Forever Is Over

by Wade, Calvin

  ‘Change the record, Kelly!’ I thought. Maybe she was going over and over this to illustrate why she had killed her sister!

  “What did you do, Kelly? Obviously it was something and that’s why you are so upset, but what was it you did?”

  “I struck back, Roddy. I needed to get some sort of revenge. I needed Jemma to feel the way I feel, hurt and double crossed…..”

  I had a good idea what was coming.

  “….so I told her I’d slept with Richie , that afternoon on the ‘Sunny Road’.”

  I knew that’s what Kelly was going to say. The problem I had though, given the dramatics, was that I did not know how Kelly was going to answer my next question,

  “And did you?”

  It was a question I had to ask. The answer meant everything to me. There was no real reason for me to place so much importance on it, but in those few seconds, I felt my destiny was dependent on her reply. The short answer meant we had a future, the three letter one meant we were over before we had begun. Kelly’s emotional baggage would be too heavy for me to carry, if she’d slept with Richie before the crash. I knew if that was the case, if I tried to lift it, the weight would break my back.

  Richie

  Jemma was sound asleep. I watched her for a while, her face was buried deep into her pillow and her legs were tucked into her chest. She looked untroubled. I was jealous of her tranquillity as I could not sleep. I was troubled. That afternoon, we had been to Clatterbridge hospital for our first appointment with a new consultant urologist, Mr. Mollon. As a teenager, I thought my consultant looked ancient, this time though, he looked so young that his facial hair seemed to have been drawn on with eyeliner. Jemma said he must have been thirty, but if he was, he had moisturised twice daily since nursery. He was a small man, a little smaller than Jemma, with curly brown hair and smokers or poorly brushed teeth. His mannerisms were those of a man who had traded his nicotine patch for a snort of a gram of speed, he was twitchy and excessively upbeat which I found a little irritating!

  Mr. Mollon was incredibly positive about my prognosis, but the bare facts were that he was the bearer of bad news. A series of tests had revealed that I did, as suspected, have testicular cancer, but alarmingly I also had secondary cancer in my lungs. My internal bells continued to ring as Mr. Mollon went on to tell us that as far as testicular cancer goes, it is banded into three stages and I had Stage Three, the most progressive. This time around I would not be escaping chemotherapy. The reason for Mr. Mollon’s optimism despite my harrowing news, was that statistics were on my side. 85% of testicular cancer sufferers, who needed chemotherapy, went on to overcome their cancer, so the scales of death and recovery were tilted in my favour. I remember Mr. Whiteside, my GP, had previously said though, that only one in twenty five testicular lumps turned out to be cancer and mine turned out to be that one in twenty five. I was not going to take anything for granted, but I could not have been more determined to avoid being in the 15% that lost their battle. I owed it to Jemma, Melissa and Jamie to remain positive at all times.

  Due to the progression of my cancer, Mr. Mollon explained that it would be necessary for me to complete three or four cycles of chemotherapy. He explained, to my great relief, that I would not have to be admitted to hospital, but I could have my chemotherapy as an outpatient. This would involve three days of being drip fed a cocktail of drugs called BEP (Bleomycin, Etoposide and Cisplatin- with the “P” being the platinum from ‘cisplatin’).

  After three days of chemotherapy, there would be some respite, but on Day 9, I would need to go back to hospital for further drugs and then back again a week later, Day 16, for even more. My body was then allowed another week off without being pumped full of anything, but after that week’s rest, the cycle would start again. Mr. Mollon expected the whole course of chemotherapy to take between two and three months.

  As well as the treatment, we also discussed the side effects, but to me it was an overdose of information, so I was grateful when Mr. Mollon handed me a leaflet on chemotherapy and its side effects. As Jemma lay there sleeping peacefully, I was flicking through a leaflet anxiously, which explained how my body may react to being pumped full of drugs. Risks of infection, reduced production of platelets (which help blood to clot and stop bleeding), anaemia (low blood cell count) potentially leading to tiredness and breathlessness, nausea, vomiting, hair loss, hearing problems and diarrohea, to name but a few. Ironically, I did remember Mr. Mollon saying that the chemotherapy may harm our chances of having any further children! I couldn’t complain too much about the vasectomy trip though, as I was not put through the pain of a vasectomy and more importantly, that trip to the Doctor’s may well have saved my life.

  That evening, I had made the dreaded phone calls to friends and family. It’s amazing how guilty I felt about my cancer returning. I felt as though I had let everybody down. When I reflected on those feelings, I think it was because all our loved ones have to go through the emotional turmoil that comes with serious illness, all because I failed to keep checking myself. I had the same pitch in my mind for everyone I spoke to, Mum and Dad, Jim, Helen, Caroline, old school friends, work colleagues - they all received the same initial patter. A few pleasantries, ask how they are, then I hit them with,

  “Now listen, I do not want you to panic, but I thought that I needed to tell you that my cancer’s back…..”

  Once again, Mum, Helen and Caroline all cried. Mum did her usual and asked a thousand further questions, but she was wonderfully supportive. Dad, a changed man since my last bout of cancer and a change for the better too, offered to pray for me and said he would encourage the Vicar to ask the congregation to pray for me too. It would be wrong to feel anything but grateful towards those kindhearted people, but I wondered whether the 15% who didn’t make it, lost their lives because of a lack of prayers? Whether they did or they didn’t, in my eyes God did not come out of it looking good! Reminds me of the footballers who cross themselves as they take to the field of play, to thank God for making them millionaires. The same sportsmen tend to overlook the fact that the same God might have just allowed millions of their fellow countrymen to live in poverty or thousands to be killed by natural disasters like floods or earthquakes. Religion has been diluted through the centuries into something synthetic, but whether there was any truth left from the carcass the powerful had fed on, I would find out whenever fate (or God) decreed. If Dad is right and I’m wrong and there is a God, Dad will be thoroughly miserable for eternity as all his friends and family are non-believers so they won’t make it in.

  As well as breaking my bad news to our friends and family, Jemma and I also had to decide how to deal with breaking the news to our children. We discussed our need to maintain a normality for Melissa and Jamie and to leave it as late as possible before letting them know that I’m not well. I would only tell them once it reached a stage that I could not keep it from them any longer. This may mean telling Melissa before Jamie, but we decided to just let events develop and take stock of the state of play at regular intervals.

  Jemma also felt uncomfortable about mentioning the “C” words, cancer and chemotherapy. She said each time either word was mentioned, it sent a shiver down her spine and we discussed alternatives we could use. Jemma suggested we make an acronym from the letters ‘BEP’, the drugs we hoped would save my life and use that instead of constantly referring to ‘cancer’ and ‘chemo’. The best she could come up with was ‘Black Eyed Peas’, but when I spoke to Jim on the phone, the conversation led on to an alternative acronym as he thought ‘Black Eyed Peas’ was a stupid acronym as I had no interest in the band or their music and I should find something more relevant to me. When prompted for a suggestion, Jim came up with ‘Boring Evertonian Prick!’ Admittedly, it made me crease up with laughter, but if I was looking for an inspirational acronym, that certainly wasn’t it either! I eventually came up with, “Beating Every Problem”, which I thought was relevant and motivational, as it was exactly what I intended o
n doing.

  That night was the beginning of erratic sleep problems that would hound me throughout my treatment. Each night, Jemma slept soundly. I once said to her, only half joking, that this was because she wasn’t as worried as me, but she saw it as a reflection that she had exhausted herself from worrying during every waking second. She probably had a point.

  I started ‘Beating Every Problem’ at Clatterbridge hospital the following Monday, Tuesday and Wednesday. A new battle for survival had begun.

  Roddy

  Kelly looked at me aghast.

  “Of course I didn’t sleep with him! I told you there was no attraction! Why would I sleep with Richie if there was no longer any attraction?”

  “You managed to persuade Jemma that you did!”

  “I don’t know whether I did persuade her. I just wanted to place a seed of doubt in her brain that maybe her perfect marriage was not quite so perfect.”

  I have to admit this vindictive side of Kelly was not a side I liked at all. I would not have wanted her to be the type of girl who was so weak that she did not have the backbone to fight her corner, but there’s a big difference between fighting your corner and punching your opponent in the face even before the bell has rung.

  “Kelly, who do you think you are destroying here?”

  “What do you mean?”

  ”Well, who are you destroying and who are you benefiting by saying that you are pregnant?”

  “I don’t understand what you mean, Roddy!”

  “Look Kelly, it’s simple. You’re trying to get back at Jemma for marrying your ex-boyfriend, but no-one is getting anything positive out of this at all. You’re not feeling good about yourself, look at the state it’s left you in and if Jemma does believe you, that Richie has fathered your child, it may not only destroy their marriage, but it could destroy the lives of their two children. Do you want that on your conscience?”

  Kelly sniffed.

  “No.”

  “So what are you going to do about it?”

  “I’m not apologising to her, Roddy. If I do she’s totally defeated me!”

  “Kelly! Jemma hasn’t tried to defeat you! She may have fallen in love with someone she wasn’t supposed to, but that doesn’t make her a bad person. You need to get over yourself and move on! There are only losers in this game you’re playing, Kelly.”

  “I know. I’m an idiot. I don’t even know what you see in me, Roddy!”

  I moved over and gave Kelly a comforting cuddle.

  “Kelly, you’re a mixed up woman but I’ve always been able to see through that. I love the bones of you. Always have. Always will.”

  “And you think I should apologise to Jemma?”

  “Ring her and apologise for saying you were pregnant. You must admit, Kelly, that was a pretty low stunt! Don’t try to patch up all your differences though, you can’t put everything right in one go. Just make a start.”

  “OK. I’ll do that, I’ll give her a ring.”

  “When?”

  “Tomorrow.”

  “Why not now?”

  “Because you’re here! I want a bit of privacy.”

  “You will do it though, tomorrow, no backing out?”

  “No, I promise I’ll ring!”

  “It’ll make you feel better about yourself.”

  “I know. It’s hard though, Roddy. I used to idolise Jemma. She was my big sister and she cared for me more than anyone else. It’s just been a shock discovering she has her flaws like the rest of us.”

  “Speak for yourself, Kelly! Have you not realised yet that I’m perfect?”

  Kelly puckered up and kissed me on the lips.

  “Perfect for me, Roddy! I’m starting to realise that you’re perfect for me!”

  Mavis

  Richie Billingham was a great boss. In fact, let me re-phrase that, Richie Billingham was the greatest boss I ever had in thirty five years in the Building Society industry and I had loads!

  When he was given the role of Manager in Wigan, Richie must only have been in his late twenties. Staff always feel apprehensive when a new boss starts, but even on his first day at work, the five of us were immediately enamoured by his cheery disposition, his big booming smile and his energy and enthusiasm for the role. Richie also made us feel for the first time in a very long time, like we were a team, a team who were all dependent on each other. Our branch became a tremendous success, North West ‘Branch of the Year’ three time in five years and National ‘Branch of the Year’ once. Richie managed several agencies too and their figures went through the roof as well. If Regional or National Managers came to the branch, any plaudits handed out to Richie were immediately accredited to the team. No targets felt unachieveable with Richie at the helm, we all went home each night looking forward to the next day and whilst Richie was boss, the staff turnover was zero.

  Richie’s last day will be one of those days that will stay with me forever. Up until that day, we were all oblivious to the illness. We later discovered that there were people in Human Resources that knew and Howard Robinson, our Regional Manager was also aware, but us girls in the office knew nothing. We wrongly thought everything was as good as ever. Richie kept the charade going until his final afternoon, then in his own inimitable way, unleashed hell!

  Mid afternoon on that final day, I remember making teas and coffees, handing all the girls drinks out and then taking Richie’s coffee into his office. Richie always volunteered to do his turn at making the drinks, but they were vile, like dishwater, so eventually we took him off the rota. It would not surprise me in the slightest if this was a carefully executed plan! Anyway, that afternoon, I went into his office, carrying his coffee and placed it down on the mat on his desk. Richie was on the phone, but he gestured for me to sit down, so I took a sat on the other side of the desk, facing him. Bearing in mind, up until this point he had been the consummate professional every step of the way, I was astounded by what I heard.

  “Hello. Could I speak to Mrs. Aldridge please? It is Mrs. Aldridge. It’s Richie Billingham from Red Rose Building Society here, are you OK to speak for a couple of minutes? You are. Good!”

  Nothing unusual so far, just a stereotypical conversation I would hear Richie having, day in, day out.

  “Mrs. Aldridge, you have been a regular customer of ours over the last five years. You have your ISA with us, you have your savings account with us, until you paid it off, you had your mortgage with us and I just wanted to say that in my fifteen years in the Building Society industry, you rank amongst the most unpleasant customers I have ever had the misfortune to have to deal with….”

  I could not believe my ears!

  “No, no, Mrs. Aldridge, you did hear me correctly. I did say UNpleasant. Do you ever smile Mrs. Aldridge, because I have often seen you pulling a face like someone’s anal sphincter is vibrating right next to you, but even on a sunny day in summer, I have never witnessed the merest hint of a smile from you. You moan about your pension, you moan about the heat, the cold, the rain, the sun, the snow, the frost, the waiting times, the interest rates and the cost of everything. You never say please or thank you, I just wanted to phone you to say you are a rude, unlikeable character, Mrs. Aldridge and….you’ve never been so insulted….well maybe that’s because people in this country witter on behind people’s backs rather than say things to their face….you will have been insulted just as badly, Mrs. Aldridge, you just didn’t get to hear about it. Goodbye!”

  Richie grabbed a pen and crossed out some writing on a piece of paper.

  “Richie, what are you doing?”

  “It’s my lottery hit list, Mavis. I always said that if I won the lottery, I would ring everyone on this list and tell them exactly what I really thought of them!”

  I felt a temporary buzz of excitement.

  “Richie, are you telling me that you have won the lottery? How much have you won? Don’t tell me it’s millions!”

  I felt if anyone I knew won the lottery, it would be Richie. Everyth
ing he touched seemed to turn to gold. His work record was impeccable, his wife was drop dead gorgeous, his children were stunning, they all had personalities to match, it would just be typical if he won the lottery too. Or so I thought.

  “Mavis, I haven’t won the lottery! If I had, I’d have walked out of here and never come back and between you and I, that’s what I’ll be doing at the end of today.”

  Now, I was worried.

  “Why, Richie? What’s the matter?”

  Richie looked at me solemnly.

  “I’ve got cancer, Mavis. I’ll sit all the girls down before I go home and I’ll talk it through with them, but before I do, I’ve got twenty three more customers, one former boss and an ex-boyfriend of Jemma’s to phone, to let them all know what I think of them! I’ve already phoned fifteen in the last hour and you know what Mavis, it’s been the best working hour of my life! Very therapeutic! I figured that over the next few months, I’d be telling my nearest and dearest how much they mean to me, but before I did, I wanted to rid my body of any hatred I might be bottling up!”

  “Are you dying, Richie?”

  I thought he must be. How could he be leaving forever if he wasn’t dying?

  “I hope not, Mavis! I’ve got to start chemotherapy next week, but if I get over this, I want a totally fresh start, I’ve loved working with you and the rest of the girls, but I just don’t enjoy the job itself any more. Life is short, Mavis and if I’m not enjoying what I’m doing, it’s time to make a change.”

  “What will you do?”

  ”I’m not sure, I might go back to college and re-train. I’m going to beat the cancer into submission first and then have a really good think about it after that.”

  “The girls will all be devastated.”