Forever Is Over

by Wade, Calvin

  “If you used to be a Headmaster, Roddy, then I used to be a bloke!”

  “Kelly! Now you come to mention it, I’ve always wondered why you had such a massive Adam’s apple!”

  “Sod off!” I said playfully.

  “I swear, I was a Headmaster for six years. Swear on my Mum’s life.”

  Roddy did not look any older than about twenty five, but he was making his statement with such conviction, that a small part of me started to believe there must be an element of truth in what he was saying.

  “At which school?” I enquired.

  “School? What are you on about woman? No school! I was a Headmaster at Bobby’s Barbers in East Ham! Six years cutting hair, I got so bored even selling books for a living seemed like a decent option.”

  “Do you know anything about books?”

  “Not a thing! I just know that you open them, read everything inside and then you’re done, Bob’s your Uncle, Fanny’s your Aunt!”

  That was typical Roddy! He was always upbeat, always cracking jokes, never took himself too seriously, it was a joy to be around him, as he would always make me feel good about myself. If Roddy had been in the mirror on the wall, Snow White would not have been the fairest of them all, I would have stolen that prize. I knew how Roddy felt about me, as he would consistently tell me, but it was not a reciprocal attraction. If I had given Roddy even the slightest inkling that I was interested, he would quite literally have grabbed the opportunity with both hands. I was sure that would not be happening though. I knew I wanted my future to be with Richie. I made it abundantly clear to Roddy that my interest was purely platonic and he should not entertain any ideas that further down the line we may become an item. I told him it was never going to happen. I told him that if I ended up marrying Richie, he could be a pageboy!

  As July 4th, approached, the butterflies in my stomach, the pounding heart and the erratic breathing returned, like they had in the weeks before my visit North, in each of the last four years. I felt like a silly, lovestruck schoolgirl again, which, given every visit so far had failed to deliver Richie, seemed very optimistic of my internal organs.

  The routine I had followed on the four previous trips to Ormskirk had not changed. I felt like a Crimewatch actor, re-enacting the same scene every twelve months. Each year, I would travel up by train from London Euston to Preston, then take another train to Burscough, stop at a hotel between Ormskirk and Burscough, called the Beaufort and then on the morning of the 4th July, I would make a four mile walk up to the ‘Sunny Road’. I did not mind the walk there, it was always filled with both nervous excitement and optimism, but the lonely trudge back after a no show from Richie was always tough.

  This time around, I had decided it was time to do things differently. Rather than book into the Beaufort, I decided to book into the West Tower Hotel in Aughton, which was a lot more expensive, but only half a mile from the ‘Sunny Road’. The other more radical thing I decided to do, was to journey up with a companion. I decided, all things considered, it would be a good idea to bring Roddy up with me.

  Over the last four years, I had always avoided going into Ormskirk whilst I was on my annual pilgrimage to the ‘Sunny Road’. I did not want to risk public humiliation or arrest by the local constabulary still looking for the fleeing accomplice from Mum’s murder. The main reason I avoided Ormskirk though, was to steer clear of a face to face confrontation with Jemma. The repercussions of crossing Jemma’s path scared me more than the thought of being arrested. Jemma had been responsible for most of the positive aspects of my childhood and it was the guilt that I felt that had led to me avoiding her for so long. I did not know how I could possibly rebuild the bridges that I had burnt, so thought the least complex solution was complete avoidance. The longer I avoided her, the guiltier I felt and the more certain I became that she would now hate me.

  The issue I faced though was that each year after Richie failed to turn up, I had no emotional support and the long walk back to the Beaufort Hotel and the subsequent trip home had been heartbreaking. Romantically I felt like I was just torturing myself by pursuing something that probably should have been consigned to the ‘happy memories’ part of my brain, but I just could not help doing it. Journeying up and down with Roddy I thought would ensure my spirits would not sag irrespective of circumstance and if Richie did not turn up, I would finally close this Chapter of my life and allow another one to begin. Americans called it ‘closure’ and that’s what this one last trip to the ‘Sunny Road’ was for me - ‘closure’.

  One lunchtime at Dillons, Roddy and I were discussing our imminent trip to Ormskirk.

  “I love spending time with you, Kelly, you know that, but the one thing that makes me feel uncomfortable about this trip, is the thought that Richie will finally turn up this year.”

  “Why does that make you feel uncomfortable?”

  “Two reasons. One, I’ll just be stuck on my Jack Jones looking like a gooseberry, but secondly, and more importantly, I don’t want to lose you as a mate.”

  “Roddy! You’ll never lose me as a mate!”

  “I might if I punch this Richie bloke for not having the decency to turn up for the last four years!”

  “You wouldn’t do that!”

  “I’d be tempted. I didn’t mean that though, I mean if you two fall into each other’s arms like a pair of lovebirds and everything goes swimmingly, you might decide to move back up North. If that happens our little lunch time chats will come to end and I’ll be lonely working here with all these stuck-up arty farty types!”

  “I wouldn’t start worrying about all that stuff just yet, Roddy! Richie hasn’t shown up for the last four years! We’ll probably just go up, have a trip to the ‘Sunny Road’, have a look around, sit and have a picnic and then come back down.”

  “If he does turn up, what would I do with myself? I ain’t hanging round watching you kissing him, I’ll be jealous!”

  “You can kiss him too if you like!”

  Roddy gave me a look of being a little vexed with me.

  “You know what I mean!”

  “You could just go back to the Hotel for a bit and I’d meet you there an hour or two later.”

  “Maybe all this just isn’t worth the bother, Kelly. I mean if he hasn’t shown up for four years, why give him a fifth chance?”

  “I don’t know. Part of me thinks, for some reason, that Richie is going to show up this year.”

  “He won’t.”

  “Is that what you think Roddy or is that what you hope?”

  “Both!”

  “Well, we’ll never know unless I go, will we?”

  “I still think the money we are wasting on this search for Prince Charming could be put to better use. You and I could just go out on an almighty piss up and drink to Richie’s health.”

  “Roddy!”

  “What?”

  “Richie’s had cancer.”

  “So? All the more reason to drink to his health!”

  “I suppose….anyway, don’t be trying to talk me out of it, it’s just something I feel I need to do. One last time.”

  “You probably said that last year, Kelly!”

  “I didn’t! I swear this is his last chance. If Richie isn’t on the ‘Sunny Road’ by ten past twelve on the 4th July, I’ll move on and never mention his name again.”

  “Can I quote you on that?”

  “You can! Start the tape recorder.”

  Roddy pretended to press play and record on an imaginary tape recorder and then held an invisible microphone up to my mouth.

  “Make your statement, Kelly Watkinson!”

  “I, Kelly Watkinson, hereby announce that if Richie Billingham is not on the ‘Sunny Road’ by ten minutes after twelve o’clock on the afternoon of the 4th July 2000, I promise and swear on my own life and that of my best friend’s, Roddy Baker’s, that I shall never ever mention the name Richie Billingham again, throughout the term of our natural lives…..OK?”

  “Ide
al!”

  Charlie

  By the time I arrived back from my enforced visit to the ‘Sunny Road’, Dot had left for work. Dot worked part-time in an old people’s home as a care assistant and this included a ‘ten until four’ stretch on a Saturday. She’d left me a key under a plant pot in the front garden, which was our usual emergency hiding place and a note on the kitchen table that read,

  Charlie,

  God knows where you have disappeared to, but give me a ring at work to let me know that you are OK. There’s a pork pie in the fridge for your lunch. Don’t forget to put the tea in, like I told you last night.

  Love Dot xxx.

  Panic was beginning to set in. I kept talking to myself, telling myself to keep calm, panic in the morning when all avenues had been explored and I still did not have the six grand. Deal with everything in bite size chunks, I told myself, firstly ring Dot, tell her that you are OK, then once that’s out the way, scour the house for money, building society passbooks or anything else that is potentially worth a few quid.

  Dot was easily comforted. As a gambler, I was used to having to create stories to explain unusual absences, so just rang her and matter-of-factly told her that I had wandered down to the newsagents to pick up a few newspapers, then, as it had been a beautiful morning, I had decided to take myself down to the park, sit on a bench and have a pleasant read in the early morning sun. Dot was only half listening, there were probably things going on in the background at work and all she was concerned about, before I put the phone down, was that I put some sauce in a casserole dish and put it in the oven for our tea.

  Once Dot’s mild concerns were addressed, it was time to see what we had in the house that I could utilise to make me six grand. The first place I headed were the drawers next to Dot’s bed where I knew she kept the Building Society passbooks. I had no idea how much money we had in those accounts as I did not contribute to our savings at all, but knew my wages paid most of the bills, so thought there may be some savings that Dot had put away. I was the type of person who lived for the day. Dot was the type who always believed in being prepared for a rainy day. I needed that money now, it was pissing down!

  I rifled through the drawers like an anxious, drug addled burglar, pushing all the crap that Dot had gathered out the way, for some reason, tights, knickers, credit card bills and passbooks were all in together. The first passbook I found was a Girobank account, I flicked through to the most up-to-date balance, £13! Shit! What did Dot do with her money? I knew mine went the way of the bookies, but where did Dot’s go? There must be others, I thought,

  “Come on, Dot! Don’t let me down!” I said to myself, “My life depends on this!”

  I started throwing everything out that drawer, feeling my blood pressure rising. Then I saw a second passbook. Temporary respite. Birmingham Midshires, how much was this? I flicked through the pages, £1-12.

  “Fucking hell!” I cursed, “Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!”

  I was a dead man. A dead man. I pulled the whole drawer out and tipped its contents on the floor. The last remaining passbook in that drawer was a Halifax one, that sat there, shinily, gleaming at me like the gold in a treasure chest.

  “Six grand!” I pleaded aloud as I leafed through those pages, “if it’s not six grand, I’m screwed!”

  Why I kept reminding myself of my own predicament, I have no idea, but fear does strange things to the human mind. I reached the final page, “£487-20.” Better than the other two, but I knew it was nowhere near enough to keep Kiffer sweet. I was, by now, breaking out in a cold sweat. I imagined myself waking up in a coffin, hammering on its lid, six feet below the ground, hopelessly screaming for help as I died for a second time. I needed to leave a letter for Dot, I told myself, let her know that I wanted to be cremated. I did not like the idea of being stuck in a confined space or the idea of my body just being left to rot, having said that, if Kiffer’s mobsters murdered me, they weren’t exactly going to pop around to my house, ring the doorbell and hand my battered body over to Dot. I doubt they would listen to funeral requests either. I needed to find something in our house, anything, that I could sell.

  I started running around the house feeling like a contestant on Mike Reid’s show, “Runaround” that the kids used to watch when they were little, as I’d run into the lounge and then decide that was the wrong place to be, so would run over to the dining room. There was nothing in the lounge that was sellable other than the TV and the settee and they weren’t going to get me five and a half grand and they weren’t things you could find an instant buyer for either. The same problems existed with the goods in the dining room too, I wasn’t going to make a quick fortune by selling a dining room table and chairs. The gravity of the situation and the hopelessness of my search began to kick in. I was hunting for something I just wasn’t going to find. I just stood there yelling and began punching myself in the head. Then the tears came. My life was over.

  As the tears continued to pour, I dropped onto my knees and began to pray aloud,

  “God, if you can hear me now, I need your help. I’ve been a fool, a complete fool and I’ve neglected you, I’ve neglected my family and I have made a complete mess of my life so far. You have given me so many things, a good marriage, great kids, but I’ve not appreciated them, I’ve just been selfish, thought of no-one other than myself and taken everything and everyone in my life for granted.

  I’m scared now though, God. I don’t want to die. If you can help me through this God, I promise I will change. This is my road to Damascus moment, God. I promise you it is. I’ll make a deal with you, God, if you can somehow find me six grand, by tomorrow morning, I will never gamble again. I’ll never take anything for granted again, I’ll be a better and kinder man. I’ll come to church, not just at Christmas and at weddings and christenings, I’ll come every Sunday without fail. Just help me, God. I don’t want to die, God. Six grand, that’s all. I’ll even pay it back, over time, to the local church. We can do this, God, if you help me, we can do this! Just give me a sign, God. If you do, I swear, it’ll change me forever. I know I’ve never done a thing for you, but help me through this and I will! I swear I will. AMEN.”

  Now I know some people laugh at me when I tell them this, tell me I’m talking rubbish, but I don’t care. I swear, as soon as I stood back up, I felt different. Completely different. I felt like I was being guided. Something, I don’t know what, told me to go to the bathroom. I don’t mean said it out loud, I just meant it was like a sixth sense, telling me to go to the bathroom. I no longer felt scared or nervous. I felt self-assured. Something told me everything would be OK. I felt like an angel had taken me by the hand and was calming me and leading me in the right direction. Then, when I reached the bathroom, I was certain, as sitting there, on the side of the sink, next to the toothpaste, were Dot’s rings, her engagement ring and her eternity ring. Before, when I wasn’t thinking straight, it had totally slipped my mind that Dot always took those rings off for work. Apparently rings can be a great breeding ground for germs plus, Dot always pointed out, jagged rings could always catch one of the old dears when she was lifting them or washing them. Dot only ever wore her wedding ring for work and left the other two at home. I knew, just knew, that these rings were going to be my salavation. Somehow, these rings were going to save my life. I put both of them in my pocket, picked up my car keys and set off for Ormskirk.

  Charlie

  Kubilay Turkyilmaz. A Swiss footballer of Turkish descent - ever heard of him? On 7th October 2000, he became the first person in World Cup Qualifying history to score a hat-trick of penalties. Heard of him now? Thought not, it was against the Faroe Islands! I love Kubilay Turkyilmaz! I love him more than any other footballer that has ever walked this earth. I love him more than Bobby Charlton, more than Geoff Hurst, more than Bolton’s greatest, Nathaniel Lofthouse, scorer of 255 goals in 452 games for the mighty Bolton Wanderers and thirty goals in thirty three games for England. Kubilay Turkyilmaz surpasses all of them,
in my book. Why, you may ask? What’s so good about Kubilay Turkyilmaz? Simple answer. Kubilay Turkyilmaz saved my life. Kubilay Turkyilmaz and God anyway.

  A grand. Lunchtime on Saturday, 8th June 1996 and I had a grand in my pocket. Normally, a grand in my pocket meant that I had just had a big win on the horses and it was time to treat the boys in the pub to a round on me or the family to a meal out. Not this time. I knew this time, that a grand in my pocket by day break would almost certainly mean death.

  I had stooped to an all time low. The theft of the savings and personal belongings of my wife had netted me that thousand pounds. The Halifax account was fortunately in joint names, so I had managed to withdraw all but £12 from that account and I had also visited a pawn shop in Burscough Street, to receive £525 for two rings worth more than five times that. I understood that if my plan did not come off, Dot would no doubt kill me before Kiffer’s henchmen came calling.

  I was still five grand short. It was, without doubt, crisis time. In a time of crisis, I had little choice but to resort to what I knew best. Gambling. Gambling, the very thing that had created this whole mess, was now the only thing I had to rely on to save my life. In fact, that was not strictly true, I had faith too. Faith was going to be the thing that would make this gamble different from every bet I had previously placed. From a personal perspective, this was the bet to end all bets. Prior to this one bet, I had always hoped or thought I was going to win my bet, this time, I knew I would win. There was a spiritual difference. An Almighty difference. I had repented of my sins before God and I knew God was going to allow this one final sin, to clean my slate and cleanse my soul. This was one final, Almighty bet. I was going to pick one horse in the Derby at Epsom and put the whole one thousand pounds on it to win. I had decided now was not the time to be cautious. Somehow, I knew, God was going to guide me through this. God would ensure that I was a winner.