by Wade, Calvin
Jim and Caroline had decided it would be creating a whole host of trouble for all concerned if they had told Mum and Dad that Jim’s jaw had been broken by some drunken girl at a party, so they concocted a story about Jim and I falling out over some Dungeons & Dragon figure, me punching him and then swanning off to the party leaving Caroline to take Jim to hospital. In their fictional world, I was the only one that attended the party, they spent the whole evening at Casualty. Neither Jim nor Caroline had appreciated my lack of solidarity the previous night so they were doing me over good and proper. On reflection, I suppose I deserved everything I got.
As a consequence of my imprisonment, my date with Kelly Watkinson did not take place the following Saturday. Fate had intervened. Nevertheless, she had found a way into my heart and like a tattoo, there would be a place for her there until my dying day.
Jemma There was a knock at the door.
“Who is it?”
“It’s Amy!”
“What are you knocking for then, you daft cow, come in?”
Amy entered.
“Is that you, Amy?”
I suppose it was a stupid question but I was struggling to see.
“Of course it’s me! When did you turn into Stevie Wonder?”
“Since I started drinking with you! I don’t feel quite as drunk any more, but my brain hasn’t told my eyes that yet!”
“Well you didn’t look that drunk when you were flashing your naked bum at me before, you dirty cow! Who was that you were getting it on with?”
“I was going to ask you the very same question!”
“Eddie Garland!”
I did not process this information properly. My heart sank. That was going to make life difficult. Billy McGregor first, now Eddie Garland. The two best looking but most arrogant lads in Sixth Form and I had been out with one and now, sort of, slept with the other. Then, my memories of my encounter with “The Phantom Fucker” and previous conversations with Kelly started slowly dripping back into my brain. This guy was polite and Eddie was plain cocky and did Kelly not say Amy was with Eddie before and had I not sent Kelly out to tell Amy to keep clear of him.
“Hang on, Amy! Who was with Eddie?”
“Me, you dozy mare! I thought you said you weren’t still pissed! Who do you think was with him? YOU?”
“I didn’t want to know who you were with, Amy! I wanted to know who I was with?”
I was confusing her.
“That’s what I want to know!” Amy replied.
“Amy, I don’t know who the hell it was! After you came in here before, did you see anyone come out? A lad, dressed only in his boxer shorts and carrying the rest of his clothes?”
“No. I was busy with Eddie!”
“But you came in here! Did you not see him then?”
“No, I was dazzled by the light reflecting off your bum!”
“Amy, I’m being serious. At no point did you see who it was?”
“No, I only came in because Eddie and I were looking for a spare room. This one was taken so we found another empty one. Are you trying to tell me that you were stripped off naked with someone and you don’t even know who it was?”
“That’s exactly what I am trying to tell you!”
“OH….MY….GOD! JEMMA! Have you seen the amount of freaks that are here? Did you sleep with him?”
“Depends what you mean by “sleep with”, we both fell asleep when he first came in.”
“You know exactly what I mean by “sleep with”, Jemma Watkinson!
I mean “birds and the bees” sleep with! Did he dip his wick?”
“Not for long!”
“Oh my god, Jemma! You lost your virginity and you don’t even know who to? Imagine how bad this could be! Imagine if you had a baby and blood tests and stuff revealed someone really sad like Jim Billingham was the father!”
“I know it wasn’t Jim! When I was here with “The Phantom Fucker”, I was thinking for a second it could be Jim Billingham and if you want to know the gory details, that thought was tightening me up a bit, but then I remembered I punched him in the jaw! He couldn’t possibly kiss me, let alone, as you so eloquently put it, “dip his wick”!
“It could be someone equally bad though!”
“Thanks for making me feel better, Amy! You really are working wonders! Anyway, someone will have seen him coming out of here so we’ll know soon enough. Where’s Kelly? She might know.”
“She was in the kitchen before. I’ll go and find her.”
Amy disappeared. There were plenty of mysteries still to be solved, including where Eddie Garland had got to and how far Amy had gone with him, but for now, the only one I wanted solving was, “The Mystery of the Phantom Fucker!”
I continued getting dressed and within a few seconds of finishing, Amy was back, now accompanied by Kelly. My eyes were beginning to focus a little better and thankfully Kelly still looked a lot better than me. I was setting a terrible example to Kelly, I was almost as bad as Vomit Breath, but luckily Kelly seemed to be showing no interest in following in my footsteps, well, except for the incident earlier with the can and the copper, but maybe she was innocent after all. Kelly was looking me over quizzically.
“How are you feeling, Jemma?”
If I had a pound for every time I had been asked that question in the course of that evening, I would have had enough money for the taxi ride home.
“A bit better. Still a pile of crap though.”
“You scared me before. I sat on the side of your bed for an hour to check you didn’t choke on your own vomit. Like we do with Mum.”
“Sorry babe!”
“No, no, I wasn’t looking for an apology or any praise, I was just worried.”
“I’ll be alright now.”
“Good!”
I now needed to see if Kelly could provide me with any clues.
“Kel, where were you five minutes ago?”
“I don’t know. I’ve just been downstairs to book us a taxi, it’ll be here in fifteen minutes.”
“You went down, where were you before that?”
“Having a wee!”
“So were you in the queue on the landing for a while?”
“There wasn’t much of a queue, but yes, why?”
“Did you see anyone coming out of this room?”
“No. The toilet queue faces the wrong way for this room. My back would have been facing it. Why, did someone come in and do something to you, Jemma?”
Amy butted in.
“Less a case of doing something, more a case of taking something!”
Amy laughed at her own “witty” comment, Kelly looked confused and I glared at Amy. We normally got on so much better than this. I felt like telling her to stop being so bloody cocky, but stopped myself as I knew I was teeing her up for another stupid innuendo.
“What’s happened?” Kelly was both concerned and inquisitive.
“I was having a lie down, someone came in here, a lad, got into bed with me, we had a bit of a kiss and cuddle and then all of a sudden he scarpered.”
“How long was he in here?” Amy asked.
“I’m not sure. We both fell asleep.”
“Good kissing then! Instead of the kiss of death, it was the kiss of the coma!” Amy jibed once more.
“You know I meant before the kissing, Amy!”
“You couldn’t have been asleep long. I kept checking on you every fifteen or twenty minutes.” Kelly said.
“It’s a pity you didn’t come in whilst he was here, I could have done with knowing who it was!”
“I went in, Kelly, but all I saw was your sister’s bum mooning at me!”
Neither Watkinson laughed.
“What were you doing in bed not clothed and kissing someone, if you didn’t even know who it was in the first place? Are you mad?” Kelly wanted to know.
“I don’t know. It felt right. I suppose I am mad!”
“And drunk and horny!”
Amy added for good m
easure.
“Anyway, I can’t turn back time, it’s done now. Can one of you two help me up, I’m bursting for a wee and I’m still not sure how well my body will cope with a walk?”
Kelly and Amy both helped me out of bed, then out the bedroom and into a now massive queue for the bathroom!
“I thought you said there wasn’t much of a queue!” I said to Kelly.
“There wasn’t before!”
“That would be the icing on the cake and the cherry on top if I now wet my knickers!” I moaned.
“I thought your knickers were already wet but for entirely different reasons!” Amy added.
Maybe it was the drink that transformed Amy into this right royal pain in the arse, whatever it was, it was getting on my tits.
“Will you just shut up, Amy!”
Amy’s cocky side now took a backseat as her sensitive side came to the fore.
“That’s not fair speaking to me like that! I thought we were best friends?”
I still couldn’t see all that well, but it sounded like Amy was about to burst into tears. Tough, she had brought it on herself.
“We are best friends, Amy! I’ve just hardly seen you all night and when I have, you’ve been making stupid comments!”
“I have not!”
“Hasn’t she, Kelly?”
Getting my sister on side was a little cruel, but necessary. I could always count on Kelly to take my side, but also to be diplomatic.
“Once or twice, Amy, you’ve had a few little digs, which isn’t like you at all.”
“I’m so sorry, honey!”
Amy gave me an apologetic hug.
“I’ve just been so excited about tonight and with the wine and Eddie Garland and everything, I think I’ve just got a little out of control. You don’t hate me, Jemma, do you? Tell me you don’t hate me!”
“Of course I don’t hate you!”
We had another hug. It was at this point I realised Amy was probably not a great deal more sober than me. We waited in that toilet queue and we waited and waited. Amy excitedly related her evening to us in minute detail, whilst stopping every thirty seconds to check I was still OK. Thankfully french kissing was as far as she had been with Eddie Garland, who had then sloped off dejectedly to catch a taxi into Southport with Billy McGregor. After about ten minutes, my bladder had taken a turn for the worse and even more worryingly, I felt it was time to throw up. Knowing I would be sick soon, I kept focusing on the bathroom’s door handle, as it became the centre of my world and everything else revolved around it. My sick was so near at one stage, I could almost smell it. Just as I was about to give in to Biology and pebble dash the landing, I heard a familiar voice,
“I think I am allergic to marijuana! The smoke keeps catching in my throat!”
That voice! That familiar voice! THE PHANTOM FUCKER!
I wanted to turn around to make doubly sure but I was too paralytic to turn. He was standing behind us in the queue, chatting to Kelly! Who was it?
Then I realised. Richie! Richie Billingham.
Polite? Yes.
Good body? Yes.
Drunk? I think so.
Guilty about screwing me? Probably.
Kelly said he had asked her out, so that would make sense. That would explain the jump out of bed, the gathering of clothes and the bolt out the door. Guilt.
I was mulling this all over when the bathroom door opened and Kelly, Amy and I flooded in. I only got about two steps into the room when the combination of a previous near vomit condition and the rancid smell of Andrew Cullen’s crap, hit me. I was sick before I could get to the toilet.
“Euuuurrrrgggghhhh!” shrieked Kelly and Amy in unison.
I ignored it and plugged on towards the toilet, battling against the elements like Scott in the Antarctic, reaching my destination just before the second wave of sick arrived. I hate being sick. Retching and the stench of puke are not pretty and things went from bad to worse when Amy, who had sympathetically kneeled down beside me to stroke my hair observed,
“Jemma. Now may not be the best time to tell you this, but it looks like someone has spewed in the back of your hair.”
I ran my hand through my hair and it emerged full of diced carrot.
I threw up a third time.
I hated Richie Billingham. He had crept into my room, taken my virginity and then at some point, puked all over the back of my head and then cleared off before I realised. How did I not realise that someone had been sick in the back of my head? To make matters worse, he’d also asked my thirteen year old sister out. How could I tell her what he’d done? She was only a child, it would break her heart. I owed Richie Billingham big time. I’d make him pay for this. No doubt about it, I would make him pay.
Richie (two years later)
Ormskirk’s nightlife wasn’t the greatest. Everywhere shut down at 11pm and then until midnight, half the town’s drinkers congregated outside a fish and chip shop called the Acropolis, either to soak up their alcohol with fish and chips or sausage and chips or to scan around desperately looking for an available member of the opposite sex. When Helen and Caroline were younger and were first heading out into Ormskirk in the mid 1980’s, the pavement outside the Acropolis also doubled up as a boxing ring, as many bare knuckled fist fights took place amongst Ormskirk’s inebriated. By the end of the Eighties, however, a healthy police presence had minimised the outpourings of testosterone and if it began to kick off, the aggressors were bundled into the back of a police van.
Ormskirk is a market town in West Lancashire, located approximately halfway between Preston and Liverpool. Half its occupants are the offspring of “Scousers” who have moved out of the city and the other half are the offspring of dyed in the wool Lancastrians. The former were known as “plastic Scousers” and the latter “Woolybacks”. Our family were pretty much a combination of the two. “Plastic backs” or “Wooly Scousers”! Unless alcohol was involved, there was no animosity between “Scousers” and “Woolybacks”, generally a small town spirit of togetherness had been created with everyone knowing everyone or, at the very least, knowing someone who knows someone.
Good people are created in Ormskirk but very few famous people. The only one I can think of is Tony Morley, the former Aston Villa left winger. I’m not even sure he grew up in Ormskirk, I just know from my Panini sticker albums that he was born in Ormskirk. Ironically, Tony Morley once scored the “Match of The Day” Goal of the Season, but it was for Aston Villa against Everton in about 1982 and I was there to witness it! Being a goal against Everton, it was a painful blow, but it wasn’t as painful as every other goal scored against Everton by non-Ormskirk folk!
Amongst the older generations, Ormskirk is noted for having a Parish Church that has both a tower and a steeple and a market that takes place every Thursday and Saturday. It also had a teaching college called Edge Hill, which supposedly had about ten female students to every male, but none of these women ever came looking for me. Ormskirk was a wonderful place to grow up, but it wasn’t London.
At half eleven on a Friday and Saturday night in my late teens, I would generally stumble out of “The Chelsea Reach”, “The Brahms & Liszt” or “The Buck I’th Vine” and stagger down to the Acropolis with my mates. “The Chelsea Reach” was directly opposite the Acropolis, so we often planned our night with strategic precision to ensure the drinking part of our night out concluded there, so we had minimal staggering distance to the Acropolis. Every Friday and Saturday was much of a muchness, I would buy a portion of chips, chat to a few schoolfriends, friends from old football teams I had played for, or fellow Evertonians, then wander back home to Aughton, my home village, two miles away.
Educationally, I had surprised myself and passed seven “O” levels, so had stayed at Ormskirk Grammar School for “A” levels too, so home life, school life and night life all centred around Ormskirk. I was happy with my routine, I had a 100% record of romantic failure on nights out in Ormskirk during my first two years of drinking,
but this was through a lack of trying rather than trying and failing.
One Friday night, in late summer 1988, everything changed. It was in the middle of the summer holidays, I was about to go back into Upper Sixth and had just had a few pints in “The Buck” with my mate, Dogger before wandering down to the Acropolis on my own. Dogger was in Sixth Form with me, but he lived in Westhead, and the Acropolis was five minutes walk in the wrong direction for him, so he had forfeited chips and walked home. I had bought chips and stood outside, unravelling the paper and surveying the scene. I spotted her instantly. Crossing the road from “The Chelsea Reach”, linking arms with three of her friends, was Kelly Watkinson. Back at the Birch’s party, when I first noticed her, Kelly was a pretty young girl, but now, nearing sixteen, she was a stunning young woman. If there had been an agent for some massive modelling firm out in Ormskirk that night, Kelly Watkinson would have been the one and only girl that would have been worthy of his attention. To my mind, Cindy Crawford and Naomi Campbell were languishing miles behind Kelly in the beauty stakes, Linda Evangelista ran Kelly close, but Kelly had a slight edge on her too!
Her hair was now long, straight and blond, she had grown taller over the two years since the Birch’s party and now must have been 5 feet 7 or 5 feet 8. With heels on, she towered over some of her friends. This was not new information to me though, every school day for the past two years I had been tortured by her presence. The thing I did notice that night, more than ever before, was her bum which was packed tightly into a white pair of jeans and a fine pair of breasts that were only partially covered by a silver silk shirt that had its top few buttons undone. Where had those beauties sprung up from? They weren’t massive, but weren’t bee stings either. “C” cuppers, I concluded.
I watched Kelly and her friends go into the Acropolis. I watched her queue and then watched her come out, armed with a portion of chips and gravy. Kelly was the first of her friends to come out. I took advantage of the opportunity and rushed over,
“Had a good night, Kelly?”
“Brilliant until about ten seconds ago.”