by Wade, Calvin
“That I’m ill or that I’m leaving?”
“Both. We’ve never had a boss like you, Richie. All the others have been out to boost their own careers and haven’t given a damn about impressing those graded below them, all they have cared about is impressing the people above. You value us, Richie and that’s been really important to all of us.”
“Thanks Mavis! I’ll knock you off my lottery list!”
Richie pretended to scrub me off his list! He then picked up his phoned and dialled,
“Hello, could I speak to Ray Walker please? My name? It’s Mr. Billingham from Red Rose Building Society…No, he won’t know what its regarding….tell him I’m running a course on bigotry and would like to know if he wants to attend. He’s been recommended!”
Whilst he waited for Ray Walker to come to the phone, he took a sip of his coffee. I stood up, ready to get back to my work. Richie covered the mouthpiece.
“Mavis, please don’t mention this to the girls yet. I will speak to them all after we close and let everyone know exactly what is going on.”
I nodded, then as he was connected to Ray Walker, I slipped out leaving Richie to it. At ten past five that evening, Richie called us all into his office, asked us all to take a seat and broke the news to the five of us that he had had testicular cancer as a teenager, had a testicle removed and recently it had returned in the other testicle but had spread this time and he now had secondary lung cancer. He said he had spoken to Human Resources and would now officially be taking a break but unofficially, he would not be coming back. It was testament to Richie that the only dry eyes in the office belonged to him. As the Branch Supervisor, I felt it was right for me to take the lead, so I stood up, walked over to Richie and hugged him tightly, not saying anything just holding on. It felt to me like my son had cancer. The other four ladies followed suit, hugging Richie and kissing him tenderly on the cheek. Once we had all managed to regain our composure, I made a brief speech on behalf of the girls, thanking him for everything he had done to make our office the best place in the world to work and wishing him well in his fight against cancer.
At six o’clock, Richie locked up, handed me his keys and walked away. We all visited him at home, at a party held in his honour and at hospital during his illness, but it was heartbreaking watching the old Richie fade away. He never returned to the office, but still every time I’m there, I feel his presence. He left us all with a million happy memories and all the people that made it on to his lottery list need to have a good look in the mirror , because if you were hated by Richie Billingham, one of the loveliest men that ever lived, you should be thoroughly ashamed of yourself.
Melissa
My Daddy is sick. He has lost his hair. Mummy said Daddy was losing his hair anyway, before he was sick, so it didn’t really matter. Daddy is still happy sometimes but he is too tired for work, so stays at home. He lays on the settee a lot and watches television which is good because I can give him a kiss as soon as I get back from school. Mummy says Jamie does not understand that Daddy is sick, so he is still being naughty. He runs around the house a lot and still shouts lots too and cries when Mummy or Granny Dot says its time for bed. I go to bed when Mummy or Daddy or Granny Dot tell me. Mummy says I am a very good girl. Daddy says Jamie is a little bit naughty. He is not, he is very naughty.
Daddy has to go to the hospital sometimes now for his special injections. When he comes back from the hospital, Mummy says he is not our normal Daddy as he feels very tired and very sick and very grumpy. Mummy says when Daddy has been to the hospital, the best way we can help Daddy, is by playing nicely away from him. Sometimes Jamie does not listen to what Mummy says and jumps on Daddy when he is in bed. This makes Mummy and Daddy cross. Mummy slapped Jamie’s legs once, very hard, after Jamie did this, but afterwards she said she was very sorry and she should not have done it.
On some days, Daddy does not lie down. He walks around like normal Daddys and plays with us and tells us he loves us. Mummy says Daddy tells us he loves us so much, so we never forget how lucky we are to have a Daddy like him. Daddy should just say it to Jamie, as I think Jamie would forget, as he always forgets where he has hidden my dolls.
Sometimes Mummy cries when Daddy is in bed. She says she is just being silly, but I heard Mummy tell Granny Dot that she is scared. I think Daddy might look scary in bed with no hair.
One day soon, I hope Daddy is better and not sick any more, then he might not be tired and his hair on his head might grow again. If it grows, Mummy might not be sad any more either. When Daddy gets better, I want to take my Daddy to watch Everton. I do not like football, it is boring, but Daddy likes football and if Everton won he would be very happy. I just want Mummy and Daddy to be happy all the time.
Jemma
It was early evening in Autumn. The clocks had just gone back and it was a damp, drizzly night. Dead brown leaves were swirling around our path and reminding us winter was on its way. October is the worst month of the year because it progressively reveals more of the six months of misery ahead. This time though, we had more than the winter to worry us.
Richie and I walked into the house in silence. Richie’s Mum and Dad, Charlie and Dot, were sat on the edge of the settee in the lounge and as we walked through, they looked up at us expectantly.
“The kids are asleep,” Dot said in a tone that re-assured and also permitted us to disclose our news, “what did the consultant say?”
I wasn’t ready to get into the whole saga the second we walked through the door, so I looked for a distraction.
“Let me make a cup of tea, Dot and then we’ll have a chat about it. Do you both want one?”
“Yes please love!” said Dot answering for both her and Charlie, “make a pot though, love, it never quite tastes the same when you make it in the cup.”
“Richie?”
“Yes, please.”
I suppose I was being too optimistic to hope a pot of tea would be enough to stem the flow of Dot’s questioning. She was not prepared to wait.
“Is it good news though?”
Dot asked this in such a desperate tone, that I felt so sorry for both her and Richie, when he answered,
“No, Mum, it is not good news.”
As Dot digested this information, I made my way out to the kitchen, turned the kettle on and popped three teabags into the pot. Whilst the kettle was boiling, I nipped back into the lounge. We had two, two seater settees in the lounge, Charlie and Dot were on one and Richie had parked his bum on the other. I sat down next to him, ready to deal with the diagnosis.
“What did he tell you, love?” Dot asked.
I turned to Richie, he looked pale, I think this was more as a result of shock than as a result of the cancer taking hold.
“It’s spread Mum, they can’t treat it to get rid of it now, they can only treat it to slow its progression.”
“Are you telling me it’s terminal?”
“I wish I wasn’t Mum, but I am. Jemma and I were referring to the ‘BEP’ as “Beating Every Problem”, but it turns out, “Ball Exceptionally Poorly” would have reflected things better.
Dot closed her eyes and rubbed her face with an intensity that made it look like she was going to take the skin off.
“Oh no, son! Oh no!”
If this routine was meant to stop the tears from flowing it failed. Charlie put his arm around her and with his other arm reached into Dot’s handbag and took out some tissues. He passed them to her and she snorted noisily. With Dot in no fit state to speak, Charlie took up the parental questioning baton.
“Did they give you any indication how long they think they can keep it at bay, Richie?”
“Six to twelve months, Dad.”
Richie’s response led to Dot sobbing more heartily. I allowed her this outpouring of emotion his time, but knew if it continued, I would have to have strong words. Going forward, for Richie’s sake, she would need to be stronger than this.
“We’re hoping, Charlie, that Richie
may be able to trial new drugs or treatments that may buy him some more time,” I said, letting him know that we weren’t abandoning all hope, “we aren’t giving this one up as a lost cause, are we Richie?”
“No. This is my life, it isn’t like chasing after a bus. If I miss this chance, there isn’t going to be another opportunity five minutes later. This is my only chance. We’ll keep fighting until the bitter end.”
I squeezed Richie’s hand.
“I’ll go and make the tea.”
As I stood up and went to the kitchen, Dot moved settees to give her son a hug. A tiny part of me was jealous of Richie as he had a proper, compassionate family. If Vomit Breath had lived and I had developed cancer, she would have just sneered and muttered something about what comes around, goes around.. It would not have destroyed her life, I am pretty sure it wouldn’t have even destroyed her evening.
Whilst sharing a hug with is mother, I heard Charlie ask him a question,
“Have you given any thought to anything you would like to do? I mean, is there anywhere in the world you’d like to go? Your mother and I don’t have a great deal of money, but we have an overdraft facility and credit cards. If there was somewhere, anywhere, you’d like to go for a family holiday whilst you are still in good enough health to enjoy it, just let me and your mother know and we’ll book it that day.”
“Thanks Dad, but we couldn’t do that.”
“Honestly son, you could. If you wanted to take the kids to Disney World, it would be on us. It would be our pleasure to pay for you, Jemma and the kids.”
I could tell from the kitchen that Richie was choked but he maintained his composure.
“That it so kind of you, Dad and I’m really touched that you would do that for us, but it’s just not possible. No travel company are going to allow me to travel without charging an absolute fortune for insurance. Anyway, if I ended up in hospital over there, it wouldn’t only be expensive, it would also be traumatic for the kids. Travel has never been important to me anyway, Dad, family and friends are the important thing and I am the luckiest man in the world with mine. I just need to savour every second I have with you all now.”
I hurried back in with the teapot and mugs. As I did, Charlie walked over to Richie, stood over him and placed a comforting hand on his shoulder.
“I am very proud of the man you have become, Richie.”
“We both are.” Dot added.
“You must do what you say though and keep strong, determined and hopeful,” Charlie continued, “I hear people recounting stories at church about friends who have been riddled with cancer, who have ended up cured by the power of prayer. Miracles do happen, Richie. We don’t know what plans God has for us.”
I was about to say something but was becoming better as I grew older at showing restraint. In my feistier days, I would have asked Charlie what sort of sick God would make a young man suffer like this and then strip him away from his own family, leaving his wife to cope alone with two small children. Surely there’s a serious design fault there from the Almighty? Now though, I chose not to speak. To an extent, if I had spoken out, I could have been accused of hypocrisy as I had my own, less vocal faith and I was praying regularly myself, pleading with God to help us. If Charlie was right though and God did have his own plans for us, was there really any point praying? Did we have the power to change God’s mind?
“Your Dad’s right,” Dot added hopefully, planting another kiss on her son, “you need to believe that you will get better. Do everything that the Doctors tell you and more. Go on to the internet and see if there are any other cancer sufferers who have overcome the disease and see what they have done. Leave no stone unturned, Richie.”
I felt like telling Dot hat she wasn’t exactly singing from the same hymn sheet as her husband! Charlie seemed to be saying put your faith in God and Dot seemed to be saying don’t rely on God, sort it out yourself! As a couple they had done so much for Richie and I though, so it would have been inappropriate of me to pass comment. Perhaps I was being a bit harsh anyway. Perhaps what Dot was saying was, with God’s help and with your own steely determination, there were still grounds for being optimistic. I poured the tea and tried to temporarily lift the mood.
“Were the kids good?”
Dot immediately brightened up a little.
“They were excellent, weren’t they, Charlie?”
“They were great. Our grandchildren always are!”
“Jamie spent most of the evening making paper aeroplanes with his Granddad,” Dot said, now showing signs of a smile, “and Melissa and I played Connect 4. She doesn’t like losing, does she?”
Even Richie now seemed to get a bit of a colour back in his face.
“No, Mum, she’s very competitive! We don’t want to teach her that it’s wrong to be competitive, as we think it’s a good thing in this day and age, but at the same time, kicking the Connect 4 over and throwing the pieces around when she loses, which I imagine is what Melissa did, cannot be tolerated either!”
“That’s exactly what she did!” Dot chuckled, “Several times!”
“Dot, you should have stopped beating her!” Charlie said with a smirk, “I think Melissa gets her competitive streak from your mother, Richie!”
Charlie winked over at Richie.
“No, no, don’t let her win, Mum! She needs to learn. Fight to win but lose with dignity!”
“Well, she’s halfway there.” I added.
It was left to Richie to round this conversation off.
“The thing is, Jemma and I are very competitive too. Jemma’s had to learn from an early age that if you don’t fight hard in life, there are some bad people around who will make your life hell. On the other hand, I’ve had a great upbringing but had three siblings to compete against and then, in my working life, have always enjoyed the battles with other Managers and other branches. Both Jemma and I, in our very different ways, are used to coming out on top in the end.
I suppose that’s why the cancer diagnosis hurt so much today. We are used to winning. We are used to overcoming every obstacle, so to be told that the cancer has spread and that there is nothing more they can do to get rid of it, well…that just feels like the ultimate defeat.”
Roddy
It felt like payback time. All those years when I had not managed to get a girlfriend or had one who was determined not to put out with me and then became as dirty as a coalminers face after a twelve hour shift, once we finished. My luck had been so bad, I could have taken Alanis Morissette to the theatre and nothing would have happened! With Kelly though, things were really taking off. The barriers that she had initially put up because of previous romantic experiences, had all come down and when laid bare, both physically and emotionally, she was one hell of a woman! I was on cloud nine! The paranoid voice in my head kept telling me that sometime soon, someone or something would come along and push me off it, but I decided that if I lived my life as if disaster was around the corner, sooner or later it would be, so I just kept enjoying the moment and the moments just kept coming!
Nine weeks into my relationship with Kelly, my life changed forever. It was a joyous moment, the proudest moment of my life, but it arrived into my ears in a less than joyous manner. It was a Saturday morning. Kelly was in her bathroom in Ealing and I was laying on her bed, naked and star shaped after a heavy Friday night out and a follow-up sex session on Saturday morning. If we had sex on Friday night when I was full of beer and then again on Saturday morning when everything was still recovering from the previous outing, I could fool Kelly twice over that I was good at this game! After this particular Saturday morning session, I watched euphorically as Kelly’s naked bottom bounced along to the bathroom, saw the door shut in front of me, heard the urine jets go into maximum thrust and then a minute later heard that anxious, shrill yelp!
“Oh my God! I don’t believe this!”
As a man emboldened by nine weeks of making love to a bewitching, fascinating woman, I had this primitiv
e cry down to either being some kind of post-coital orgasm or I thought perhaps my girth had somehow managed to damage Kelly’s internal lady parts. I was completely wrong! Kelly opened the door looking panic stricken.
“What’s the matter, gorgeous?”
“Roddy, you are not going to believe this! I’m pregnant!”
Dot
My son was dying. Life challenges you in all sorts of ways, financially, emotionally, spiritually, yet we soldier on, making the best of every day but nothing can ever prepare you for losing a child. I was sixty three years old, Richie was thirty two, it did not really feel like he had had a proper life, just the beginning. To watch as that life was slowly pulled away from him just felt dreadfully wrong. He should not have been going to his grave before me. It felt like someone was playing a sick joke on me and I wanted to tell them to stop, but I couldn’t.
As a teenager, Richie had been diagnosed with testicular cancer. He had a testicle removed but the cancer had not spread and after a scare that had rocked our family to its foundations, normality prevailed and Richie went back to living a normal life. He married a lovely girl called Jemma, who I was wrongly a little wary of at first, because she had had a chequered past, but Jemma turned out to be perfect for Richie, I could not have handpicked a better match and they had two children together, Melissa and Jamie, who are the apple of their Granny’s eye.
One rare, sunny summer’s evening, I was sat in our lounge watching Emmerdale when the phone rang. I had been out in the garden earlier in the evening, doing a spot of weeding, so Charlie had recorded Emmerdale . I remember I nearly didn’t answer the phone as it was all kicking off in the Woolpack and then I remembered that I could pause it, so that was what I did. It was Richie.
I recall that he was very upbeat, very concerned about me worrying too much, but he calmly explained that his cancer was back. This time, he explained, he had a little bit more of a fight on his hands as the cancer had spread and was now in his lungs.