by Wade, Calvin
“It is. I’ve spent thirty years roundly booing it!”
“Then why have it at your funeral?”
“Because I was an idiot to boo it! I’ve had so much time to think and reflect recently and it’s just struck me as pathetic that I would boo a bunch of people who want to sing a 1950’s Rodgers & Hammerstein classic at the top of their voices.”
I was oblivious to the history of the song.
“I thought it was a Gerry & The Pacemakers song?”
“They covered it in the 1960’s, Jemma but its from the film, Carousel. Have you never seen Carousel?”
“No.”
“Right, after we’ve finished this coffee, let’s go into Ormskirk and we’ll buy Carousel. We can watch it tonight. Anyway, in Carousel, Billy Bigelow dies during a failed robbery and his wife Julie starts singing it after he has passed away, she’s too overcome to finish it off though, so her cousin Nettie sings it to her.”
“Not much point watching it now, Richie! You’ve just spoilt it!”
“I haven’t, there’s a lot more to it than that, as you will see when we watch it later. The point is it’s a great song but because every time it’s played, I associate it with Liverpool Football Club, I boo it. Back in 1989, after the Hillsborough disaster, the FA Cup Final was fittingly between Liverpool and Everton at Wembley. I could have gone to the game, but as you know my world was being tipped upside down at that point with Kelly leaving and having cancer, so I just went to ‘The Buck’ with Dogger to have a few pints and watch it in their front room. Dogger isn’t really into football, but because I was supporting Everton, he said he would as well. Just before the game kicked off, Gerry Marsden from Gerry & The Pacemakers went on to the pitch and sang an emotional rendition of ‘You’ll Never Walk Alone’. It was less than two months after the Hillsborough tragedy and Liverpool fans held up their scarves and sang, the odd Everton fan did too, but most just kept a dignified silence. In ‘The Buck’ it was the same, Liverpudlians stood up and sang, Everton fans sat down and were silent, but Dogger, not aware of the etiquette and a big fan of the song, wanted to stand up and sing. I pulled him back down and told him to shut up!
That’s just ridiculous really, isn’t it? I was incensed enough to kiss Ray on the day of the tragedy, because I felt he had insulted the Hillsborough dead, but less than two months later, I wouldn’t allow one of my best mates to sing a song, on a day celebrating their lives and mourning their deaths, because of some stupid, tribal prejudice. Every Evertonian, out of loyalty to the city they’re from, should have held up their scarves and sang that day. I didn’t and if playing ‘You’ll Never Walk Alone’ at my funeral, in some small way, makes amends for that, then the thought of that, makes me happy. Dress me in a suit and put me in an Everton blue and white coffin, but make sure everyone, including Everton fans, Manchester United fans and Glasgow Rangers fans, sing that song.”
“Do you want the Gerry & The Pacemakers version?”
“No. I love the version in Carousel, but an even better one in my opinion is by a Norwegian lady called Sissel. That’s the one I want playing at my funeral.”
“Will your Evertonian and United mates not be annoyed with you?”
“Jemma, I’ll never know, will I? It’s just a song though. A very emotive song. It doesn’t belong to Liverpool Football Club, if it belongs to anyone, it would be Richard Rodgers and Oscar Hammerstein, they wrote it.”
“So you’re absolutely sure about this?”
“Jemma, I have never been more sure about anything in my entire life.”
Dot
“For Christ’s sake, Dot, do you even know what palliative treatment is?”
Jemma and I had always had a great relationship, some wives struggle to get on with their mother-in-laws, but Jemma and I had always had a brilliant friendship, but as Richie’s illness progressed and both us became more anxious about his worsening condition, we started to disagree. Melissa and Jamie were starting to spend more and more time with Charlie and myself, as Jemma was spending more time with Richie at hospital, which was totally understandable, but one evening, when she was picking up the children from our house, Jemma announced that Richie had opted out of a third session of chemotherapy. We were having a coffee together in the kitchen and Jemma just dropped it into conversation as though it wasn’t that big a deal. Well, it was a big deal to me! I thought this was virtual suicide and told Jemma as much, telling her she may as well take the lid off the coffin and throw him straight in.
“I know it’s not going to cure him, Jemma, but how could you let this happen? It could give him an extra six months! Six extra months for the children with their father.”
“No, Dot, six extra months with you and Charlie as Richie spends all his time in bed or on an Oncology Ward. At least without the treatment, he may get a chance to spend some quality time with his children. Time that they will hopefully remember fondly for the rest of their lives.”
I was dismayed and furious. My son and his wife seemed to be giving up as soon as the going got tough.
“Jemma, have you persuaded Richie that this is the right thing to do, because let me assure you, it isn’t? You can’t just let him die!”
“Dot, first of all, this was Richie’s decision……”
“And yours.”
“No, Dot, it was Richie’s decision.”
I was getting flustered. How could he be so stupid? Maybe it was because he was ill.
“Is he well enough to be making such a momentous decision, Jemma?”
“Dot, his brain is functioning fine. He’s had chemotherapy not a lobotomy! Let him be the master of his own destiny. He is thirty two years old, Dot. He’s not a child!”
“He’s my child!”
“Yes, but what are you going to do? Grab his hand like he’s a very naughty boy and drag him up to the hospital?”
“If that’s what it takes!”
“Don’t be so ridiculous, Dot!”
“Believe you me, Jemma, I’m not the one being ridiculous!”
“Oh yes you are!”
“Oh no, I’m not!”
Jemma laughed sarcastically.
“Dot, I’m not playing pantomime games with you. It’s Richie’s decision and that’s that.”
“As his wife, you should be persuading him to do the right thing!”
“No, Dot, the second thing I was going to say, is that he’s my husband, this is the worst thing I could ever have to face, but through it all, I am going to support him every step of the way. If he wants to die with dignity, he will face no hostility from me.”
“Even if you are betraying your children?”
Jemma came right up to me. She was so close, I swear at one point our noses even touched.
“How dare you say I am betraying my children, Dot! Thank you very much for looking after them, but I think it’s about time I took them home to their father.”
I replied angrily and almost shouting. “Whilst you still can!”
“That’s right Dot,” Jemma shouted back, “whilst I still can!”
Jemma marched into the lounge, grabbed Melissa off her Granddad’s knee and picked Jamie and his toy cars off the lounge carpet. She put their shoes and coats on them in record time and frogmarched them out the house and into her car. After she had strapped the kids in the car, she stared at me venomously and spat out,
“Just back off, will you, Dot! I know it’s in your nature to interfere, but just this once, for everyone’s sake, just BACK OFF!”
With that, Jemma slammed the rear car doot shut, climbed in herself, revved her engine, then sped off up the road. I was distraught and Charlie annoyed me by coming across all knowing and stating that,
“Perhaps Jemma has a point.”
Two hours later, whilst my nerves were still frayed, the phone rang.
“Hello.”
“Dot, it’s Jemma.”
I wasn’t ready for another argument.
“Hello, dear,” I said frostily.
>
“Look Dot, I’m sorry everything turned a little angry earlier, understandably emotions are running high. Believe me, if it was just down to me, Richie would be having this treatment, but I don’t just love your son, Dot, I know him too. He is a very stubborn man. If he has made a decision, there is not a chance that you or I will change his mind. If he does not want to have any more chemotherapy, we cannot change that fact.”
“I wish we could, Jemma.”
“I know you do, Dot, but I was thinking, what we should do, is to look to channel our energies into doing something positive.”
It was a point I could not possibly argue with.
“Like what, Jemma?”
“Remember when Charlie offered to pay for a holiday for us?”
“Yes, I’m sure that offer still stands, but is Richie well enough to travel?”
“No, he isn’t, but can you remember what Richie said? He said he wanted to spend the time he had left surrounded by the people he loved.”
“I remember.”
“Well, maybe you and I should arrange a party for him. Think of all the people you would invite to his funeral and let’s arrange something where Richie gets the chance to see them. You invite family and family friends and I’ll invite all our other friends.”
I have to admit, my initial reaction was a little dubious. I was not totally convinced that this was a good idea.
“Will people not think it’s a bit strange, Jemma? Having a party when your husband and my son is dying? Should we really be having fun?”
“Celebrating, Dot. We should be celebrating. All the people that are closest to Richie, should be celebrating the fact that they have had the opportunity to know him and that they will get the opportunity to see him one last time. Even if I say so myself, I think it’s a brilliant idea! It’ll give him a lift, I know it will.”
I thought about it. Jemma was right.
“OK, let’s do it! I could book Ormskirk Cricket Club, that would fit about a hundred in, would that be OK?”
“That’d be ideal, Dot. Try and book it for three or four weeks time. Time enough for people to make arrangements, but hopefully Richie will still be well enough to enjoy it then. When you speak to people, tell them to park up Brook Lane rather than in the car park, I’d like it to be a surprise for him, but if Richie spots a load of cars he knows, he’ll realise something is going on.”
The idea was already starting to grow on me. I could see it being a lovely night and a night Richie would thoroughly enjoy. I felt awful about arguing with Jemma. I now understood that she would have had nothing to do with the decision not to have further treatment.
“Jemma, you do know that you’re a wonderful wife!”
“Not for much longer, Dot, sadly, not for much longer.”
Kelly
The numbers had been half punched twenty or maybe even thirty times, but then nervousness had got the better of me and I had cancelled each call. The final time though, I had been courageous, punched in the whole number, battled with myself not to hang up, listened to the tone and wiped sweat from my brow.
“Hello.”
I gulped.
“Hello, is that Jemma?”
“It is, Kelly.”
I was relieved. My biggest fear was that Richie would pick up. I knew he would have subsequently heard all about what I had said. “Jemma. I’m just ringing to say I’m so, so sorry.”
“How did you know, Kelly? Have you spoken to Amy?”
I was immediately puzzled.
“Know what?”
“That the cancer is back.”
This was a horrible conversation. It made no sense and once it did, I knew it would not be any better.
“What? Who’s cancer? Richie’s cancer?”
“Yes. How come you didn’t know? You just said you were sorry.”
“I meant for saying I was pregnant. I’ve been wanting to ring you for ages, Jemma, but I’ve been putting it off and putting it off. I wasn’t pregnant and nothing happened between Richie and I on the ‘Sunny Road’, but I guess you always knew that, didn’t you?”
“I did.”
“Is it testicular cancer again?”
“It is, but he has secondary lung cancer too.”
“Is it bad? Is he having chemo?”
“He was having chemo. Not any more.”
“Why?”
“He has too many tumours on his lungs, Kelly. It’s a particularly aggressive form of cancer. Richie’s dying, Kelly.”
“Dying? He can’t be. It’s less than twelve months since I saw him. He looked great.”
“Believe me, Kelly, he doesn’t look great now.”
“Jemma, I’m so sorry. I truly am so, so sorry.”
Not that I deserved it after everything I had put her through, but somehow, Jemma found it within herself to offer me a further gift of her compassion.
“Look Kelly, Dot and I are arranging a party for Richie, he probably only has months, possibly weeks left now and we thought it would be a lovely idea to have a party for him, where he gets to see his old friends one last time. I know more than anyone how important you used to be to him, so it would be wrong of me not to ask you. Would you come, Kelly?”
“When is it?”
“Next Friday.”
“Could Roddy come too?”
“Roddy? The bloke in the hospital.”
“Yes. We’re together now. He’ll drive me up.”
“That’s fine. It’s at Ormskirk Cricket Club. Get there for seven thirty, I’ll bring Richie in just before eight. I’ve been telling everyone to park up the road so Richie doesn’t recognise the cars, but I guess you guys can park right next to the entrance, if you like!”
“OK, that’s great. Thank you Jemma.”
“It’s OK. See you on Friday.”
“No, Jemma, thank you, really, thank you.”
“Lets just start afresh on Friday. I’ll look forward to seeing Roddy again. He seemed like a good guy.”
“He is. Jemma….”
“Yes.”
“One last thing…”
“Go on…”
“It won’t just be Roddy, I’m bringing. I’ll be carrying our other guest, Jemma, I’m pregnant.”
“Congratulations. Are you happy, Kelly?”
“Jemma, I’m ecstatic. Present telephone conversation excepted, I am the happiest I have ever been. Roddy is a fantastic man, he’ll be a fantastic father and every day I wake up, I just feel so lucky.”
As soon as I said it, I knew I shouldn’t have. The line went quiet and then I could hear some gentle sobbing. Despite everything she did for me, I always managed somehow to make Jemma’s life difficult. I felt guilty. Even when I didn’t mean to rub her nose in things, I still managed to.
“Jemma, Jemma, are you there? Sorry, I didn’t think.”
“It’s OK. I’m really happy for you. I’ll look forward to seeing both you and Roddy on Friday night.”
It was my turn to start crying.
“Jemma, I promise I’ll never hurt you again.”
“Kelly, thank you for saying it but you can’t promise that! Believe me, even if you do, I’ll still love you. You’re my sister and no matter what happens that won’t change. My love for you is unconditional.”
“I know I haven’t always shown it Jemma, but I feel the same way too.”
“See you on Friday, Kelly. Tell Roddy to drive carefully.”
Caroline
Donna and I had gripped hold of each other’s hands when Richie had arrived at the door and then disappeared. We had been standing close enough to the entrance to glimpse his arrival and his subsequent swift departure.
“Cal, that didn’t even look like Richie,” Donna whispered in my ear.
“I know what you mean,” I whispered back, “his skin looks like its been in the bath for a week. Maybe this is cruel, putting him through this. Do you think I should go and have a word? We’ve always been close.”
“No,” Donna r
eplied, “Jemma and your Mum have gone after him. If someone else goes, he’ll start feeling crowded.”
“They might be trying to coax him in though. I wouldn’t do that. I’d tell him if he wants to bugger off home, that’s fine with me.”
Fortunately I didn’t go out. Mum and Jemma did coax him in and there was this awkward period where everyone did not know how to react, it was a party for a terminally ill man who had just shown everyone that he was a reluctant host. No-one had any experience of how to act in those circumstances. There was some minor acknowledgement of his return, but everyone, probably rightly, gave him time to find his feet in there. That must be how celebrities feel all the time when they go to parties, everyone is aware of their presence but most people pretend to ignore them as they feel its bad form to be too in their face.
Donna and I kept a particularly low profile. We didn’t really feel like we fitted in too well to family events anyway. We were the odd lesbian misfits. Old family members wore cloves of garlic to deter us from going anywhere near them. We just bought a few drinks and sat in the corner and chatted amiably to anyone who ambled over for a natter.
About twenty minutes after he came back in, Richie struggled over to us. There were two small steps between Richie’s starting point and our table, but his body was so badly ravaged by cancer, they must have seemed like Grand National fences to him. He sat down on a stool, breathless.
“Bloody hell, Richie!” I said as I reached across the table to kiss him, “we drive all the way over from Yorkshire and you nearly bugger off before the first song has finished!”
“I’m sorry about that! Once that door opened, I saw the pair of you and I just bolted!”
“Really?” Donna asked sincerely.
“Well I did see you, but that’s not why I legged it. If you could call that feeble attempt to run ‘legging it’!”
“Why did you?” I asked.
“I didn’t want people to pity me, Cal.”
“You’re dying of cancer, Richie! People are allowed to pity you! No-one pities someone they hate!”
“Anyway,” Donna joined in, “why do you give a toss what anyone else thinks? Most people here just want to have a good night and see that you have one too. Don’t let anyone spoil it for you, Richie, you just enjoy yourself, hun.”
