Forever Is Over

by Wade, Calvin

  We squeezed in a few rounds in the “Town Green” whilst having a quick game of darts (Jim won as I could not keep my hand steady enough to hit the doubles), before heading up Parrs Lane to the “Dog & Gun” on Long Lane, passing the house where I had left the orange Matchmakers for Rachel Cookson when I was eleven. My brush with death and Kelly’s disappearance had definitely made me look back at any romantic moments with nostalgia!

  Several more pints followed at the “Dog and Gun” and despite already being halfway to Ormskirk town centre, we decided against making the rest of the pub crawl on foot and ordered a taxi to take us in to Ormskirk. Jim wanted to hit Disraeli’s whilst it was quiet, once it busied up it was a bit too “trendy” for Jim and then he wanted to move on to “The Golden Lion”, “The Railway”, “The Windmill” (where I had dumped my stuff when I was doing my Wigan Road karaoke outside Kelly’s bedroom window) and “The Ropers Arms”. Thanks to me, we did not get any further than Disraeli’s! Jim poured us another large vodka each.

  “We are not drinking that whole bottle, Jim,” I said, in what I would imagine would have been very slurred tones by then.

  “Chill bro! I know that, but I paid twenty quid for the whole bottle, if we’d have just had single measures, we would have only been able to have had about six each for twenty quid!”

  “Which would have been about five too many!”

  “Come on, Richie!” said Jim making a poor attempt to give me a dead arm.

  “We’re celebrating!”

  I spotted something.

  “Jim, take me round there.”

  I pointed to the far side of the bar. There was an area of Disraeli’s that was an extension to the main bar area, a conservatory of sorts with a plastic roof, white tiles and decked out in comfy sofas and soft cushions.

  “Why?” Jim asked suspiciously.

  “I need to have a sleep.”

  “Sleep! Richie, you can’t sleep, we’re celebrating!”

  That was the second time in a minute Jim had mentioned the fact that we were celebrating, he knew I was on my knees and was trying to provide me with a motivation not to give in. He was wasting his breath!

  “Jim, I need a sleep. Let me just have half an hour and I’ll be raring to go!”

  “No, you won’t Richie! I share a room with you remember? I’ve seen what you are like when you have a drink! If you fall asleep now, that will be it, game over. Come on, Richie, drive hard! It’s only six o’clock!”

  “I can’t Jim! I’m gone. Just give me half an hour! I promise you it will just be half an hour!”

  I stood myself up and weaved my way to the far side of the bar, to the empty Conservatory. It was like I was being hypnotised, I just shut my eyes, put my head back and within seconds, I was asleep………..

  “Is he OK?” a woman’s voice asked, what seemed like seconds later although I knew it wouldn’t be.

  I recognised the voice, my eyes were still closed, but I recognised that voice.

  “He’s fine, just sleeping the drink off, we’ve been hard at it all afternoon and Richie has never been the best at holding his drink.” Jim replied.

  I could tell from the general buzz in Disraeli’s that it was no longer six o’clock, I opened my eyes and stretched like it was first thing in the morning. I looked up to see Jim and Amy Perkins staring down at me.

  “How are you feeling?” Amy asked in the tone of a post-operation nurse.

  “Great!” I lied. I still felt drunk but ‘ill’ drunk not ‘on top of the world’ drunk.

  “What time is it?” I asked despite having a watch on.

  “Half past ten.” Jim replied with a tone which hinted at more than a little bitterness.

  “You’re kidding me!”

  “I wish I was, but straight up, it’s half past ten!”

  “I’ve been asleep for four and a half hours! What happened to waking me up after half an hour?” I asked trying to shift the blame back to Jim.

  “I kept trying to wake you up, Richie and you kept telling me to piss off!”

  “You did!” Amy agreed.

  Perhaps to level things out, Jim piped up with,

  “Amy was just telling me, she’s heard from Kelly.”

  Jim said this in such a matter of fact way, as though he thought I probably wouldn’t really be interested, when he knew damn well I would be. He said it as though it would have had little bearing on my life, like if him and Amy had been discussing England’s recent performances in the “World Netball Championship”.

  “Did you hear, we won the netball today against Australia, eight-four, the goal shooter scored six points, the goal attack two?”

  In reality, I was about as interested as I would be in the Ashes score or the World Cup Final score in football (if I had been locked in a cupboard whilst England were in the final). I was desperate to hear more. I shook my head from side to side like a rain soaked dog in a monsoon, in an attempt to sober up and then stood myself up like a labyrinthitis sufferer.

  “You’ve heard from Kelly?” I enquired of Amy.

  “Yes. Last week. She phoned up.”

  “Where did she phone from?”

  “Singapore.”

  “Singapore?”

  “It’s in Asia.”

  “Amy, I know where it is, I just don’t know what Kelly’s doing there!”

  “I don’t know either,” Amy explained, “she just phoned last Sunday afternoon.

  She didn’t have much money, so I only spoke to her for two minutes.”

  “Is she OK?”

  “She said she was fine.”

  “Why is she in Singapore? That’s just crazy, she’s seventeen years old, on her own in Singapore.”

  “I’ve no idea what made her go there, she just rang to see what the situation was with Jemma.”

  I could feel a disaster coming.

  “Amy, please tell me you did not tell her that Jemma has gone to jail for three years!”

  Amy pulled a face.

  “Well what was I supposed to do, Richie? Tell Kelly that Jemma got off! Just suppose Kelly had headed home on the basis that she thought the coast was clear and was then arrested the second she stepped on British soil, for being accessory to murder. How do you think I would feel then?”

  My heart sank. Amy had a point, but it was not a point that I wanted to hear.

  “She’ll never come back now.”

  “Richie, that’s not my fault! She asked me a question and I gave her a straight answer.”

  I was annoyed with Amy, or to be brutally honest, I was just drunk and annoyed so it was convenient to blame Amy.

  “Why didn’t you tell me last week that she’d phoned you?”

  “I haven’t seen you.”

  “Ever heard of a phone?”

  “I’m telling you now, aren’t I?”

  “A week too late.”

  “A week too late for what, Richie? What could you have possibly done in the last week?”

  “I could have stopped thinking she was dead for starters!” Things were getting heated. Jim decided to bale.

  “Right,” he said poking his head between the warring factions, “I’m going to leave you lovebirds to sort out your differences. I hate it in here. I’m heading down to ‘The Lion’.”

  “Hang on!” I said. “Is this not supposed to be my celebration night?”

  “Yes, but given you have just left me alone for the last four hours in a bar I hate, whilst you slept the drink off, I really don’t think you are in a position to get too mad with me, if I slope off to somewhere I actually fit in.”

  Jim was right. Goths and Disraeli’s were not a great mix.

  “You’re welcome to come with me if you like.”

  For some reason, I looked at Amy, as if she was now part of our crowd. Amy shook her head.

  “I’d rather stop here. My friends are here.”

  “Ok. Thanks but no thanks, Jim. We’ll stop here.”

  “No problemo. See you back home
, Richie. Nice speaking to you, Amy.”

  Jim kissed her hand and headed off. The distraction provided by Jim gave me ample time to calm down.

  “Sorry, Amy. Kelly’s been gone forever, I’m just annoyed that she rang you and not me. It’s not your fault.”

  “It’s alright, I understand. You need to move on now though, Richie. Kelly will come back when she’s ready, the file on her Mum’s murder is probably closed now that Jemma has been convicted anyway, but I just didn’t want to keep anything from her. From your perspective, you can’t just put your whole life on hold, waiting for that day. If she had wanted to, she could have phoned you, but for whatever reason, she is choosing not to.”

  Amy was right. I knew she was right, but I was struggling to move on. I went to the bar and bought myself a pint of blackcurrant and soda and Amy a glass of red wine. We then stood and chatted until last orders. Amy was out with a load of her old school mates, my old adversary from “Catch A Boy, Kiss A Boy”, Fay Williams, was amongst them, but Amy hardly spoke to the rest of the girls, as she seemed content to just have a good old chinwag with me. We were kicked out of Disraeli’s by twenty past eleven and given neither of us could be bothered stopping at the Acropolis fish and chip shop, I suggested I walk Amy up to her house. Amy’s house was virtually on my walk home and she was a bit of company for me as I continued the slow sobering up process. The alternative companion for the two mile walk home would have been Jim, but I had no inclination to search for him as he was a big boy and would find his own way home, even if found his way into a ladies bedroom first.

  As we walked up Prescot Road, Amy and I continued to chatter away comfortably. I found some girls difficult to speak to as they were pretentious and conversations became banal, but Amy was just a really pleasant, ‘girl next door’ type. There were no airs and graces about her, she was friendly, warm hearted and quick witted. We talked about the trial and how we imagined Jemma would be finding life in jail and discussed our reasons for not visiting her. Amy said that having visited Jemma at Risley, she did not think she would cope emotionally visiting her at Styal. Instead of being the tower of strength that Jemma needed, Amy said she would just be a blubbering wreck. She was racked with guilt for not going, especially as Jemma and Kelly’s grandmother had recently passed away. This meant no-one was currently visiting Jemma, which was appalling.

  “What about you, Richie?” Amy queried. “You visited Jemma in Risley and you went to the trial, how come you have suddenly stopped visiting too?”

  I lied and explained that when I had visited Jemma in Risley, I had slowly developed the impression that I was not welcome, that I was only her sister’s ex-boyfriend after all.

  “I’m sure she’d have been delighted to see you.” Amy said. “I’m sure she’d have been delighted to see anyone!” she suggested, before apologising for the way that had sounded!

  I felt uncomfortable lying to Amy, but did not want to share the truth with her. The truth being that I had kept away as I felt Jemma and I were becoming too attached and I needed some time to work out what I really wanted. The problem was that I wanted to either be with

  Jemma or be with Kelly and neither of them was exactly readily available at this point in time.

  Once we reached Amy’s house, she asked me in for a coffee, ‘to warm me up for the rest of the journey home’. I ventured in and her little Cocker Spaniel, Daisy, came to greet us, wagging her little tail, ten to the dozen. As I got down on my hands and knees in the hallway to stroke Daisy, Amy’s dressing gown clad parents arrived to greet Amy and check that she had had a good night. They were a “touchy feely” family, without, I imagined, a cancer ordeal forcing them into it.

  On reflection, I should have seen what was coming, but I did not.

  At that age, I could quite easily have shared a single bed with two naked Page Three girls without realising sex was on the cards.

  Amy’s parents soon went to bed and left Daisy, Amy and I in their lounge. I should have realised something was afoot when Amy sat herself down ever so close to me on a massive settee. I should have understood that the intent gazes I was receiving from Amy and the sympathetic advice to forget Kelly and move on, were all leading somewhere, but I was painfully oblivious. The penny only dropped when Amy put her hand on my knee as I was talking about Kelly’s disappearance. I was more than a little uncomfortable with that, so, with my coffee finished, I began to make my excuses.

  “Thanks very much for the coffee, Amy. I’ve really enjoyed speaking to you tonight, but I suppose its time I’d better get going. Let you get to bed.”

  Amy just pounced like a venus fly trap on an arachnid. Before I had chance to move from the settee, she pinned me down and started kissing me. I pulled away for a second. This was surreal, I had not had a romantic or passionate thought about Amy in my life. She was pretty in a pleasant way, but when you were friends with Jemma Watkinson, it went largely unnoticed.

  It was at this point that I should have walked away. I should have apologised to Amy for giving her the wrong impression and walked straight out the door, but that is not what happened! I was a sex starved, drunken teenager who’s girlfriend had turned invisible, nine months earlier and had not seen, felt or tasted a vagina since. I wasn’t cheating on anyone.

  “Sod it!”

  Recalling this moment, I still have doubts whether I just said it in my head or out loud, but I do know subsequently, once that thought had crossed my mind, I dived back into that tongue sandwich.

  Ignoring Daisy’s presence and the fact that Amy’s parents were only a drink of water away from coming back down the stairs, we began hurriedly undressing each other. My prosthetic testicle had its first public outing, although I don’t think Amy noticed it, as her attention was drawn to the tip of the iceberg rather than the bits below the water. Five minutes after I had made my excuses, I found myself on my hands and knees naked on Amy’s Mum and Dad’s lounge carpet, pulling Amy’s knickers off her ankles, as she lay now naked on the floor. Just as those knickers flew over her parents settee, like a horse over Beecher’s Brook, I came to my senses. It was as if the hypnotist had clicked his fingers and I had come out of a trance, to find myself naked on stage with a woman I had never met, with six thousand people looking on. This was all wrong, I had to go.

  “Amy”, I said to my naked companion, who was laying, legs slightly parted and eyes closed, on the lounge floor, “I’m going to have to stop.”

  It was Amy’s turn to be embarrassed. She sat up looking like she needed to grow an extra arm, as three arms were necessary to cover her two breasts and her pubic hair. Amy was understandably confused.

  “What’s the matter?” she asked.

  “It feels wrong.” I explained.

  “It’s just a lay,” Amy replied, revealing that she would have gone the whole hog if I hadn’t brought things to an early conclusion.

  At this point, I had three choices.

  Firstly, I could have taken the cowards option and blamed the whole thing on my testicular cancer. This was a lie, but would have gained me a huge amount of sympathy in Amy’s eyes. I could have just said I wasn’t ready for this after my operation and cancer ordeal. This was an automatic forgiveness pass.

  Second choice was to just forget we had ever stopped, return my now less excited penis, back to its former glory and make the most of this rare opportunity or thirdly I could tell the truth!

  Amazingly, I told the truth, not the truth about the cancer and the orchidectomy, just the truth about how I was feeling. These days, when I play the “Soundtrack to my life,” over in my head as I relive moments, this moment is definitely Billy Bragg’s “The Price I Pay.” If you’ve heard it, you will know what I mean, if you haven’t it’s about loving a lost lover too much to move on.

  “Amy, it’s not just a lay,” I confessed, “it feels like I am cheating on Kelly!”

  Amy was dressing herself again by this point. She had not seen her knickers leaping over the settee, so had slip
ped her trousers back on without sending a search party out for her knickers. It was not an appropriate time for her to be crawling around on all fours saying “Where’s my knickers? Where’s my knickers?”

  I had stripped her of a certain amount of dignity and that would have just been the final straw. I started putting my boxer shorts on as she responded.

  “Richie, for all you know, Kelly could have had a new boyfriend for the last six months. You are not being fair to yourself.”

  “But I was happy with Kelly.”

  They were the words I said, but I remember thinking how horrible they sounded as soon as they came out my mouth. To me, they sounded glib.

  “You’ll be happy again, if you could just move on.”

  “I’m sorry, Amy. I’m just not ready to move on.”

  I gathered the rest of my clothes together, put them on and Amy also dressed herself. I remember having a sneaky last glance at her breasts, they were attractive breasts, similar to Kelly’s, pert and properly rounded, perhaps a little smaller than Kelly’s but pleasant. If Kelly had been out my system I would have been suckled in like a hungry baby!

  My desire was now so low, it felt like I had released my bodily fluids on that carpet already. The continued process of getting dressed was carried out in an awkward silence.

  Once dressed, I spoke,

  “I’m going, Amy. I’m so sorry this got awkward.”

  Amy moved towards me. I was dubious about where this was leading but Amy just took my hands in hers. I was a coward and a procrastinator,

  Amy was quite simply a lovely person. Lovely people struggle in this world, they find the good in people less worthy than themselves, who in turn find fault in their perfection.

  “Richie, we were friends before this, weren’t we?”

  “Yes.”

  “And we’ll be friends after this too. If you want me to, we’ll forget this ever happened. If you want this to happen again, but to actually happen next time, let me know.”