by Eddie Allen
That night, I went to bed around eleven, after watching a film on Sky. I lay in bed, tossing and turning, until eventually I dropped off to sleep. I woke suddenly to the sensation that I was prodded on my shoulder, and glanced at the alarm clock: it was 3 a.m. I turned over and lay on my back, staring into the gloomy darkness of my bedroom. Then it happened, I started sniffing, my nostrils tingling with the smell of Jasmine and Lavender. I could have sworn I’d just woken up in a florist’s. I instantly knew it was my nan, letting me know she was there with me. I sat up in bed, smiling to myself, taking deep breaths, and wondering if the candle whiff was down to Nan as well. On quite a few occasions I’ve had visits of this nature; some have been slightly alarming, but not fearful. I decided to seek some advice from a clairvoyant or medium, which I did a week later. This particular medium came highly recommended, so I arranged for a sitting on a Thursday evening. I arrived in the picturesque village of Keston, Kent at 7:15 p.m. and walked around the village, until I came across Madame Tyrone’s quaint cottage. After several knocks on her door, she finally answered looking a bit perturbed. I had the distinct feeling I’d just disturbed her. Now there’s one thing I’ve learnt in my life and that’s not to judge a book by its cover, if you get my drift.
Standing before me was a really tall young woman in her late twenties, very pale in completion, her eyes heavy from sleepless nights.
“You must be Eddie?” she said forcing her face to crack a slight smile. “You’re early. I was just meditating when you knocked.”
“Oh, I’m sorry, didn’t think,” I said apologetically.
I looked her up and down, and instantly doubted her ability to communicate with the other side; what an awful assumption. She looked like she’d be more at home propping up the bar in a nightclub, I thought.
“Come in, Eddie,” she beckoned, pointing towards the lounge area.
I strolled in towards a large round table, a crystal ball and tarot cards were strategically placed in the centre. Either side two candles were flickering from the draught coming in from the front door.
“Please sit down,” Ms. Tyrone suggested.
She turned the room’s lights off and lit another two candles, and then sat opposite me; we sat in silence for a few moments. She just stared icily into my eyes, there was something about those grim, staring eyes that sparked doubt and suspicion in my mind; she looked sort of dodgy, like a victim of a ravaging vampire attack. I started to feel uneasy and uncertain in her company, although that feeling soon went, when she leant over and held both my hands. The warm and tingling sensation from her hands made me feel at ease, she stared at me and slowly tilted her head. I sat rigid, staring at her with the most elaborate poker face you’d ever seen. No way, I thought, that I would say or do sod all to give her any info, but as it turned out she didn’t need any. She started blabbering on about this, that and the other, when suddenly my ears pricked up to the name of Terry.
“He won’t come through. I can feel him, he just refuses to join us, he knows you’re here, Eddie. Anger, so much anger. He hates you with a vengeance,” she whispered. “Is your father alive, Eddie?”
“Yeah, why?” I said, thinking you’re the medium, you tell me!
“I don’t know why. There’s something going on. It’s been going on for centuries. I feel, and I could be wrong, but I feel that they are one and the same. I mean, it seems they’re both feeding off each other with the sole purpose of getting to you!”
During the brief silence that followed her amazing statement, my initial thoughts of Ms. Tyrone were blown to oblivion!
“Tell me something I don’t know, Ms. Tyrone?” I asked.
“The pattern of your life over the next few years will change dramatically. Your insight will grow stronger and stronger. The path you’re on now will change; this will be out of your hands. Something completely alien to you will fill the remainder of your term in the mortal realm. However, you still have some major hardships to overcome, until you reach your purpose in life. Having said that, ‘they’ will help and guide you even more now than before, because you’re nearly there!” She smiled, a gleam in her eye.
I then went on to explain about all the strange smells I’d encountered over a period of time. She reckoned it was the spirit world letting me know that they were there, and that it could be my nan or my guardian angel, or even both. Well, I didn’t know what to make of her revelations, or that in a few years from now, something I would never dream of, would present itself. I left the cottage thinking that she was top quality; only time would tell regarding her statements. I walked through the village to where my car was parked, my mind asking all sorts of questions. Could there be some sort of spiritual war going on between Terry, my father and my guardians? Is that why bad follows good? If that was the case, then it’s happening all around the globe, a continuous unseen war between the mortal world and spirit realms! Food for thought, though, eh?
Over the next few weeks, my right wrist and elbow started to give me more jip, and yet again I had more cortisone injections. This time, the mobility of my arm took longer to return and I found it very painful and extremely difficult using a hammer, let alone heavy plant. I knew that somewhere along the line I’d have to give up working in the construction industry. But what could I do? No qualifications and a total dumbo at school. Couldn’t write or spell properly and never had a clue how to operate a computer. So what chance did I have of earning a living outside the building game? None! So I soldiered on, using wrist and arm supports for work and playing badminton. The contract at Beckenham was nearly completed, so I made myself busy looking for alternative employment, not wanting to be left in the lurch again. I was successful securing myself a start for two months’ time at a pharmaceutical company in Beckenham; the job title of maintenance operative was ideal for my ailing arm.
After Beckenham had finished, I started work for the pharmaceutical company. Well I thought I’d landed on my feet big time; the job and amenities for the staff were top drawer. The only annoying part was all the security regulations and over the top health and safety system, needing permits to do this and that, which actually slowed the work schedule. On site was a gym, catering for badminton, five-a-side football and fitness classes. There was also an amazing restaurant, which had an excellent menu. All the employees were great and friendly and never looked down on me because I was just a manual worker. The first four months were unbelievable and I actually thought I would stay with the company until retirement; that’s how much I enjoyed working there. Then, like everything else in my life, it all went pear-shaped. I recall arriving for work and signing in at the desk; as I glanced down the register I noticed that I’d already signed in. ‘Eddie Allen’ had signed in an hour earlier.
Feeling somewhat confused, I asked the receptionist if she could clear up my confusion. What she told me threw me back a bit; apparently ‘Eddie Allen’ had worked on site for the past year; he was an electrician. When I asked what he looked like, she said she couldn’t remember. I thought it really strange that I’d never bumped into him, either at lunch on site, or anywhere else, in fact. I thought I knew all the trades on site. I mean, there weren’t that many, about a dozen or so. So where the hell was this guy who had my name and same bloody signature? All that week, I searched high and low for him without success. I even put a note on the noticeboard, asking him to give me a ring on my mobile, lying that I had an important electrical problem on site to sort out, but nothing. This made me even more intrigued and determined to get to the bottom of the mystery. After painstakingly searching for him and boring the arse off everyone I came into contact with during the day, I gave up; thinking he must be a ghost or something.
The following Monday, I arrived for work as normal, signed in and scanned the register looking for him, nothing in the book. I then turned back pages, going back over the last week. He was here Saturday at 7:30, so was I at 8:15, and there were only five of us working on Saturday. I knew the other guys. What the fuck is
going on? I asked myself, while leaving the security point and making my way to the changing facilities in the south block. While I was getting changed for work in the locker room with the other guys, the managing director walked into the area with this rather large, overweight, red-cheeked guy. His eyes were dark and cold with no signs of emotion, his hands small and plump. He was introduced to the guys and me as our new supervisor. As he met us one by one, he shook hands saying he hoped we could all work well as a team. He then scuttled over to my locker and asked my name. When I told him, he held out his hand for me to shake. He grabbed my hand and stared icily into my eyes, making me feel uneasy. His grip was like a vice. His body language told me that he instantly didn’t like what was in front of him. I tried to pull my hand from his grip but he wouldn’t let go. He just stared deep into my eyes with what I can only describe as hatred. Why? I haven’t got a clue. All I knew was that my days here were numbered.
The next two weeks were horrendous. Gordon made it perfectly clear he was hellbent on getting rid of me, making my life at work as miserable as he could. To this day I don’t understand why. I must admit to feeling something deep within him that was pure nasty and evil, and just being in his company made my blood run cold. Anyway, he made my life intolerable; stopping my overtime and weekend work. He waited and waited for me to make an error in my work so he could fuck me off. He even timed me at lunch and docked me half an hour out of my wages for coming back 5 minutes late from lunch. Everyone knew what he was up to; his arrogant and aggressive attitude towards everyone was there to be seen. He started making enemies in high places within the company; he even insulted one of the female staff, yet nothing was done about it. I got the impression that certain top managers were scared of him, and refused to listen to the vast complaints.
Then it happened. Gordon stitched me up big time. Out the blue one Friday, he started being polite towards me and then a bit later he asked me to work on Saturday. I should have said no, but Saturdays were worth £180 to me, so I agreed. I grafted like a Trojan, and at 4 p.m. Gordon suggested we’d call it a day. I was in the security section, ready to sign out at 4 p.m. when he came over and informed me that I could put down 6:30, seeing as I didn’t have a lunchbreak, so I did and left to go home. What I didn’t realise was that the security cameras showed me leaving the site at 4 p.m. Now, normally that wasn’t a problem unless someone wanted proof for some reason or another. So, on Monday morning I returned to work as normal, I signed in and immediately notice the electrician had just signed in four minutes earlier. So there, on Monday’s page were two entries in the same bloody name, but it was impossible. Why I say it’s impossible is the fact that I stood outside the building’s entrance finishing my fag, chatting to one of the guys, for at least ten minutes, and during that time no one entered! That mystery has never been solved. Anyway, at about 11:30 that morning, I tried to use my security pass to get into one of the buildings, I stood in shock as I activated the security alarm system. Within moments, I was surrounded by security guards and frog-marched to the main security office. As I was dragged across the grounds protesting my innocence, I noticed Gordon standing watching from his office window, his arms folded and his face beaming with a large smirk. He got me sacked and evicted from the grounds for falsifying my time sheet. Bastard!
Over the next few weeks, during yet another job hunt, I met and started dating a local woman called Julie. Amazingly what started out as just a fling ended up a serious relationship, which I hasten to add, is still going on nearly six years down the line. Over the next two years, my arm got really bad and I was forced several times to rest five or six weeks after I’d had cortisone injections. Consequently, I found it very difficult holding down a permanent position. I was constantly in and out of work and always skint. Every job I started only lasted a matter of weeks before my arm would refuse to do a day’s graft. I’ve never felt so frustrated, and bitterly disappointed. At one stage, I had my wrist in plaster again - for three bloody months this time. The hospital specialist recommended that I should change my job ASAP, otherwise the damage to my ligaments would end up permanent. I couldn’t even brush my teeth or wipe my arse without getting searing pains from my wrist to my shoulder. So I spent a fair time unemployed on incapacity benefit, staying off work for ten months, in the vain hope my arm would right itself with the rest.
Yet again I was dealt a blow that ultimately caused me such grief with credit card companies and the worst system ever: the council tax. For years, I paid card protection and repayment cover. What a con! Every time I tried to claim, I got a knockback from all the companies being told that my protection didn’t cover self-employed or yearly contracted workers. What a load of bollocks! You sign up to these wankers, fill the form in with your employment details and then they ask you if you want protection. So like a mug you do, just in case things go pear-shaped. So yes, I was ramped up to the eyeballs, with non-claimable insurances. The biggest stitch-up is the council tax system, where you pay monthly instalments from April till March. If you lose your job and you sign on in, let’s say September, by the time you’ve gone through all the rigmarole of filling out War and Peace and get your Mickey Mouse £56 bar a week the Government reckons you need to live on, you somehow end up owing council tax, because they never backdate it to the bloody day you lost your job.
After a long rest, my arm and elbow seemed to be OK, so I signed off the dole after finding a job in Charlton. After a couple of months, I started to get reasonably straight, so Julie and I had a week’s holiday in Spain in November. Luckily Spain had an Indian summer, with temperatures hitting the 80s, which was totally unexpected. Anyway after the holiday, a new guy called Rob started on site, and his love of golf soon rubbed of on me. He gave me one of his old 7-irons and talked me into going three times a week to the local driving range. Well, at first I couldn’t even hit a barn door; it’s so difficult trying to hit and direct a golf ball, you just wouldn’t believe it. However, I refused to be beaten by this extremely hard sport and persevered during the winter. It was during this time that I met Phil in my local boozer. We had so much in common that we just hit it off and we’ve been pals ever since. Now my task was to get Edward and Phil into golf and, surprisingly, they were both up for it. So every week the three of us, and occasionally Rob, would spend hours down the range. Rob’s sudden lack of interest was down to his new bird and eventually he stopped coming, which was sad really.
The three of us had quite a hectic schedule, playing badminton, golf and watching QPR. My life had turned around, so I thought. Then unexpectedly, I got laid off yet again. I was now seriously getting totally pissed off with my life; every time I thought I was on the right track, fate would deal me yet another hammer-blow. It took me two months to find another job; this time I started working for a firm in Catford. The first year was brilliant, I was informed I had a job till I retire. Well, I was ecstatic. At bloody last I thought. I decided to buy my flat from the council and get ramped up with a new Golf GTI. During that year, QPR reached the Division Two play-off final, so me, Edward and Phil booked our tickets for the Millennium Stadium showdown against Cardiff City in Cardiff!! What a day; we started at 6:30 in the morning, making sure we arrived at Loftus Road by 7:45. On arriving, we were told the coaches were being boarded in the BBC’s car park, which was a short walk from the ground. Anyway, by the time we arrived in Cardiff, it was eleven o’clock; four hours before kick-off! So we jazzed around, had lunch in BurgerKing and just stood in awe of all the blue and white hooped shirts mingling around the city centre. Every shop was full to the brim with QPR supporters, absolutely awesome sight!
Now, if you love football you just got to go to Cardiff. The stadium is simply astonishing and breathtaking. The only downside is the way you get conned outside. Rangers’ supporters, including us, bought air-horns for £7 a throw, only for them to be confiscated when we entered the stadium. Apart from that and the result - Cardiff beat us 1-0 - it was an extremely entertaining experience, which I thorou
ghly recommend to any football fan.
Near the end of the year, my problem with my arm recurred, but luckily it was not as severe as before. However, it still needed another cortisone injection, so I took two weeks holiday over the Christmas period, which gave my arm a month to right itself. When I went back to work I found the yard locked up. There was no answer from the office and all the company’s vans had vanished. I hung around for hours, not knowing what was happening or what to do. I sat in my car waiting. I mean, not only did I need my job, I also needed my month’s money to pay my bills. While staring through my windscreen at the locked gates, a small van pulled up and a rather smart guy dressed in a suit got out and unlocked the gates. He held a clipboard full of papers and started walking around the yard taking notes; it looked to me as if he was itemising everything. When I questioned him on what was going on, his answer floored me. The company had gone bankrupt and the Inland Revenue had seized everything for non-payment of taxes. I couldn’t believe it, not again, this just can’t keep happening to me. What the fuck is going on? My boss must have known and he just blagged everyone, including me.
So yet again I’d taken ten paces forward and nine paces backward, ending up in the shit. So I did what I’ve always done since childhood; dust myself down, chin up and carry on. Three weeks later, I found another job; absolute pony firm, but I needed the dosh. What I was asked to do nearly killed me: laying concrete blocks all day, and tacking ceilings on my jack. It wasn’t long before my wrist and elbow were in such a state that I lived on painkillers for three months, until I had to jack the job. In August more cortisone injections followed, along with advice from my doctor to give the building game up before it killed my arm completely. It’s all right everyone telling me to give up the tools, but how the hell am I going to live? I remember sitting in my flat, feeling depressed and desperate. What am I going to do now? I asked myself. I need to take another direction, but where and with what. I’ve got nothing that a prospective employer would be interested in, no qualifications, and my age will definitely go against me; I’m no spring chicken anymore at forty-seven!