anyway, I ordered Edward’s Christmas presents and paid a holding deposit until just before the big day. I seriously struggled to make ends meet; the last two weeks I smoked poxy roll-ups and ate sod all. I grafted like mad to finish the job in time for Christmas. Then, on the 20th December, Peter phoned me on my mobile, said he had difficulty getting to me and asked would I meet him in Sidcup, which I agreed to do. After work I left for Homebase’s car park in Sidcup, seriously stressed out. I wanted to bank the cheque that day so it cleared in time for Christmas. I arrived at 5:30 and Peter was already there waiting. He jumped out of his four-by-four with another guy. I started to feel a bit edgy, not sure what was actually happening. He came over smiling and handed me my cheque for £1,700. He then asked for the van’s keys and told me to empty my tools onto the car park’s tarmac. When I asked him why, he just said it’s my van and it’s going in for an MOT in the morning and if it passes I’ll get the van back. So why take my tools out? He reckoned that if it failed and needed lots of work done, it would have to wait until after the holidays. I couldn’t argue with that, so I asked him how I was going to get home with my tools, he just stuffed a score in my hand and told me to get a cab, which I did. The next morning I got a bus into Bromley and paid twelve quid to have my cheque expressed, being reassured by the bank teller that the funds would be there on the 22nd or 23rd. I left the bank sighing with relief.
My relief lasted two days; the bloody cheque bounced and I was now totally fucked! I tried phoning Peter on his mobile and the office phone: nothing. His mobile just said the number was no longer in service and the office phone had been disconnected. I got a bus home and arrived at my flat at midday, I made myself a coffee and burst into tears, thinking that I’ve let Edward down for Christmas. I tried to get a grip of myself, wracking my brain as to where I could get some dosh, just to get Ed’s pressie. Then a ‘miracle’ happened and I don’t use the word ‘miracle’ lightly. My front doorbell rang at 1 p.m.; standing on my doorstep was this woman asking me if I needed some extra cash for Christmas. Extra cash I thought, I ain’t even got enough to buy a bloody chicken leg, let alone a turkey. I glanced at her clipboard thinking my God, she’s from the Provident, so I signed up and at 9 a.m. Christmas Eve she brings me £500 worth of vouchers. All day it took me. All bloody day, to find what Edward wanted. The shop where I ordered his stuff didn’t take vouchers, and to top it all I lost my deposit. However, I got Ed’s pressie and I bought a hamper and two turkeys from Dewhurst’s butchers. Both turkeys were for my neighbours, who in turn gave me cash, after I gave them a slight discount. So, even though I spent Christmas Eve and day on my own, I still had a beer and a bit of grub. Now that’s a miracle!
After the New Year, I was again on the hunt for another job. It was during these seriously hard times that my divorce was finalised, after Sue signed an affidavit admitting adultery. Daniel and Stephen in their infinite wisdom decided to disown me, after believing the lies and accusations tha
t flew in my direction from everywhere. Dave shacked up with some old slapper and consequently we only met up occasionally for a beer. I found a new job in Thamesmead, which came with a company van. So once again I started to get straight, Edward and me would go to watch most of QPR’s home games at Loftus Road. Life at last started to look a little bit rosy. I was keeping on top of my bills and started dating a gorgeous blonde called Vicky; my God what a horny bird, and only twenty-eight.
The next few months were without doubt absolutely sublime! I recall going to a house on the outskirts of Thamesmead; my job sheet included new patio doors and two base units for the kitchen. It was a blazing hot July day as I pulled up outside the house; my mood was sky-high, and I felt really good and chirpy. After introducing myself and showing my ID to the young fella who answered the door, I was told his mother was out for a while, but not to worry just carry on with the work. So I unloaded the van and started on the kitchen’s back patio doors. It was around 11 o’clock when I decided to have my break. I sat in the garden, puffing a fag and drinking my stewed tea from my flask. I was staring up at the sun, getting beautiful hot rays on my mush, when I heard footsteps coming from the kitchen, followed by a quiet gentle voice.
“Hi, I’m Helen. You’re obviously from the housing association?”
“Yeah that’s right love, I’m Eddie,” I looked her up and down; very tall at least 6 foot, I thought. Her dress sense told me that years ago she was probably a hippy or a flower-power girl. Her long blonde hair glistened in the sunshine and her pale complexion gave her an angelic appearance, which I thought was quite sweet. I couldn’t hazard a guess at her age, but I reckon she was somewhere in her late forties.
“Would you like a decent cup of tea? Those flasks always do tea an injustice,” she laughed.
“Yes please. I’d love one, thanks, and you’re right, I made it at six this morning and it’s stewed already,” I smiled.
After Helen made the tea, we sat in the sunshine chatting. She was an extremely very friendly lady; my type of person. When we both finished our tea, she disappeared into the house and I carried on with my work. By the end of the day, I’d fitted the patio doors, glazed thirty panels and fitted the locks. While I was packing up my tools, Helen came out and asked me if I fancied a sandwich, and another tea before I drove home. Well, I’ve never turned down a cuppa and today was no exception; so after loading my van I sat in the kitchen and took her up on the invitation. After I’d eaten a lovely ham and mustard sarnie and as we sat chatting, the conversation that followed intrigued me immensely. Helen told me that her house had an unwelcome visitor who came and went. When I asked whom she was referring to, her answer didn’t really shock me; more like surprised me. She reckoned that for the last five months a spirit had moved into the house, apparently it happened after one of her sittings. Now, for some unknown reason, I seem to be drawn to either clairvoyants or mediums during my life; why, I don’t know. Then she made a startling statement.
“He’s here in the kitchen with us,” she claimed.
This time it shocked me.
“Bloody hell, he’s looking for you, Eddie. He’s been waiting for you to come to my house; he knew you would,” she gasped.
The hairs on my body stood on end, the kitchen felt like I was sitting in a freezer. I instantly knew she wasn’t joking with me. My mind shot back years, thinking of him and his promise that he will never let me go until he had me. I glanced around the kitchen, looking for a sign - anything that would show who it was.
“Eddie. He says he knows you. He wants you to remember why he will never let you go,” Helen quietly said. “Do you know anyone past or present called Terry?”
Fucking hell, it’s Tyzak.
“No, never heard of anyone called Terry,” I lied.
“He’s laughing, can’t you hear him?” Helen asked.
Again I lied. “No, not a sound,” but in truth I was now starting to feel slightly concerned about the faint hideous laugh I could hear.
I stood up and asked Helen if I could use the toilet, explaining that the tea had gone straight through me. She looked at me, nodding her head and pointed to the toilet door in the hallway. I strolled over to the toilet, entered and shut the door. While I stood over the pan, peeing, I had this strange feeling that I wasn’t alone. Suddenly, the temperature in the toilet dropped to near freezing and my whole body started to tingle. The hairs on my arms bristled to attention as if touched by some unseen force. I felt a rush of icy cold air penetrate my body; all my senses were totally confused. My breath hung in misty balloons before my eyes. I could hear faint whispers in my ears, as if something were sitting inside my eardrums, the whispers were coming out from inside. I turned and reached for the toilet door, my outstretched arm refused to obey my order and open the door. I knew he was in here with me; my body began to tighten like it was held by a giant vice. Suddenly and to my relief the toilet door flung open. Helen stood staring at me, her face contorted with fear and horror.
“I heard voices. He was in here with you, wasn’t he?” she asked frantically. The sensation left my body and the temperature returned to normal, I knew he’d gone.
“Yes, he was and he’s still as powerful as ever,” I sighed.
“So you really do know who he is, then?” she frowned.
“Unfortunately, yeah. He’s been after me since I was a child,” I said nervously.
I walked back into the kitchen and lit up a fag, puffing on it like my life depended on it. Helen sat next to me, looking white-faced, her eyes wild with excitement.
“You say he’s been after you since childhood. Would you like to talk about it?” she asked pensively.
“No not really, I don’t mean to be rude, Helen, but talking about it won’t change the facts. In any case, it’ll take all night to explain. Maybe another time.”
Helen gazed into my eyes, “OK that’s fine,” she said.
I glanced at my watch, realising the time and told her that I had to go. She walked to the front door with me smiling.
“You know what, Eddie. I’ve been a clairvoyant for many, many years, but what happened just now cements in place everything I believe in.” She leant forward and gave me a peck on the cheek, “Take care, Eddie, I’ll see you tomorrow.”
I jumped into my van and headed towards Vicky’s house. What I didn’t know was that when I left Helens house ‘he’ came with me!
I arrived at Vicky’s at around 7:40, still in my work clothes. I explained I had to work late and it wasn’t worth going all the way home to bath and change; if I did I wouldn’t have got to her gaff till nine or even later. She agreed, and suggested that I could have a bath there if I wanted. Accepting her offer I ran a bath and slipped into the tub. Ahh that’s better, I thought. Vicky stuck her head round the door, smiling as she handed me a glass of wine.
“You look stressed, Ed. Everything OK?”
“Yeah fine. Just had a hard day at work.”
“The wine will relax you, Ed. I’ve got a nice salmon fillet for our dinner with roasted vegetables,” she smiled.
“Blinding. My favourite meal. Can you throw some garlic cloves in with the veg please, gorgeous?”
“Already done it, babe,” she said, walking into the bathroom with the bottle of wine. She leant over the bath and planted a smacker on my lips and then topped up my glass. I lay there deep in thought, my mind going over earlier events. I started to doubt my sanity; maybe I’m losing my mind? Nah not a chance; this has been happening on and off since I was a kid; every time I think he’s bloody gone, he suddenly appears. Why? What does he want from me? I don’t suppose that question will ever be answered, until I leave this mortal existence and return to the spirit realm, unless he decides to inform me beforehand.
My mind suddenly flashed back to when I was a kid. I could see myself walking up Peckham Road with at least fifty kids in school uniform. We were all going to Peckham Odeon, to watch The Lord of the Flies. What a fascinating film; for weeks after, I fantasise
d about being marooned on an island with all my mates, hunting wild boar to survive. My thoughts were interrupted by Vicky’s voice.
“If you stay in there any longer, Ed, you’ll end up looking like a prune,” she laughed. I quickly jumped up and started soaping and scrubbing my body.
“Be out in a sec, Vic.”
I rinsed myself down and stepped out of the bath, wrapping a towel around me. After drying off, I strolled down to the kitchen diner.
“There’s a t-shirt and a pair of your shorts on the end of the bed, Eddie,” Vicky informed me.
After getting changed, we both sat chatting and drinking wine while waiting for the dinner to cook. After dinner and some seriously strenuous exercise, we both crashed out. I must remind you that Vicky was 28, fit and bloody horny! We ended up falling asleep in each other’s arms. It was around 3 a.m. when I jerked awake to the sound of Vicky screaming hysterically, blabbering on about an intruder in the house. I leapt out of the bed and swiftly moved to the landing, where she stood, ashen-faced and trembling.
“There’s someone in the house. I came out of the toilet and saw him. He was in the bedroom leaning over you, Eddie!” she cried. “He moved so fast I couldn’t tell if he ran downstairs or,” Vicky paused for a second, “you’re going to think I’m mad, but he could have passed straight through the fucking bedroom wall,” she gasped.
