by Eddie Allen
What could I say to that? Vicky begged me to search the house, so half-heartedly I agreed, knowing that the likelihood of him still being here was remote.
After searching the whole house, I returned to the landing, where Vicky stood rooted to the spot.
“Anything?” she asked quietly.
“Nah, nothing. I checked everywhere; all the windows and doors, front and back, are still locked,” I reassured her.
“Then he’s still in the house, Ed,” she said panicking.
“Trust me, Vicky, there’s nobody in the house. I’ve looked. You must have had a bad dream or something.”
“Eddie, I saw him leaning over you. Believe me when I tell you I was awake. I only wish it was a nightmare. Then I could deal with it in my own way,” she sighed.
“If you’re adamant that you saw something, Vicky, where the hell is it now?” I asked, knowing the answer but hoping she didn’t.
“I don’t know. All I do know is I’d swear on a stack of bibles that I saw him,” she insisted.
I couldn’t tell her that I believed her; if I did, it would lead to numerous questions, questions that I wouldn’t answer truthfully, for fear of losing her. After spending the next hour pacifying Vicky, we returned to bed, and she insisted on leaving the landing and bedroom lights on. The following morning, after breakfast, I left for work.
On arriving at the yard to pick up Helen’s base units, I was confronted by the scene of gloomy-looking workers. One of the guys came over and told me that ten of them had just been laid off; he reckoned the firm had lost the contract, due to some financial irregularities. My initial reaction was one of despair. Well, let’s cut to the chase; it’s fucking happened to me again! Just got straight and now no motor and no poxy job; yet again I found myself getting a cab home with my bloody tools.
So my job search started all over again; looking in the local rags and visiting the job centre. My relationship with Vicky sadly petered out, due to the fact I was now polo mint and without transport. I’ll tell you what, I could easily have given up, considering how my life had twisted and turned against me since I was a little boy. Up and down like a bloody yoyo, the bad always outweighing the good. But for some strange reason, I kept going; hoping that one day the good would come and stay. Unfortunately, that day still hasn’t arrived!
Over the next few months, I was in dire trouble with every creditor you could think of. It was during these dark days that Dave turned up on my doorstep, declaring himself homeless. He begged me to put him up till he could find a flat. Like the soft touch I am, I agreed and Dave moved in there and then. Stupid really, we were both unemployed and potless, which really was a recipe for disaster. After a few weeks, things started to disappear like DVDs and CDs and, when I returned home from a job-hunting stint, I found my flat had been ransacked and my dole money nicked. Dave had vanished into thin air. I never saw the tosser again, until recently; his picture was in the local rag. He’d just been convicted of attempted murder at the Old Bailey with another guy, and was awaiting sentencing. Anyway, that’s his problem not mine. What a total and utter wanker!
I eventually found myself another start working in Beckenham, no transport though. Mind you, it was an easy bus ride to the site; all I had to do was get a cab the first day with my tools. My tools were then locked up every night in the container, which I thought was a right touch. The first two weeks were tough; I often walked to work while I completed my week in-hand, due to the lack of funds.
After that I was on a roll for two years; working six days a week. I now started going out every week and drank in the local boozer. I had the serious hots for one of the barmaids. Trudy was her name and sexy-looking was her game. She was a really bubbly and lively young lady. Try as I did, I just couldn’t get her to come out with me. That first year I saved up and bought an old Ford Orion and had a holiday in Benidorm in Spain. What a holiday! Blinding! I went with two guys from work, Simon and John, and I must admit most of the holiday remains a blur. Sun, sea, booze and gorgeous girls; that’s how I remember Benidorm. After my holiday, I was back at work when tragedy struck; my right wrist and elbow seized up. The pain was unbelievable. I couldn’t use my right arm at all. My doctor sent me to hospital, where they gave me two cortisone injections and put my wrist in a plaster cast. I was told that I would be out of action for at least six weeks; being self-employed, I received no sick pay. So I had to sign-on to get £48 per-week off the State. Well, you can imagine how I felt, totally pissed off. Over the next few weeks, I started to get into debt again, but this time I knew it wouldn’t be for long. I started to panic though, my car’s MOT, insurance and tax were just about to run out and I was potless again.
During my forced break, I unbelievably pulled Trudy. It happened out of the blue. I bumped into her in Bromley; she asked if I could help her put up a few blinds in her house. Well, I wasn’t going to refuse was I? Even with my wrist in plaster. So Yours Truly went to her house and fitted all her blinds, which, I hasten to add, took bloody ages, due to my wrist. Anyway, one thing led to another and we started a temporary lust-filled affair lasting two months. I returned back to work eight weeks after the incident and by that time, everything had run out on my car. I had to go through the same bloody rigmarole of doing a week in-hand again. So the inevitable happened. I was driving home from Swanley in Kent, after doing a small favour for my boss, when the old Bill tugged me. They threw the book at me, so to speak, nicking me for no insurance, no MOT, no tax, faulty brakes and two bald tyres. Technically, I was now fucked and expected to either do a bit of bird or get another ban; probably three years. The week before I had to appear in Maidstone magistrates court, I informed my firm that by Thursday, I would no longer be mobile and possibly not around for while. I made enquires with the local council to find out were I stood with my flat if I got sent down. What the council told me made me feel sick and completely depressed; they reckoned that their policy would mean repossessing my home! So the day before, I told Edward and explained the worst scenario. I gave him a set of keys and a phone number of a house clearance company, who would come in and clear the flat and give him the dosh. I must admit what I asked Edward to do was a bit heavy for a seventeen year-old. But I had no choice; there simply wasn’t anyone else. That night, I sat in my flat on my jack, drinking what I thought was going to be my last drop of wine for a while. I felt so alone and depressed, my mind going over everything that had happened in my life. As the tears started to flow down my cheeks, the house phone rang. I answered in a sad lethargic tone.
“Hello?”
“Hi, is this Eddie Allen?” the voice asked.
“Yeah it is. What can I do for ya?” I asked quietly, wiping the tears from my eyes.
“I’m the desk sergeant from Maidstone police station. You’re down to appear before the magistrates in the morning.”
“That’s right. Ten o’clock ain’t it?” I asked.
“Well, normally that would have been the case, however not for you,” he said.
“Err, what do ya mean?” I asked totally confused.
“Well let’s put it this way, Eddie, you must have a guardian angel or something. The station had a power cut earlier and it only took a second, if that, for the generators to kick in. During a blink of an eye, your name and records were erased from the computer. Consequently, I have to inform you that all charges against you have been dropped and a letter will be sent in the next few days confirming our conversation.”
“Is this a joke, or what? I mean was it just my records, or were there loads?” I asked nervously.
“No this is not a joke and there weren’t loads, just yours!’
I put the receiver down, dumbfounded and in total shock. How, why and most importantly, who?
True to his word, three days later I received a letter from the police confirming what he stated. I borrowed five hundred pounds off my boss and totally briefed my car up. A few weeks passed and a new guy started on site; he worked with John the electrician
. All the other guys on the site reckoned he was a weirdo, just because he helped out at a spiritual church in Bromley. I couldn’t see sod all wrong with that, and after a few conversations with him, I was invited to come along, which I gladly accepted. On arriving at the church, I was introduced to the entire congregation. While we sat in a circle chatting, a latecomer arrived, covered from head to toe in a drenched rain-Mac with a hood. I was inexplicably drawn to the person. Underneath all the plastic emerged a very petite female with short wispy blonde hair, her completion pale. She walked over to the group. As she got closer I noticed her eyes were electric blue. The leader of the group introduced me to her.
“Rona, this is Eddie,” he gestured in my direction.
My eyes meet Rona’s for a second and a cold chill went down my spine. I felt as if I knew her from somewhere, but where, I just didn’t know. I held out my hand and offered it in friendship; she looked down to the floor and then offered me her left hand. We stood holding hands for what seemed ages; suddenly a surge of energy filled my entire body, making me shiver.
“Hi, pleased to meet you, Eddie,” she said with a smile.
“Likewise ,Rona,” I said while releasing my grip on her hand.
As we both sat down, I noticed something strange about her right hand; it looked lifeless and stiff. I tried not to look at it, in case it made her feel uncomfortable. After an hour of meditation we had a coffee break, before the resident medium started her readings. I grabbed a coffee, stood in the entrance lobby and lit up a fag. I opened the door and blew my smoke out into the wet cold evening. As I stood there, facing out into the car park and puffing on my Silk Cut, I felt a presence behind me. The hairs on my neck stood up. This I put down to the cold air blowing in my face from outside. I turned round and Rona was standing there, watching me.
“Hi. Did you enjoy the meditation?” she asked.
I looked in amazement as the cold moonlight filtered through the stained glass windows, casting Rona into a sort of angelic appearance.
“Yeah, very interesting. I normally meditate every night after work. I find it relaxes me,” I informed her.
I threw my fag butt out of the door and then shut it. I moved slowly towards the hall with Rona by my side. As we both approached the stage, she looked down and sighed; her shoe tassels had come undone. She put her foot on a stall and tried to tie them back up, I noticed she was having serious difficulties in performing the task. It was then I noticed she had only one hand and the other one was false, I asked her to sit down. I then lifted her foot onto my knee and started tying her tassels; she gazed into my eyes smiling.
Now Rona wasn’t my type; she didn’t drink or even smoke, hated football and any sort of gambling. So why was I compelled to ask her out? Anyway I did, and to my surprise she accepted; our relationship lasted five months or so. During that time we had holiday breaks in the Cotswolds, went to see Pavarotti at Earl’s Court and had numerous weekends away. Rona was and I suppose still is, the most loving, caring and beautiful human being I’ve ever had the pleasure to meet. She was so kind and extremely spiritual it defies belief. She taught me so much and for that I’ll always be grateful. She opened my mind back up to my beliefs. I think my mind was partially blocked due to all the crap it had to handle, but she made me realise that everything I’d been through was without doubt for a reason. Rona reckoned the true purpose of my life would be revealed in a mysterious way. I asked her to move into my flat with me, which turned out to be a massive mistake. A week after moving in, I started to feel unwell, constantly feeling sick and light-headed. I used to wake up all hours of the night, feeling dizzy. My sleep pattern shot to bits, I couldn’t understand why. I started to have regular nightmares; Tyzak was back on the scene and on three occasions, he nearly got me. After a long and in-depth chat with Rona, she revealed a startling fact. She knew her soul was draining mine during the night; she actually admitted gaining strength from my soul, which in her own words was how Tyzak got to me quicker than usual. She also admitted that she knew me in a previous life and needed to drain my soul’s knowledge. Fuck me, she’d have to go, I thought. Then it happened.
This particular night I was sleeping rather badly. I woke in the night around two or three in the morning; I noticed Rona moving in and out of the bedroom, acting agitated as if looking for something. I wondered what the hell she was playing at. After the tenth bloody time she appeared in and then out of the room, I decided enough was definitely enough. I slipped out of bed and, to my utmost horror; I noticed she was fucking sound asleep next to me! I screamed in shock and woke her up. I then told her what was happening. She just looked at me, shrugged her shoulders and promptly fell back to sleep, acting like she’d been drugged. That was the last time she kipped in my flat. In the morning, I gave Rona the tintack rather rapidly. What worries me was the fact that she reckoned she knew me from a previous life. Having no right hand didn’t bother me at all; I’m not a shallow person! If what she says is true, was it her spirit I encountered all those years ago in Deptford? I mean the poltergeist there had her right hand missing as well. My God, what a frightening thought!
A few weeks later I was having a beer with a couple of guys from work. This was normal practice every Friday after work, unless something else cropped up. I stood at the bar, ordering a round of drinks. The barmaid didn’t take a blind bit of notice of me. Her eyes wide open and wild with fear, she gazed in disbelief over my shoulder. Her mouth dropped in shock while she backed away from the bar. I glanced over my shoulder wondering what the fuck was wrong with the girl, and standing by the door I noticed four shady looking characters scanning the bar area, obviously looking for someone. Two of the guys were wielding hefty sticks. Suddenly there was loads of shouting and swearing; the four made a violent dash towards a group of guys sitting by the pool table. I looked on in shock, as all hell broke loose. I stood rooted to the spot as everyone in the pub joined in the fracas, and when I say everyone I mean everyone; even the guys from work got involved. Now, for some unknown reason I must have been invisible, no one came anywhere near me! I just stood watching guys getting bottled and bashed with broken table legs. All over the pub there were guys thumping and beating each other to a pulp; and me, well I was totally overlooked, as if I wasn’t there. After the incident, my workmates made a startling revelation; they reckoned I’d left the pub before it all kicked-off. When I told them everything I saw and that I was standing at the bar, their response was, “bollocks, you weren’t even in the pub.” To this day I don’t understand what happened; the whole incident left me confused to say the least. However, there’s one thing I know for certain, I was definitely in the boozer when it happened!
I recall another amazing incident that happened a few years earlier. I was sent with four other guys to do some work on the GPO tower opposite New Scotland Yard. A hoist and gauge were erected up the side of the building and it was my job to tie netting around the gauge with zip-ties. Well as you do, you start from the top and work your way down. Three floors below, the guys were busy ripping up floorboards, getting the area ready for its refurbishment. Picture the scene: I’m twenty floors up on the inside of the gauge with no safety harness. I’ve tied and dropped three rolls of netting down the outside. While I’m zip-tying the netting, I lost my footing and slipped, falling down the inside of the gauge to certain death! The second I slipped, one of the guys three floors below decided to open the window and throw two scaffold boards across the window-sill and onto the gauge’s bar. I landed with a massive thud and bounced at least ten feet into the air. I then grabbed the side of the gauge, sighing with relief, hanging on for dear life. The guy stood, gobsmacked, staring in disbelief. Well, apart from a fractured wrist and a few bruises I was alright and to this day I am indebted to the young Polish labourer, who I might add didn’t know why he threw the boards out in the first place. Now that’s spooky! Or is it?
Over the next few weeks, I started to take up badminton down the local gym in Beckenham, playing with Edward
and his new girlfriend, Stephanie. Edward was nearing his seventeenth birthday and was proving to be a chip off the old block, which apparently didn’t go down too well with his mother for some strange reason. So, we played badminton in between going to watch QPR; our trips to Loftus Road were memorable, if somewhat frustrating. We’d have lunch, go down to Shepherd’s Bush market and then onto the game, where invariably the R’s lost. It was during this period that tragedy struck the hoops, relegation to division two. Gerry Francis jacked and the king of one-liners took over in the shape of Ian Holloway. Miracle worker would be an understatement: the club skint and in administration, Holloway guided the hoops back to somewhat respectability. Mind you, there were a few major embarrassments along the way, like being thrashed by Arsenal 6-1, getting turned over by part-timers Vauxhall motors in the FA cup, and worst of all being mauled by Cardiff at home 4-0, then a little later getting stuffed by Leeds United 6-1 after we scored bloody first. Those examples are just a few I’ve had to endure since our relegation from the Premiership. Gone are the days when we stuffed the likes of Man Utd, Chelsea, Arsenal and Liverpool. Why, oh why, can’t we find another Ferdy, Don Mason, Rodders or even the mercurial Stan Bowles to bring back the glory days, or at least someone who can score goals on a regular basis?
I recall coming home from Rangers’ stadium after watching the lads beat Grimsby 1-0, only a wonder goal from Mikkel Beck separating both sides. After dropping Edward off, I returned to my flat around 7:15 p.m. As I opened the front door my nostrils were greeted by a weird smell inside. On entering the front room I noticed hanging in the air the whiff of extinguished candles, like they’d just been put out seconds earlier. Now the last time I lit candles was Tuesday evening, four days ago, and I know the smell wasn’t there when I left with Edward earlier. So where did the smell come from? Maybe a neighbour had been burning candles and the smell had penetrated my gaff. Curiosity got the better of me, so I knocked on my neighbours’ doors above and below me; nothing. None of them had candles to burn anyway, and José next door was on holiday, so the mystery remained.
