Forever Is Over

by Wade, Calvin

  Jemma wanted Jim to down the forfeit drink and despite Caroline turning all motherly again and trying to protect him, he eventually succumbed to pressure and downed an almighty mix of cocktails in one awkward go. His jumper absorbed more than he drank.

  “Thank God that’s over!” I said to Caroline.

  “It’s near enough ten o’clock, Caroline, come on, let’s get out of here!”

  Caroline felt the need to give Jim a consoling hug and then disappeared off somewhere with Nick. I needed another drink, so headed straight to the kitchen. There were now about twenty people in there. Joey Birch looked in a sorry state, but he sat on a chair with an acoustic guitar on his lap, leading a chorus of “American Pie” followed by “Daydream Believer”. All the D-GAS lads from our year were joining in with lager fuelled gusto. I stood and watched for a while as I drank my cold beer and spotted three others who weren’t singing at the top of their lungs, Amy Perkins and Eddie Garland, who stood facing each other, deep in conversation and a younger girl who sat backwards on a kitchen chair, legs astride, in a Christine Keeler pose that would have had Lewis Morley reaching for his camera.

  Time stood still. Joey and the D-GAS boys seemed to stop singing or at least I became oblivious to their droning sound. Amy and Eddie just stood and gazed. The fridge stopped opening and shutting, spliffs stopped burning and smoke stopped appearing from drunken mouths and nostrils. My complete focus was on the “younger girl”. For the very first time in my life, a feeling grabbed hold of the entire length of my body and sent shockwaves and shivers up and down me, as though I was one massive pinball machine and a five hundred ball, multi-ball, had just begun. My heart didn’t just do somersaults, it did triple somersaults that Nadia Comaneci would have been more than proud of. Call it fate, call it love, call it instinct but whatever it was, something drew me towards this girl. She was only petite, Jim later harshly described her as having ‘shrew like’ features, but she radiated beauty. She had long, straight brown hair, amazingly green eyes and full lips that Jim would later in life call her “CSLs” (if you don’t know what that stands for the last two words are sucking lips!) Her teeth were a dentist’s wet dream and the thing that attracted me more than anything was her aura, which is so difficult to describe but the best I can manage is a sexual “Ready Brek” glow. I knew it was probably wrong to feel physically attracted to this girl who could not have been more than fourteen at the very most, but something within me wanted to love her and protect her.

  I sat down next to her, not at all nervously, I felt like this was my destiny and a huge smile overtook my face like a joyous revolution.

  “Hi!”

  “Hello,” a reciprocal smile came back.

  The world started turning again, but as soppy and clichéd as this may sound, I knew my world would never be the same again.

  “Enjoying yourself?”

  “I’m just people watching. It’s very entertaining. I was sitting here with Amy but her attention has been caught by someone far better looking than me!”

  Not true, I thought, no-one is better looking than you. No-one. “Well, I’m glad Eddie Garland’s grabbed her attention, it gives me the chance to sit down!”

  Next to you, I meant, but luckily I stopped myself saying it.

  “Well as long as you don’t start singing along to Joey’s music, I’ll be happy to have you here!”

  I smiled. Kelly blushed. There was a brief awkward silence. I broke it.

  “How do you know Amy Perkins then?”

  “She’s my sister’s best mate.”

  I was puzzled.

  “Your sister’s?”

  “Jemma Watkinson. I’m her sister. Do you know her?”

  Once again the words I thought and the words I said were a little different.

  I thought, “Yes she helps me sleep at night.”

  I said, “Yes, she’s in my year.”

  “I know she is! I knew you knew her really.”

  “Just teasing me?”

  “A little! Sorry, I’m Kelly. Kelly Watkinson.”

  She extended her hand. It was soft and graceful. Holding it was a privilege.

  “I’m Richie Billingham.”

  “I know who you are, Richie! I see you around at school all the time!”

  “Kelly, if I’m being really honest, I can’t say the same. I’m sure I would have noticed you if I’d seen you around.” Mild flirtation, I thought. Test the waters! Kelly swept her hand through her hair.

  “You will have seen me, but just been oblivious to me. I’m in the third year.”

  My heart sank a little. I expected as much but confirmation was still a bitter disappointment. A two year age gap is nothing for two adults, but at this point it was a barrier. In my mind, if you were thirteen or fourteen, you were a child. If you were fifteen or sixteen, you were virtually an adult. I changed the subject from age.

  “So how come Jemma and Amy brought you here?”

  “Long story!”

  “You might as well tell me. I’m not going anywhere!”

  “I won’t bore you with the whole story, but the shortened version is that Jemma caught me drinking cider at the bus stop in Asmall Lane.”

  Kelly stopped and giggled to herself.

  “Actually no, that’s not right, Jemma saw me getting grilled by a policeman after he caught me drinking cider at the bus stop on Asmall Lane!”

  “Not as innocent as you look then?”

  “No! Not at all. My middle name’s Risk!”

  We smiled right at each other again. This was becoming a habit! This time though we shared a look too. A long look into each other’s eyes.

  “Mills & Boon”, I thought to myself, “Mills & Boon!”

  My romantic intentions towards Kelly were temporarily put to the back of my mind, however, when Nick Birch burst into the kitchen, sliding along the linoleum like Marty McFly in Back to the Future. He was looking for me.

  “Richie, you need to get into the lounge!”

  “Why?”

  “It’s your brother.”

  I sighed, “Bloody typical!” Anything involving me and girls, Jim had a tendency to ruin.

  “What’s he done now?”

  “It’s that girl who beat him at chess! There was a big argument, things turned nasty, she threw a punch, you best get in there quick mate. I think he’s dead!”

  Jemma

  I remember thinking, “Michael Birch, you are a lifesaver! You may look like one of Whitesnake and smell like ‘Stig of the Dump’, but you have some gorgeous friends!” Whether they were actually gorgeous or just appeared gorgeous as the alcohol kicked in, destroying brain cells and heightening libido, I can’t really be sure. I just know that at that point, if girls had penises and boys vaginas, I could have picked my nose with mine.

  I was one-on-one with the guy with the “Alright?” chat up line. What he lacked in opening gambits, he more than made up for in looks. If God had put a young Patrick Swayze and a young Richard Gere into a melting pot, to create teenage perfection, Matthew Coughlan would have been the finished article. God’s masterpiece or the masterpiece of Mr Coughlan Senior’s scrotum and Mrs Coughlan’s ovary, depending on your religious perspective. To put it bluntly, he was mega fit!

  I discovered Matthew was studying Chemical Engineering at Warwick University. Normally, swots were as big a turn off to me as a power cut on a winter’s night, but if they looked like Matthew Coughlan, I was willing to discard the rule book! I feigned interest in his intellectual conversation but despite nodding and smiling, all my drunken mind was trying to formulate was how long it would take Sophie Leigh’s lipstick (on my lips) and Matthew Coughlan’s tongue to ignite with passion. The answer to that question, should have been, in all probability, six minutes, because, after five minutes, Matt (for his name had been shortened as we had grown closer), had taken my two hands in his, started stroking them gently and whispered in my ear,

  “Do you fancy coming upstairs to find somewhere a little q
uieter?” My brain answered, “Do babies crap in their nappies?”

  Luckily this thought never reached my vocal chords and I just nodded and smiled sweetly as he led me by the hand to the stairs.

  Teenage parties are weird things. When adults have parties, all the people tend to congregate in the lounge and kitchen, when teenagers have parties, the prudent couples gather outside for a snog, the adventurous couples find whatever room they can upstairs (bathrooms often being number one choice due to the inside lock), the confident singles mingle downstairs in the lounge and kitchen and the undesirables sit on the stairs! Not surprisingly, the Birch’s stairs were full. Still holding hands, Matt and I plotted a route up the stairs, trying not to stand on the parties flotsam and jetsam.

  It was pretty dark on the stairs so I smelt him coming before I saw him. In an instant, fear gripped me and my body turned goose pimply. There was a reason for this, the rancid smell of a mixture of ouzo, whiskey, brandy and vomit normally signalled the arrival of Vomit Breath. For once in my life, Vomit Breath would have been a better option. Staggering down the stairs was Billy McGregor. Why had I not detected his presence earlier? Mrs. Marple would not have been so stupid when presented with the evidence before her. For starters, Eddie Garland was there. Sidekick Eddie. Siamese twins had more alone time than Billy and Eddie. Eddie wouldn’t fart without Billy striking a match. The only time they spent apart was when they circled around their female prey, like lions around bison. I have no idea where he’d been throughout the party, but based on reputation, location and smell, I am sure Mrs. Marple would have deduced it involved copious amounts of alcohol and perhaps (pre-vomit) a sexual encounter. As we encountered Billy, Matt was leading me by the hand up the stairs. Billy fixed me with a gaze that “Tut” had spent fifty years perfecting and then slurred out his thoughts.

  “Good luck mate! You’ve got more chance of winning the pools than you have of getting into her knickers. I’d wear gloves, pal, they’ll protect you from the icicles down there!”

  Matt may have been blessed with the looks of Swayze and Gere, but he was not blessed with their Hollywood characters ability to fight to protect their lady’s honour. He looked like he wanted his mother to appear at the top of the stairs armed with a brolly and a handbag to clobber Billy with and to tell him to leave her poor son alone. Weak men are a turn off. If we had ever reached the top of the stairs, Matthew Coughlan would not have reached first base let alone fourth. His grip on my hand tightened and he tried to pull us to safety as quickly as he could. Unfortunately for all concerned, Matt may avoid confrontation to protect his moisturised beauty but pacifism isn’t a trait I have managed to learn. I may try and calm a situation down which involves my sister, Kelly and a trip to the police station, but when it involves Billy McGregor, bring it on! As Billy and I met on the same step, he looked at me with scorn and said.

  “I hope you get AIDS!”

  What a wanker! One minute he was implying my vagina was cold enough to store freshly opened bottles of champagne in and now he was hoping my promiscuity would get me a terminal illness. The insult took a couple of seconds to register and then I pulled away from Matt’s grip, ignored his cry of,

  “Hey! Where are you going?” and followed Billy McGregor into the lounge. I am not one to worry about causing a scene. I followed the scent of vomit, caught him up in seconds and gave him rather a large shove in the back. This caught Billy unawares, which nearly resulted in him being spreadeagled across the drink sodden carpet but after a few corrective steps, he managed to maintain his equilibrium then turned to face me. In the clearer light, I could see his eyes were redder than a heavy flow tampon.

  “You’re a bitch, Jemma Watkinson!”

  “You’re a wanker, Billy McGregor!”

  He smiled at me like Shane McGowan with teeth.

  “Not at the moment, I’m not. Go and ask Faye Williams upstairs!”

  No surprise to hear he’d been bonking.

  “Is she the reason you threw up?”

  “No, I threw up after I finished screwing your sister and she reminded me that she is only thirteen.”

  Now Matthew Coughlan may have failed to protect my honour but I was not going to make the same mistake when it came to Kelly. I knew it was a lie. I wasn’t quite sure where Kelly was, but I knew for certain she would not be having sex with Billy McGregor. It sort of half crossed my mind that she must have been upstairs though, otherwise how would Billy have known she was here? I suppose all it would have taken was one person to mention her presence and for Billy to overhear, but maybe it was the wine that stopped me rationalising the information properly. I just took it in, digested it and then attacked, throwing an almighty punch that Mike Tyson would have been proud of. Mike Tyson would have been impressed with the power and the venom in that punch anyway, perhaps less impressed with its accuracy. It was a semi-circular swing that started behind my back, swooping around the front in a 180 degree motion, totally missing Billy but catching the nearest bystander square on the jaw. In a split second, my emotions went from shock to horror to amusement, when I realised it was James Billinghams face that had collided with my fist. Amusement only lasted for a few seconds though before it was replaced by panic, as I watched James Billingham’s shocked torso crumple to the floor like a Thunderbird who’s strings had been cut. I was pretty sure I’d killed him.

  Richie

  Kelly and I looked at each other. This time though, it was not flirtation, it was fear. Nick Birch was not one for elaborate hoaxes and if he thought Jim may be dead, I had no doubt something serious was going down. The irony of the fact that Kelly’s sister may have killed him had not escaped me. I stood up and ran into the lounge, Nick and Kelly not far behind. Jim was poleaxed. He was laid out on the floor like a Russian leader at a state funeral. A few kids were kneeling down next to him, trying to wake him up and I even heard Sophie Leigh suggest we should ring for an ambulance. Jemma Watkinson stood over him, rubbing her right knuckles, she didn’t look triumphant though, she looked pale. I bundled my way through the on-lookers and do-gooders. “Let me get to him! He’s my brother!”

  The crowds dispersed like the sea for Moses.

  “Jim! Jim! Wake up!”

  Nothing. He was out of it. Where the hell was Caroline? I shouted in panic, “CAROLINE! CAROLINE!”

  I heard her shout back from the distance,

  “Hold on, I’m coming!”

  Caroline raced in looking flush. She surveyed the scene.

  “Shit! What’s happened?”

  Caroline kneeled down next to me.

  “Bloody Jemma Watkinson punched him!”

  “It was an accident.” Jemma murmured from above. Caroline slapped Jim’s face gently.

  “Come on now Jim, wake up!”

  “Where have you been?” I questioned Caroline.

  It wasn’t really a convenient time to begin the blame process, but I was doing it anyway.

  “For a wee! Can you not wake him up?” Caroline asked.

  “What does it look like?”

  I replied before slapping Jim far harder than Caroline had.

  “JIM! JIM! Wake up you dickhead!”

  I turned to Caroline in panic.

  “Does he need the kiss of life?”

  I was desperate for help. Fear was overcoming me. How were we going to explain to Mum and Dad that we took Jim to the party, left him to fend for himself and he died. Luckily Caroline then had a ‘Eureka!’ moment. “Anyone got a mirror?”

  Admittedly my first thought was what sort of crazy fool wanted to check out how she was looking whilst her brother lay on the floor dying.

  “What?” I asked.

  Nick was already on his way upstairs. He understood.

  “A hand held mirror. Check he’s breathing.”

  I held my hand out near his mouth, he didn’t seem to be breathing. In a flash, Nick was back down, he stretched out the mirror to Caroline like it was a relay baton.

  “Here Caroline. It’s
my Mum’s.”

  Caroline took the circular mirror and placed it next to Jim’s face. The do-gooders had already put him in the recovery position. After an anxious wait, which can only have been a second or two, Jim’s breath created a mist patch on the mirror.

  “He’s breathing!” I squealed, “Thank God for that! He’s still alive!”

  I don’t know whether I said this out of relief that a brother who annoyed the hell out of me, but deep down I loved, was still alive or that Caroline and I were now likely to escape the sort of bollicking the likes of which neither of us had ever witnessed. Jim sighed,

  “Of course I am still alive! You don’t die from a girl’s punch to the jaw!”

  Jim put his hands down and started pushing himself up. Caroline was unimpressed.

  “Whoa James! Hang on! Take it easy. Just stay still for a minute.”

  Jim laughed quietly to himself, as he got to his feet,

  “Cal, I’m fine. I just wanted to shit her up a little.”

  Jim gestured towards Jemma Watkinson.

  “The stupid cow cheated at chess to beat me and then punched me in the face, I just thought it was payback time. Thought I’d scare her a bit!”

  “You had us all scared, mate,” Nick Birch piped up, “now are you sure you are OK?”

  “I could do with some ice on this jaw.”

  Caroline and Nick went either side of Jim and helped him into the kitchen. Jim couldn’t help having a dig at Jemma Watkinson as he passed her.

  “If I was a lesser man, I would sue your tits off for this!”

  I think he’d been watching too many American law shows! For the last fifteen years, Jim had driven me mad, personality wise we were poles apart and I had often resorted to overcoming my intellectual weakness by using physical force against him myself, but I felt genuinely sorry for him this time. He was trying to put a brave face on events, trying to spin it all in his favour, pretending it was all an act, but in reality he had been laid out by a punch from a girl and was no doubt hurting physically and emotionally. It’s one thing being beaten up by your older brother but another entirely being beaten up by a girl, in front of an audience, at your first ever party, especially seeing as though it was the same girl that had humiliated him at chess only ten minutes earlier!