by Calvin Wade
By the time Will was fourteen and Chloe seven, our ability to pay the minimum payments on our credit cards, as well as the mortgage, the council tax and a whole host of other household expenses was becoming near on impossible. I started losing sleep worrying about how we were going to manage and then the sleep deprivation was followed by chest pains. Initially, I put the chest pains down to indigestion, I was overweight and enjoyed my food and drink, but other than a weekly game of cricket, I was avoiding exercise. In an attempt to lose weight, I was trying to stick to three meals a day, but found myself gorging at meal times, creating, I believed, issues with heartburn. My financial and physical health had begun to spiral out of control and as a child of my generation, I attempted to remedy the situation in the only way I knew how, by going to the Bank Of Mum and Dad. Unfortunately for me, it transpired that the Bank of Mum and Dad had its own liquidity issues, so after thinking things through, I felt I had three options left.
The first option was to soldier on and hope things improved. How exactly they were going to improve, I did not know. Neither Nicky nor I were likely to be getting a brand new job paying extra money, so this option just felt like us sticking our head in the sand and was not going to improve the situation.
The second option was to make some sort of arrangement with my creditors. This was probably a sensible option, but the thought of dealing with these types of people scared me. If I was ever a few days late making a payment on a credit card, the phone would ring and a polite pest would demand to know when I would be catching up. At one stage I tried ignoring the phone calls, but they would then just ring incessantly. I had visions of bailiffs creeping through an unlocked door and emptying our house of all its contents. Through a lack of trust, a lack of understanding and a sense of shame I avoided this option too.
The third and final option, which logic told me was the correct way to go, was also the option I was most wary of. This option involved going cap in hand to Nicky’s Dad. Nicky had once mentioned that Arthur had told her that he had a six figure sum in a Building Society account and if she was ever struggling financially, all she had to do was ask. I hadn’t let on to Nicky exactly how bad the situation was, as I handled the finances and knew she would get into a right state worrying about it, if she knew the full picture. After several days of deliberating, indigestion pains that continued to worsen and mounting trepidation, I phoned Arthur and said I urgently needed to see him. Arthur being Arthur, he was less than accommodating. I rang at nine o’clock one Saturday morning, after another sleepless night and was keen to see him straight away to get the initial stage of the ordeal over with. Arthur preferred to make me sweat, said he had already made plans to go down to his allotment for the morning and would have to see me at lunchtime.
I spent the morning snapping at Nicky and the kids and popping indigestion tablets, before jumping in the car at quarter to twelve, telling Nicky I had to nip into Chorley to get a new pair of cricket gloves from JJB. I nervously rang the bell at Arthur’s, but when he didn’t come to the door, I decided rather than just sitting outside in the car, anxiously awaiting his return, I’d head over to the allotment and get things over with. Arthur already hated me. He’d hate me even more after this.
ARTHUR MOYES – May 2010
There aren’t many of us lucky enough to have an allotment in Chorley. It is a little known fact that there are less than one hundred and fifty plots within the Chorley Borough and I couldn’t even begin to tell you how much being one of the lucky folk means to me. My allotment provides a serenity that it would be impossible to acquire at home and to be surrounded by wonderful, like-minded people is something I truly treasure.
What I really don’t want when I head over to Crosse Hall is unwanted distractions, so the day I saw Simon Strong, my daughter’s partner, bumbling towards me, as I was turning over my soil, I knew my luck was out.
“Hi Arthur!” Simon shouted across jovially. He knew I didn’t like him but continued his attempts to be pleasant towards me. I could never work out whether that was down to a determination to win me over or just plain stupidity. It could easily have been either.
“What are you doing here?” I queried, “Did I not say on the phone that I would meet you at lunchtime at my house?”
“You weren’t in, Arthur, so I knew I would find you here.”
I didn’t even know he was aware that my allotment was at Crosse Hall, I had certainly not told him. Nicky must have let the cat out the bag.
“So what is it you’re after, Simon?” I asked as he arrived next to me, breathing heavily and rubbing his chest a little with his left hand. For a relatively young man, he was horribly out of shape. Simon’s body wasn’t a temple, it was a poorly maintained portakabin.
“Why do I have to be after something, Arthur?”
“Simon, you rang me up saying you needed to see me urgently. You couldn’t even wait for me to get home! Of course you are after something. I wasn’t born yesterday.”
“Arthur, it’s a long story, can we go and sit in your shed?”
“It’s a summer house.”
“Sorry, in your summer house.”
“Look, Simon, I’m just finishing off here. You can either go back to my house and I’ll see you there in half an hour or you can just spit it out.”
“I need to borrow some money, Arthur. Just a loan. Nicky and I will pay every penny back...with interest.”
“How much are we talking here? Fifty quid? One hundred?”
I knew it was going to be a fair bit more than that. I just wanted the lad to feel bad about asking.
“Twenty five thousand,” Simon rubbed his chest again as he said it, I was beginning to think it was just an annoying habit that could be traced back to his gorilla ancestry.
“Twenty five grand!” I said loudly and in shock, whatever the figure had been, I would have said it that way, but I was genuinely shocked. I was expecting two, three, maybe even five grand but not twenty five!
“We’re drowning, Arthur. We owe a fortune on credit cards and can’t afford to pay it back. The interest rates are killing us. If we could just borrow the money off you, we can pay them off and then gradually pay you back.”
I shook my head. His capacity to annoy me had just reached new heights.
“I’ve always thought you were an idiot, Simon and now you’ve just gone and proved it. When you were booking all these holidays to Majorca and Lanzarote and even bloody Euro Disney, I asked Nicky whether you could afford it, she told me that you wouldn’t be going if you couldn’t afford it. Turns out I was right to wonder where a window wiper and babysitter were getting their money from.”
“Arthur, I know we’ve been stupid, but we’re trying to put it right now.”
“By doing what, exactly? How is borrowing the money off me ‘putting it right’? Too right you’ve been stupid. You’ve been stupid spending a load of money you haven’t got and my daughter has been stupid shacking up with a clown like you.”
Simon mumbled something that I didn’t catch.
“What was that?”
“I said ‘At least I don’t treat your daughter like shit like Jason McLaren did’. Yet for some strange reason you liked him.”
The lad just kept on insulting my intelligence. I could feel myself getting more and more worked up.
“Simon, do you want a medal for treating Nicky well? Of course you should be treating her well! You should be thanking your lucky stars that someone as bright and beautiful as my daughter has chosen someone as unattractive as you. She’s the one who deserves a medal for treating you well, not the other way around.”
Calling him unattractive was perhaps a little harsh as I meant it both physically and mentally but Simon had wound me up and I could not help giving him both barrels.
“Arthur, I know that. All I meant was that Jason McLaren was lucky to have Nicky too, but he didn’t appreciate how lucky he was. I do and always have. I love Nicky, Will and Chloe with all my heart.”
; “I’m sure you do, but now through your stupidity you’ve made an almighty mess which will make them all suffer.”
“Not if you help us out, Arthur.”
“Why are you asking me?”
“I’ve asked my Mum and Dad, Arthur, they don’t have any money put aside.”
“No, no, I didn’t mean that. Why is it YOU asking me, why isn’t it Nicky?”
For once, Simon looked a little ashamed of himself.
“Nicky knows we owe a lot of money, Arthur, but doesn’t quite know how bad things are.”
“So if I bail you out, do you and I have to share this dirty little secret, do we?”
“Arthur, that’s up to you. If it was up to me, I’d just tell her that you loaned us some money, but wouldn’t tell her how much.”
“Well, I tell you what Simon, I’ll resolve the predicament about what exactly we tell Nicky. I won’t be lending you any money.”
“Please Arthur,” Simon pleaded, “can you not even take a bit of time to mull it over?”
“No, it’s your mess, you clean it up?”
“How exactly?”
“It’s not my problem to sort out.”
“Arthur, I thought you said to Nicky you’d help her if she was ever in difficulty?”
“And I will, Simon. If you tell her what a mess you’re in and my daughter wants to come and see me, then maybe I’ll reconsider.”
“So, you’re turning us down because it’s me who’s asking.”
“Partly, but also because you’re keeping secrets from my daughter and I don’t want to be part of that deception.”
I could tell Simon was raging inside. I didn’t care.
“Right then,” he said stroppily, “if that’s how it is, Ill leave you to your bloody digging.”
“Thank you, Simon. Goodbye.”
I watched Simon walk away, glad to literally see the back of him. I didn’t quite know what it was about him that aggravated me so much. He was certainly a man who had taken to fatherhood very well. Even I had to reluctantly concede that he was a great father to Chloe and a wonderful stepfather to Will. I still didn’t like him though. Admittedly, I had a little bit more respect for him now than when he was a younger man, but just when I feel like I am softening to him in my old age, he comes and asks me for twenty five grand to bail them out of debt! I watched him walk away with troubled shoulders and for the thousandth time, he again rubbed his chest.
Something strange happened. I started seeing colours in front of my eyes, in big blocks. I tried to blank them out, but couldn’t. I rested my weight on my spade, as I was coming over a bit light headed and then I just switched off. I let go of the spade and could feel myself falling. I don’t remember hitting the ground. I do remember hearing Simon though.
“Someone help me!” I heard him shout. “It’s my father-in-law, he’s collapsed, ring an ambulance!”
He’s not my bloody son-in-law, I remember thinking, before passing out.
SIMON – May 2010
No-one thinks of death when they are healthy and those around them are equally healthy. We delude ourselves into believing that we are immortal. That is why we are so shocked when someone close to us dies. We have fooled ourselves that their bond to us will last forever. We carry out daily routines, become frustrated by inconsequential events and forget every relationship ultimately has a tragic end.
Poor health reminds us how vulnerable we are. Sitting holding Nicky’s hand in an intensive care unit, watching Arthur’s every heart beat registering on a monitor, with various devices attached to his chest and wrist, brings home a message loud and clear that we all aren’t lucky ones that die in a chair in an old people’s home when we are ninety three.
Unless you block out scientific fact and develop a resolute, unfaltering faith in a religion that does not stand the tests of time, then death is a scary thing. To see Arthur standing on the edge of life, unaware that he is looking down into the unknown abyss was not an experience I would regularly want to experience, but it did underline the need to focus on what is truly important. Arthur and I had never been close, which was almost entirely down to Arthur, but I knew how Nicky had developed a special bond with her father after her mother died and for Nicky’s sake, I willed him to pull through.
Whilst Arthur was in that hospital bed, I reflected that it could just as easily have been me in there. I was overweight, stressed, unfit and unhealthy and knew my lifestyle needed to be overhauled. I started to make a mental list of things I wanted to do with the rest of my life First and foremost, I needed to tackle my finances head on, whilst remembering money means nothing as your body is cremated, so not to let my stress levels about my perilous financial position impair my health. I needed to eat less, eat more healthily, drink less, exercise more, but carry out my plans and not just talk about them or make feeble attempts at them for the first week in January. I could quite easily fade from existence as a punishment for lacking the determination to follow a healthier path.
When Arthur came around in hospital, Nicky was sat by the side of his bed, with a mug of coffee in her hand, looking as beautiful as ever. Arthur reached out for her hand.
“You’re my earthly angel, Nicky,” he said as he squeezed her hand
It was natural for us all to presume that Arthur had suffered a heat attack but it turned out that he hadn’t. After extensive checks, including an ECG, the Doctors diagnosed Arthur’s condition as atrial fibrillation. A Doctor explained to us that atrial fibrillation is when the heart beats at an abnormally fast rate, due to confused electrical impulses within the body and can often be caused by cardiovascular disease. In Arthur’s case, it was suggested his high blood pressure may have been caused a fondness for some of the unhealthier things in life, like butter, cream cakes and smoking.
Several months later, Arthur had an operation to disable the electrical impulses in the pulmonary veins that were causing the problem. He packed in the pipe smoking and the cream cakes, went down from three pieces of white toast and butter for breakfast, to just one piece with margarine and started taking warfarin tablets daily, but other than that he was soon back to being the same miserable sod he had been before he had collapsed. We thanked our lucky stars that we had had the old bugger back!
NICKY – June 2010
I was sat beyond the boundary rope on an open, windy field in Charnock Richard watching Will and Simon bat together in Simon’s first cricket match of the season. Chloe had happily gone off making daisy chains with the daughter of one of the other players in the team, leaving me to enjoy the moment. The rumour mill had reached Chorley Cricket Club about Simon saving Will’s grandfather’s life after a heart attack so they were treating him as a bit of a hero. Simon had tried to explain that it was a heart complaint rather than a heart attack, but nobody seemed to listen. As a consequence of Simon’s heroics, the captain, Roger, had kindly decided to allow my boys to open the batting together.
Will was a far better batsman than Simon, even at seventeen, but enjoying the experience, Simon was trying to stay in as long as he could. I had never understood cricket until Simon had encouraged Will to take it up, but since Will had started I had avoided being a cricket widow by attending most games. I had even learnt to score! The Charnock Richard 2nd XI were a lot lower in the League than Chorley 3rd XI and Will was flourishing, moving briskly on to a score in the nineties, whilst Simon had carefully moved on to about twelve!
As I watched nervously, hoping my son would make it to his first ever hundred, I saw my Dad’s Skoda Octavia arrive in the car park. Dad rarely watched Will playing, but despite never actually admitting it, his collapse at Crosse Hall had affected him and I think he had come down because he owed a debt of gratitude to Simon, as well as wanting to see Will hitting the Charnock bowlers all over the park.
“How’s he doing?” Dad asked as he came over and kissed my cheek.
“Who? Simon or Will, they’re both doing well.”
“Will.”
“H
e’s ninety six not out, Dad.”
“Great stuff, four from his maiden century, they’ll be putting him in the second team next week, where he belongs. I turned up just at the right time then.”
“Hopefully, if you haven’t just put the mockers on him, Dad. Simon’s doing great too, he’s on one hundred and twelve!”
“Come off it! Look at him swishing and missing, what’s he really on?”
“Twelve!”
“Thought as much!”
“Don’t be so mean, Dad, he’s still in, that’s the main thing.”
“And I’m still alive to see it,” Dad laughed, “that’s the main thing!”
Touch wood, since the operation, Dad had been in rude health. The faint and the spells in hospital had not only impacted on Dad but had really scared Simon too. It was a wake up call for Simon. He had started, for the first time in his life, eating healthily. We also went for regular walks together to Astley Park or Worden Park, he did the occasional jog along the lanes and his nightly boozing was also knocked on the head. Six weeks on, he had lost almost a stone. He was still a bit on the chunky side, but was definitely going in the right direction.
Within an over of Dad arriving, the Charnock Richard bowler bowled a loose ball halfway down the wicket and Will despatched it to the boundary for four to reach his century. The fielders politely applauded, Will’s team mates who had gathered as one on the boundary edge cheered and applauded as did his Grandad and I, but most significant of all was Simon’s reaction. Simon held both hands aloft, punched the air several times and then raced across to Will and lifted him up in the air. It was hard to decipher who was more excited, Simon or Will. I was proud of them both.
Dad stayed long enough to watch Simon get out (for thirteen), clean bowled and then Will get caught on the boundary for a wonderful one hundred and twenty six. Dad made sure he was the first to shake Will’s hand as he left the pitch.