Forever Is Over

by Wade, Calvin

  “If you had a straight choice between the sisters then, Jemma and Kelly, who would you choose?”

  “I haven’t got a straight choice, Jim! Kelly’s probably got a couple of kids to some bloke from Singapore by now!”

  Jim persisted.

  “But if you did have that choice?”

  “I’ve no idea, Jim. Jemma, maybe.”

  “Really! Do you think you can handle her? She’s feisty!”

  “I’d like to think I could handle her!”

  “If you get a house together, make sure it’s a bungalow!”

  “Cheeky get! Believe me, one day you will find out that Jemma was innocent.”

  “I hope I do.”

  There was the briefest of pauses before Jim added, “So, Richie, when are you going to make a move?”

  “Jim, I’ve no idea!”

  “Well, I’ll tell you what, to encourage you to get your skates on and Jemma’s kit off, if you shag her by this time next month, I’ll buy you a bottle of whiskey!”

  “And if I don’t?”

  “You buy me one!”

  “I’m not betting on that!”

  “Coward! Whether you bet or not, this time next month I’m going to quiz you, Richie! Its my duty as a little brother, I’m going to have to quiz you!”

  “Shut up!”

  Over the next month, I took a lot of stick from Jim, but it was lighthearted banter so I didn’t mind! Looking back now, it was one of the best months of my life. No illnesses. No complications. Just fun, laughter, opportunities and love. I have precious memories of that month. Precious memories that will stay with me for the rest of my life.

  Richie

  It was a simple game. A silly game that we would never have played, if we hadn’t been drinking, but we had been drinking and we did play it and it drove me wild. Nothing had previously fuelled my physical desire for Jemma as much as that game. I had always found Jemma attractive, but I had not properly appreciated how much I wanted her until then. By the end of the game, I was drooling more than Pavlov’s dogs and could not remember feeling so in awe of a woman since seeing Olivia Newton-John in black spandex pants in Grease in 1978!

  I had called round at Amy’s at lunchtime the day after Jemma’s release. The look of concern on the faces of the Perkins family when they invited me in, contrasted with the look of joy on Jemma’s face as she came down the stairs and saw me in the hall. I think Mr & Mrs Perkins did not want a young man leading Jemma astray so soon after her time in jail, but were too polite to point this out to her. Too scared too probably! Jemma just wore a simple pink t-shirt, blue jeans, high heels and a brown leather jacket, but everything Jemma wore seemed to accentuate her curves. She was so hot, I was scared to touch her in case I was scalded.

  “Where are we off to then?” Jemma asked excitedly

  “I thought we could go down to The Café Bar for lunch and then perhaps head into Southport for a few drinks. Is that OK?”

  “Sounds good to me!” Jemma replied.

  After a delicious pasta lunch and a shared bottle of wine, we walked through to Ormskirk bus station and hopped on a double decker to Southport. Having seen Jemma’s performance the previous night after two glasses of Cava, I was wary of Jemma being fall over drunk by mid-afternoon, so I made sure I had two glasses to every one I poured for her. As a result, I felt a little sick on the bus journey over and was happy that the sea breeze had a sobering effect! If I had been a little less nervous, I would have slowed down the pace of my drinking, but anticipation led to the pace increasing! We did an ‘L’ shaped pub crawl, dropping in on each pub and bar on Lord Street, before nipping into McDonalds for a milk shake and following Eastbank Street up to “The Old Ship Inn”.

  I remember being told there was an Andy’s Records in Southport, but I couldn’t find it. I made a mental note to look next time I was there and sober.

  By the time we reached “The Old Ship Inn”, we had probably had a drink in half a dozen bars and, as a result, Jemma was beginning to transform into the tactile lady she had been the previous day. This time around though, I had fallen down the rabbit hole with her, into a new world of drunken debauchery or at least that was the world I was hoping for! Jemma was now drinking at my pace, although I was having a pint of Stella each time she had a vodka and diet coke, so my lead in this drunken marathon remained undiminished!

  Conversationally, with alcohol loosened tongues, we were covering off plenty of subjects and I was using the opportunity to get a few historical issues off my chest. I was happy to confess to Jemma that although I had always thought her looks were “gobsmackingly stunning”, at school, I had found her brash, over confident manner tiresome and annoying. Jemma admitted that, on reflection, she had been an easy character to dislike, but insisted she had changed for the better since. I concurred!

  “Mind you,” Jemma warned, “I am never going to be quiet, so if you’re looking for a quiet girlfriend, you best start looking elsewhere!”

  Conversations that touched on us being boyfriend and girlfriend seemed to be happening more and more frequently now. We also chatted about my relationship with Kelly and Jemma’s with Ray. I explained that although Kelly had meant the world to me, I was probably just swept along by the new emotions and that even if Kelly hadn’t left, it probably would have just fizzled out over time. Admittedly, I wasn’t 100% sure that this was true, but felt it was the right thing to say to Jemma!

  Jemma explained that after perfecting the role of the precocious brat at school, her relationship with Ray, who was several years her senior (she did say how many years but I forget), was her attempt to show her new found maturity, but ultimately, she was not attracted enough to him to justify staying with him.

  “We were like Arthur Miller and Marilyn Monroe!” Jemma explained, which led me to believe my drunken marathon lead was now definitely being eaten into! I bluntly told her that I thought Ray was such a big arsehole, he could have probably managed to fit the moon up his backside and still leave space for the sun. Jemma insisted he wasn’t all bad. I was not, and remain, unconvinced.

  The drinking game that changed the whole dynamic of our relationship began, and finished, at “The Old Ship Inn”. On walking through the door, we put a few songs on the jukebox, including “Suedehead” by Morrissey and Jellyfish’s “The King is Half Undressed” before heading to the bar. Jemma decided we should order half a dozen vodka shots and then play a drinking game she dubbed “Three Yeys or a Nay”.

  “Three Yeys or a Nay” was almost simple enough for me to understand despite my inebriated state. One of us would ask the other one questions, that had to be answered truthfully. If we could answer three questions with an honest “Yes”, then the person questioning would have to down a vodka shot. If any question was answered “No”, the person answering would have to take a shot. As a lad, it was the sort of game you would only agree to play if you were drunk and with a pretty girl.

  Jemma decided that if she was asking the questions, every question would have to start, “If I was your girlfriend……” and obviously, if I was asking the questions, each question would have to start, “If I was your boyfriend….”

  Half a dozen vodka shots purchased, we took three each and carried them over to a table near the jukebox, to play our game and listen to our music which we were hoping was going to be on next after Metallica’s “Nothing Else Matters” - people always seemed to pick the long tracks on the jukebox, I guess they were trying to get full value for their 50p! I wasn’t that tight, I just picked what I liked.

  Jemma decided she would start the questioning and, like mental foreplay, it all started in a gentle, straightforward manner.

  “If I was your girlfriend, Richie Billingham, would you send me flowers?”

  For most people this would probably be a nice, easy one, not for me. I pulled a face. I didn’t like flowers, they took ages to grow, flowered for hardly any time at all and then died.

  ‘Here’s a bunch of flowers, they’r
e pretty much dead already, put them in a vase and watch them droop!’ - was my take on flowers.

  I would have said “No” - but the point of the game was to try not to. I hedged.

  “Sometimes.”

  Jemma frowned.

  “It needs to be a ‘Yes’ or a ‘No’, Richie!”

  “Well sometimes is a ‘Yes’!”

  “Not really!”

  “Ask the question in a different way then!”

  “OK. If I was your girlfriend, would you send me flowers every Valentines Day?”

  I felt compelled to tell the truth. “No.”

  “Take a shot then,” Jemma insisted.

  I downed the first straight vodka. Half jokingly, Jemma added,

  “I’m offended, Richie! Why wouldn’t you send me flowers every Valentine’s Day?”

  I looked at Jemma’s beautiful face. It was hard to believe she had just spent two years in jail.

  “Valentine’s Day would be my day off, Jemma! The other 364 days a year, I would be romantic so I’d need a day off on Valentine’s Day! It’s a commercial rip off anyway, just to pressurise men who sit on their arses all year and do nothing for their wives to make a token effort. My romanticism would be spontaneous!”

  “Arrrr! Aren’t you sweet? You should have said that first, I might not have made you take the forfeit! Can I ask another one and you answer again?”

  “Go on. Oh good, Suedehead.”

  The introduction to one of Morrisey’s classics kicked in through a very poor sound system.

  “If I was your girlfriend, would you wear make up if I wanted you to?”

  Weird question.

  “What do you mean?”

  “OK. If I was your girlfriend and we lived together and you were going out with your mates and I wanted to dress you up in women’s clothing and send you out with the lads wearing it. Would you do it?”

  “Why would you want to?”

  “To test the boundaries of your love for me! To see if there were any boundaries to your love. Would you do it?”

  “Not a chance! No!”

  “So there would be boundaries?”

  “Of course there bloody would! If you wanted to make a complete arse of me, then sorry, I’m afraid I’d have to draw the line!”

  “Luckily for you, I wouldn’t want to make an arse of you nor would I want you to wear make up, but a ‘No’ is a ‘No’! Take the forfeit!”

  Once again, I did what I was told. Vodka number two gone! Down in one! I was now aware that I was pretty smashed. Not only that, I was starting to feel that it was a stupid game and that I didn’t want to play it.

  “I don’t like this game,” I moaned, “it’s daft. Can we stop?”

  Jemma was having none of it!

  “Come on, Richie! I’m enjoying it!”

  “Yes, because you’re just asking stupid questions that I can only answer ‘No’ to!”

  “Well you ask the questions then!”

  “I will!” I replied.

  Game on! Jemma looked confident.

  “I’m ready for you!” she said, rubbing her hands.

  “If I was your boyfriend and I developed an addiction to cheeseburgers and cream cakes and as a result, I became a bed ridden eighty seven stone hippo and I then asked you to climb in to my specially made bed so that my humungous eighty seven stone frame and my sixteen bellies could make love to you,” I paused for breath, “would you get in?”

  Jemma did not even hesitate!

  “Yes.”

  “You liar! You would not!”

  “I would! Looks aren’t important to me, I went out with Ray remember!”

  I thought about it.

  “I can’t argue with that!”

  “Ask me another.”

  If I was going to lose this game, I thought I might as well get some sort of enjoyment out of it. I decided to go down in a blaze of glory. All the testosterone fuelled questions that had crossed my mind in the last two years but had dared not ask, were now going to get their one and only vocal outing.

  “OK, if I was your boyfriend, would you satisfy every single one of my desires?”

  “Yes, absolutely!”

  “Absolutely? No matter how mad or bizarre they were?”

  “Yes!”

  “Be warned, Miss Watkinson, if I ever become your boyfriend, I will be reminding you of this conversation and I’ll hold you to it!”

  “You can!”

  “So, I could do pretty much whatever I wanted to do to you and you would be fine with that?”

  “Yes.”

  My imagination was running wild. Now I was turned on.

  “As much as I like that answer, Jemma, I am finding it hard to believe! You may have a good poker face, but the aim of the game is to tell the truth, not to be a convincing liar.”

  “Look, if you were my boyfriend, I would trust you enough not to make me do something I did not want to do. So, yes, I would satisfy every single one of your desires, because I trust you.”

  Wow! Things were looking up for me! I still needed to get Jemma to say ‘No’ though! I decided Jemma would be nailed on to be a possessive type.

  “If I was your boyfriend, would you let me sleep with another woman, with your prior knowledge and consent, if you did not feel up for it?”

  “Yes.”

  “You’re taking the piss now, Jemma! That’s a lie!”

  Jemma shook her head.

  “No, it isn’t! If you were my boyfriend, you would not want to sleep with another girl and I would always be up for it, so of course I would let you sleep with another girl, if you really wanted to, but I am telling you now it would never happen!”

  “And you expect me to believe that?”

  “It’s the truth. I don’t particularly care if you believe it or not, it’s the truth! You asked me three questions, I answered them all honestly with a ‘Yes”, you need to down another shot, Richie!”

  I took a third glass and a third vodka followed its Russian brothers into my bloodstream.

  “I’m still not convinced you’re playing fair!” I said in a voice that was becoming increasingly slurred.

  “Don’t accuse me of cheating! Remember what happened to your brother when he accused me of cheating!”

  Kelly was not this tough! I was a little intimidated by Jemma, but I also found her strength of character an attractive quality.

  “I wouldn’t dream of accusing you of cheating, Jemma!”

  “I hope not!”

  “You’re obviously just bloody good at the game!”

  “Not at the game, Richie, I’m just bloody good!”

  “We’ll see!”

  I drunkenly winked at her a couple of times.

  “Will we now! Don’t count your chickens before they flutter!”

  “Before they flutter?”

  “There was some crazy, posh old bird in Styal, who used to say that!”

  Jemma explained.

  “Anyway, all I’m saying is,” I was speaking in that slow, deliberate way that drunks do, “that it’s no good claiming your engine purrs, if you’re not going to let me drive it!”

  “And all I’m saying is,” Jemma replied, “if you have a top notch engine, underneath an outstanding body, you only want it to be driven by an excellent driver! Are you an excellent driver, Richie?”

  I think I would have ruined the moment if I’d have confessed to jerking and stalling all the time, so I came up with a line that would not have been misplaced on ‘Blind Date!’

  “Hand me the keys, lift up your bonnet and I’ll make more than your engine purr!”

  Jemma feigned shock and disgust!

  “Did you really just say that?”

  “It could have been worse!” I replied, “there were lots of other cat like phrases that nearly came out!”

  “Well, I’m glad they didn’t!”

  “Me too! Certainly not the way to charm a lady!”

  “Is that how you see me, Richie, as a lady?�
�

  Jemma’s face suddenly looked quizzical and serious. I was concerned that I was now a little too drunk for things to get deep and meaningful. I tried to continue the playful conversation.

  “If I was your boyfriend, I would see you as a lady!”

  Jemma was having none of it, she remained serious.

  “But now though, Richie, despite everything that’s happened, everywhere I’ve been, you still see me as a lady?”

  I had random drunken thoughts. A fit lady! A fit lady who’s my friend. A fit lady who used to be a cow but who’s now very nice. A little scary, but very nice.

  “Yes, I see you as a lady,” I was not sure where this was going, “does that mean I don’t have to have another forfeit?”

  Jemma grabbed me. Admittedly my recollection is hazy, but I am sure she did the grabbing. She made the moves. She kissed me forcefully. There were tongues. There were spectators, we were in the middle of a busy pub on a Friday night, after all. Nothing mattered. Just Jemma. Just me. Just us. It wasn’t romantic, but it was passionate and in those early days, that’s all Jemma Watkinson and Richie Billingham were all about.

  Kelly

  I was sitting on some steps at the harbourside, in the Central area of Hong Kong Island, looking over Victoria Harbour towards Kowloon, one late afternoon. I was in my own little world, taking a few sips from my Diet Coke and wondering when I was going to hear back from a couple of jobs I’d been interviewed for, when I heard a voice, “Sprechen Sie Deutsch?”

  “Pardon?”

  I looked up to see who was asking the question. It was a young European man, in his early twenties. He wasn’t great looking, I remember he had long shorts on and despite having blond hair on his head, he had masses of dark, wiry hairs on his legs. He smiled at me and I remember immediately thinking he had a cheery disposition. Looks wise, he reminded me of the chubby, blond haired Hitler Youth Austrian in the Sound of Music. The one who kissed Liesl. Even as a child I remember thinking she was too good for him, even if he was a year older. What was his name again? Rolf ?

  No, it couldn’t be, my mind was thinking about Australia a little, so I must have added Rolf Harris into the mix! This young man standing over me definitely bore no resemblance to Rolf Harris! He wasn’t tying a kangaroo down on the harbour’s edge! Anyway, I digress. The young, European who looked like Liesl’s boyfriend, switched to English, in that seamless way that makes me embarrassed of my poor foreign language skills.