Forever Is Over

by Wade, Calvin

  “The thing I don’t understand though,” I said, “is why he’s hidden an unopened letter for me and some stuff about H.R.T and catalogues for you, as well as all the reminder notices?”

  “And”, Mum added, “why does everything have blood on?”

  As Mum’s question lingered in the air, we heard the sound of a key penetrating the front door’s lock and then the sound of a front door opening.

  “Dorothy, I’m back!” my Dad announced warmly.

  Dad had been over to see his brother, Billy in Wavertree. My Mum and Uncle Billy had never seen eye to eye, so she had opted out of joining Dad, making the excuse that she needed to stick around to help me with Jamie. I thought they probably didn’t get on because they were too similar, both too outspoken.

  “We’re in the lounge,” Mum shouted back, and then she whispered to me, “now this is going to be interesting!”

  Charlie

  Kiffer’s black limousine was parked up on Clieves Hill overlooking miles of greenery in every direction. I had chosen the destination which seemed very much like the final request of a condemned man. I used to take the kids to Clieves Hill when they were little to give Dot a break from them. It was our picnic spot. I used to call it our “Sunny Road”. As the limo had moved off from our house, I had calmly asked Kiffer, “Where are you taking me?”

  Kiffer just smiled, as though he was a sweet, friendly guy and said, “Where would you like to go, Charlie?”

  “Clieves Hill,” I’d said, “I’d like to go to Clieves Hill.”

  If I was going to die, I wanted to go somewhere that brought back some happy memories.

  “Well, that’s where we’ll go then,” Kiffer said doing his finest impression of Jimmy Saville, “Marcus, take us to Clieves Hill, please.”

  Marcus turned left at the top of our road and headed towards Clieves Hill. “Can I get you a drink, Charlie?” Kiffer continued in his jovial manner.

  “No, I’m fine thanks.”

  “What do you think of the motor, Charlie? She’s a beauty, isn’t she?”

  “Very nice.”

  This old pals act was not going to last long, this was surely just an act before he started electrocuting me or removing my teeth, one by one with pliers. Whilst he was being pleasant though, Kiffer wanted to recount a story of his entrepreneurial endeavours.

  “I was from a poor upbringing, Charlie. Eldest of seven kids, five boys and two girls. My Dad was a docker, a drinker and a hard man. He used to drown people’s unwanted kittens. My mother was, and still is, a frail woman, five foot tall in heels and as soft as oven baked butter. Every rags to riches story has a lucky break and my lucky break came in the form of death, my father’s death, I would not be the wealthy man I am today, if my Dad had not died of a heart attack at forty three years old, when I was just a boy of fifteen.

  Once Dad died, someone needed to step up to the plate, to keep the eight of us fed and as the oldest, I knew it was my responsibility. I left school within a week of the funeral and started labouring, but it was long hours for crap pay and I knew we were never going to survive on what I was bringing in.

  A couple of weeks into the job, I sat down one evening with Mum, to talk about how we were going to make ends meet. In the course of that conversation, it came out that Mum had been left about a grand from some shitty little life policy Dad had. I persuaded Mum, and bear in mind that I was only fifteen years old at the time, that the only way we could survive, would be if she handed over that grand to me and I put it to work. She trusted me, Charlie, with the only money she had. That’s when I started lending money. I packed in labouring, started going door to door in our road. During the day. I offered to lend housewives or ‘doleys’ money until the next childrens allowance payment came in, or the next dole money or their husband’s next pay packet. That’s how it started, lend twenty quid, a week later get £25 back, no paperwork, everything done on trust. As time passed, my confidence grew. I stopped just lending to the housewives and unemployed folk of our road in Walton and began to branch out. I started moving further and further afield, always the same tactics though, short-term loans, small sums, always less than £100 a time and re-claim the loan plus 25% extra, within a fortnight. I always managed to get my money, until I came across Kenny Beagrie.

  Kenny Beagrie was a long distance lorry driver. Kenny’s problem was that when he wasn’t working, he was a total pisshead. A twenty pints a day man. He was in his early fifties, divorced, someone told me his wife went off with his best mate whilst he was on a job to Berlin, fat, balding, heavily tattooed and not a great looker. This man loved to drown his sorrows, so he had come to me to borrow £100 with a promise that he would pay me back after a four day work trip to Northern France. He did pay me back too, good as gold. Three days after arriving back though, he was knocking on my door again, asking for £200 this time. £200 was more than I had ever lent to an individual before. Kenny explained he had a ten day trip sorted down to Madrid, which would be paying handsomely and he’d pay me back as soon as he arrived home. He said he’d make it worth my while and would pay me £300 back. I got greedy, Charlie, I had seven others to feed as well as myself, so against my better judgement, I ran with it.

  A couple of weeks later, when I had heard Kenny was back from Spain and had been spotted in several local pubs, I called round at his house one Saturday lunchtime. He opened the door, stinking of booze,

  “What do you want?” he said to me.

  “I’ve come to get my £300.” I told him.

  At this point, Charlie, he made a fateful error. As you know, I am the best, politest man on earth to people who treat me right, but if you cross me, I can be a mad fucker!

  “What £300?” he said. Could you believe that? He was denying all knowledge.

  “I lent you £200 a fortnight ago, Kenny. You said you would give me £300 back, when you came back from Madrid. I want it, Kenny.” “Fuck off, Cuntington! I owe you nothing. I only leant money off you once and I’ve paid you back. Now piss off and let me get back to bed.”

  “Borrowed money.” I said, it annoyed me when people muddled up their lending and borrowing, “you borrowed money, you did not lend it, you borrowed it. Give it me back!”

  “Piss off!” he said.

  Kenny Beagrie slammed his door in my face. Kenny Beagrie was a fool to cross me, Charlie. I knocked on his door again, he opened his door and I stared him straight in the eye. “You’d better give me that £300, Kenny!”

  He started pushing me, Charlie! He came straight out his front door, into the road and started prodding my chest. No-one prods Simon Cunnington.

  “Or what Cuntington? Or what?” Kenny Beagrie was saying, “look at you! Fifteen years old and a seven stone weakling! I told you to PISS OFF! If I ever see you around here again, Cuntington, I will take great pleasure in kicking every last bit of shit out of your skinny little body!”

  I went home, Charlie, took stock and ran with Plan B. I filled a bag with stones and half-bricks and about one o’clock in the morning, I went round to his road and sat on the floor, about a dozen doors down, on the other side of the road. About two o’clock, Kenny Beagrie staggered up his road, I’d heard he used to go to “The Melrose” for lock-ins, so I knew he’d be coming back legless. I watched him struggle with his key in the door, but didn’t make a move, I just watched him. I saw the lights in his house go on and then ten minutes later, saw them go off again. Half an hour later, when I was sure he’d be fast asleep, I started banging on his door, making a right old racket. Once again, the lights came back on. I could hear him muttering,

  “What the fuck’s going on? It’s the middle of the fucking night!”

  The hall light came on and then he opened the front door with just a dressing gown on.

  “Cuntington! I warned you not to come here!” he sneered.

  “I want my money, Kenny!” I said.

  “There is no money!”

  Kenny Beagrie tried to shut the door, but he was drunk, r
otten drunk and his reactions were slow. As he tried to push it shut, I kicked it open and before he knew what was happening, I swung that bag of bricks and rocks and it hit him, right on the top of his head. For a split second, he just looked at me, like I was insane, then he put his hand to his head, inspected it, his hand was full of blood and he just dropped to the ground like a tall tree beaten by a lumberjack.

  I went into his house. Shut his door behind me. Went upstairs, found his bedroom, then found a brown envelope in his bedside drawer, opened it, saw there was about a grand in there, stuffed it in my pocket and then left. I had gloves on, so left no fingerprints and threw the bloodied bag with the rocks in, into the Mersey. I heard the next day that Kenny Beagrie had been found dead.

  I must admit, Charlie, I felt no guilt. If that fucker had paid me back his debt to me, he would still be alive now. Same goes for everyone since. I’m not looking for trouble, I just need a deal to be honoured, to be shown the respect I feel I deserve.”

  As Kiffer’s story finished, we came to a stand still at Clieves Hill. Perfect timing. I think I had been duly warned. Kiffer’s henchmen disembarked, as did the driver, leaving Kiffer and I alone in the limo.

  “Tell me what’s happened, Charlie. You’re a family man, like me. Explain to me how things have spun so far out of control.”

  “It’s the horses, Kiffer. I’ve had some bad luck. Real bad luck.”

  Kiffer was unsympathetic.

  “Bad luck Charlie or bad judgement?”

  “Both I suppose, Kiffer. I’ll win it back though, I always do.”

  “It’s nice to hear you so confident, Charlie, it really is, but remind me how much you owe me?”

  “I’ve borrowed four grand, Kiffer.”

  “Four grand, so at today’s rate of exchange, that’s six grand you owe me, Charlie, isn’t it?”

  “I’ll get it you, Kiffer.”

  “I know you will, Charlie! How exactly will you get it me though, Charlie, that’s what I want to hear?”

  “If I could just borrow another grand, Kiffer, I reckon I could turn it all around.”

  Kiffer allowed himself a little chuckle.

  “That’s good, Charlie! Really good! Who’s lending you that, then?”

  “I was hoping you would, Kiffer.”

  Me? I’d love to mate, but as we’ve just said, you owe me six grand already. I can’t afford to be throwing good money after bad. If I gave you another grand, that would be seven and a half grand that you’d owe me and that’s a significant amount of money. Too much to lose.

  As far as I can see, Charlie, the only luck you seem to be having right now, is bad luck. I operate my business just like a bank, so if I decide you are getting in to a situation where it is becoming increasingly unlikely that I am going to get my money back, I have to resort to Plan B.”

  I started to feel very uncomfortable. Kiffer had already told me what Plan B was.

  “You won’t get your money by killing me, Kiffer!”

  That was the switch he needed. Good Godfather, became Bad Godfather. Kiffer lunged forward, grabbed me by the hair and pulled my head down towards the floor. He gripped a thick bundle of hair with his left hand, I was passive, there was no point in me fighting back, with his right hand, he delivered a barrage of upper cuts to my nose. It immediately started dripping thick blobs of dark red blood.

  “I don’t believe you’re in a position to start fucking lecturing me on what to do and what not to do, Charlie! Believe me, if I want to kill you, I will kill you! Simple as that!”

  My blood was dripping on to the floor of the limousine, I didn’t have a handkerchief or a tissue, nor did I want to ask for one from Kiffer. I took the letters I had earlier stuffed in my pocket and used them to wipe my nose and wipe the blood up off the floor.

  “I’ll get you your money, Kiffer.”

  “You’ve got twenty four hours, old man!”

  Twenty four hours! I felt like a dead man walking now! Six grand in twenty four hours was, barring a lottery win, near on impossible.

  “I’ll get it, but I need more than twenty four hours.”

  Kiffer was not known for having a soft centre.

  “I don’t care what you need, Charlie. What you have is twenty four hours and after that if you do not have my six thousand pounds, I will bring you back here and I will get the boys to start snapping your bones, starting with your legs and moving upwards until they get to your neck.”

  I think I gulped so loud it was audible back home.

  “Boys!” Kiffer shouted, “come and get this old fucker out of my limo!”

  The ‘Smirking Giant’ and ‘Muscles’ appeared , dragged me out of the car and pinned me face down on the ‘Sunny Road’ Muscles sat on my back, he had been smoking a cigarette which he now decided to extinguish by stubbing it out on the back of my neck. As the heat burnt into my skin, I yelled out,

  “What the bloody hell are you doing that for, Muscles?”

  Matter of factly, he replied,

  “It’s my job, Charlie! If you think this is bad, wait and see what’ll happen to you in twenty four hours time, if you don’t get Kiffer his money.”

  As Muscles was talking, with his knees digging into my back, the ‘Smirking Giant’ was rifling through my pockets, taking my wallet out, then he removed the chain I had on around my neck. I began struggling at first, but Muscles had a sharp knife in his other hand and each time I struggled, he pressed the blade into my neck so that it drew blood. I could feel it, trickling down my back like Castrol oil. I decided motionless was a better policy and remained still as the ‘Smirking Giant’ removed my watch, it was only when he began prising my wedding ring off my finger that I regained the struggle.

  “Come on lads!” I protested, “I’ve had my wedding ring for thirty years!”

  “It’s a deposit, Charlie,” Muscles explained, “If we get the money off you, depending on what sort of mood Kiffer’s in, you might just get it back. If we don’t, you’ll never see that ring again and we’ll be straight around to your house. We’ll strip it bare like a swarm of locusts in a barley field and then, in all likelihood, we’ll come looking for you. We like you Charlie, but Kiffer has a reputation to maintain, there’s no point being sentimental in our game.”

  “How am I supposed to get six grand in twenty four hours, when you’ve just taken my wallet with my last fifty quid in it and my watch and wedding ring, the only two things I own that I could pawn?”

  Muscles stood up, taking the weight off my back. I stayed on the floor for a few seconds as he’d knocked the wind out of my sails and I needed to regain some composure. Once I felt a little better, I pushed myself up onto my feet. By the time I was upright, Kiffer’s henchmen were back in the limo. The engine started. The electric window came down and Kiffer put his head out of the window,

  “Twenty four hours, Charlie, the clock is already ticking. It’s time to sink or swim. If you need any motivation just remember Kenny Beagrie. Everyone pays me back, Charlie, everyone!”

  The limo sped off leaving a trail of dust in its wake. I began my lonely walk home, continuing to dab my bloody nose and cigarette burnt back, with the morning’s post. What I needed to figure out, and quickly, was how on earth I was going to get hold of six grand by the following morning.

  Kelly

  Paul Newman, the legendary Hollywood actor, when asked by journalists about his long and happy marriage to Joanne Woodward, in the fickle world of Hollywood, allegedly responded by famously saying, something along the lines of, “ Why go out for hamburger, when you have steak at home?” In my life, I had steak at home, but I must have kept putting it in the freezer, as I had a habit of totally forgetting it was there, thinking I had nothing in and then going out and picking up something to stop me from starving! For five years though, I did starve myself of love, as I thought there was potentially the juciest fillet steak ever coming my way. Once you haven’t been fed for five years though, you realise someone may have pinched your mea
l and it may be time to just start eating and time to stop being so bloody fussy!

  As July 4th approached, I pondered whether there was really much point travelling up to Ormskirk again. Over the last four years, the journey up to our “Sunny Road” had not led to an emotional re-union and, despite having optimistic moments, most of the time I just could not see how this time would be any different. In my mind, there were two possible outcomes that could have happened in relation to the letter I had sent to Richie’s Mum and Dad’s. Either Richie had received it and had decided it was no longer in his interest to meet me because his life had subsequently moved on OR he had not received it and his life was just continuing along the same path, oblivious to my heartfelt appeal. Irrespective of which of those scenarios was the right one, there was nothing to suggest Richie would turn up. My problem was, some romantic notion was telling me to give it one last shot.

  I was still working at Dillons, a job that I had thought was temporary, had kept me in gainful employment for over four years. I was enjoying it and although I was never going to become a millionaire from my wage there, I did not ever wake up dreading work. Twelve months earlier, life at Dillons had become more interesting when a new employee, called Roddy Baker, started. Roddy soon became my closest friend both in and out of work. I had overheard some of the other staff saying that he had come into retail as a complete career change from what he had done previously. For a while, I did not know what that other career had been, but it was blatantly obvious that he had not read a single book since leaving primary school! Roddy just survived on his sense of humour. We used to have lunch together most days and I would always finish lunch in higher spirits than when it started.

  “If this is a career change,” I asked Roddy, one lunchtime, “what was it you did before?”

  “I was a Headmaster.” Roddy replied stoically.

  Men often think that women are easily fooled, but you would have to be the world’s most naïve person to think Roddy had been a Headmaster, he looked far too youthful and the only Queen’s English he spoke, was the English of the ‘Queens’ in Soho. Not that he was camp, I’m just saying he had a strong London accent. Really strong.