A Cockney's Journey (39 page)

    Big mistake, she even called me a cab. I had nowhere to go except the club, so I spent a few nights sleeping on the club’s benches. Well, the place was so damp during the night, the inevitable happened; I caught a bad chest infection. Sue felt sorry for me and let me back home, but I knew my life with her was coming to a close; I actually felt uncomfortable in my own home. I can understand that Sue had had enough and wanted to start a new life without me. I mean, I wasn’t the greatest husband ever to grace this planet. However, I did care for her and really loved my sons. But the way she went about ending our relationship was uncalled for and downright out of order.
    Near the end of October, Eltham United were playing away in cup games, so I wasn’t at the club. Sue, as usual, was running the bar and the club was busy, with three games going on. It was five to twelve when some guy walked into the club and asked for a pint of Guinness. Sue obliged. Unfortunately, this was a set-up. The guy was actually a licence officer from the local nick. He promptly shut the bar for serving alcohol outside the regulated times. Now, the bar was the lifeline of the club and without it we were finished. The guy on the corner finally got what he wanted or so he thought.
    After losing the club’s licence, I knew that if we didn’t pay the £1,000 per month bills, the club would automatically get shut down, so I chatted up the local publican and he agreed to get a temporary licence in his name for the club, naming Sue as bar manager. We meet at Greenwich magistrates and were granted a licence. Well, the guy on the corner went ballistic. He marched into the club in a frenzy under the influence of alcohol, swearing abuse at Sue and me. He shoved his face in mine and shouted belligerent remarks, but I stood my ground and kept schtum. With the help of others, we calmly ordered him off the premises. He screamed and shouted that he wasn’t finished with me, not by a long way yet. Somewhere deep inside I knew this guy would destroy my dream, I just knew it, and there was fuck all I could do to prevent him, and that sadly was the case!
    At the end of November 1996, the month’s licence had expired and yet again we had to go to court to get a further 28-day licence, which was granted by Greenwich magistrates. The club was barely keeping its head above water, due to the restrictions on our licence. Every time we applied for an extension, we got declined. Consequently, we had to shut at eleven and nobody would book the club for private functions. Then, in January our application was heard at Woolwich magistrates court for some reason, and the court decided not to renew it. Apparently, the reason given was that the publican who was doing the honours for us had some serious grief at his own boozer and they thought it was in the public’s best interest. What a load of bollocks! We were just a sports club who never had any aggro during or after the club’s opening times.
    I refused to give the club up and soldiered on until May 1997. For five months, I kept the club going on no income, watching teams leave directly after their games and constantly fobbing-off creditors. During the month of March, it constantly rained, causing all the pitches to become waterlogged. This was a hard time, as I had no dosh and the club was thousands in debt. So, early one Sunday morning, after borrowing a few quid, I took a chance and drove to B&Q and bought six bags of sand for the main pitches and goalmouths. Well, I only had three weeks left of my ban, but in hindsight, it was a stupid thing to do. All I did was load a certain person’s gun. I arrived with the sand at the club at around 9:15 p.m. Surprise, surprise! Waiting for me were three old Bill. They were given a tip-off that I would arrive at this time, so I got nicked for driving on a ban with no insurance. During April, my ban was up and I started back on the tools again, working for a company in Dulwich. I also appeared in court for driving on a ban. On arriving, my brief informed me that I would probably get a three year ban, or, at worst, 6 months inside.
    
Great!
I thought. I’d only just gone back to work; this just gets better and better. While I sat in the dock, my mind constantly churned over the fact that I knew Sue was having an affair. I felt totally alone and depressed. The judge who thankfully was in a good mood interrupted my thoughts.
    “Stand up, Eddie. I’ve listened to your solicitor and decided not to give you a further ban. Instead I’m ordering that you do 250 hours community service.”
    
Blimey,
I thought,
a little bit of luck at last!
    Well, forgive me for not being over the moon, as my tad bit of luck didn’t last long. Over the next five weeks my whole world collapsed, with a run of devastating and catastrophic events.
    The last two weeks of May and the first three weeks of June 1997 started with the inevitable collapse of the club. After the electric was cut off, I had no choice but to accept that my dream was over. Then followed my marriage. Sue suggested that we had a trial separation and I reluctantly agreed. That was nearly nine years ago. So my life with Sue ended and the club now had so many debts that I had no choice but to disband it after ten years. I then found myself homeless and, to rub salt into the wound, QPR got relegated from the Premiership. All this in the space of five horrendous weeks!
    My marriage break-up was extremely bitter. To be honest, I can’t be arsed to trouble my brain with the shit that followed. All I will say is, lies, lies and even more lies followed. Unfortunately Daniel and Stephen believed every word. At the end of the day, they are grown adults, and it was their choice to disown me. Anyway, the council reckoned that if I signed over the house to Sue, they would re-house me, so I did exactly that. Within weeks, I was offered a bedsit, which I gleefully accepted. I recall my first night; I sat on my suitcase drinking wine while waiting for my takeaway to be delivered. My mind drifted back to Gupta. Bloody hell, everything he said had happened. Is it possible that another human being could read someone’s life, past, present and future, by just simply tapping into his or her mind? The knocking on my front door disturbed my thoughts. My takeaway had arrived and not before time; I was ravenous. While I sat munching on my pizza, I started asking myself questions.
    
Where are they all now? My so-called friends and loyal players, nowhere that’s where, every last one of them disowned me.
    I must admit to feeling a bit scared. I felt like I was pulled from my goldfish bowl and dumped into the ocean. This was the first time since I was fifteen that I found myself alone, but this time it was different. I had no friends or family to help me through; it was just me against the world, a very daunting prospect!
    Over the next few months, to say I started to lose the plot would be an understatement. I drove to work in a van fit for the scrapyard, bent MOT, tax and insurance. Believe me when I say I had no choice. The van was unrepairable and it would never in a million years pass its MOT and I was not in a financial position to buy a new one. My bedsit had nothing but a single clapped-out bed, so my priorities lay elsewhere. My community service took up every Saturday and took me nearly a year to complete. Having said that, I must admit to really looking forward to every Saturday. I would stay in Friday nights so I was totally fresh and on the ball. Looking after disabled children filled me with different emotions - emotions that touched the very core of my soul. It was an unbelievably humbling and rewarding experience.
    Anyway getting back to that knackered van, I recall driving to work on a frosty November morning, when suddenly there was a loud bang and scraping sound coming from the rear. I pulled over and jumped out of the van. Rushing to the rear, I noticed to my horror the tail of the van had sunk, squashing the exhaust. I opened the rear doors and to my astonishment, both shock absorbers had smashed their way through both wheel arches and were poking up looking at me, as if to say, “fucked you now, son!”
    Well, it being a Friday morning and payday, I decided to bodge the van up, thinking that it’s imperative that this sack of shit gets me to work. I jacked up the van until the shock absorbers disappeared from inside. I then straightened out four jiffy hangers and, using my cordless, started drilling holes so I could bolt the lot together onto what was left of my arches. Forgive me for blowing my own trumpet, but I reckon I must have been an engineer in a previous life. I let the jack down, half expecting the lot to crash through, but it never. I jumped into the van and drove slowly to work. Now, if that had happened ten minutes earlier, I would have been stuck halfway through the Blackwall tunnel! I remember years earlier breaking down in yet another old banger in the middle of the Rotherhithe tunnel on my way to work. My God, what a fiasco! I caused a three mile tailback to bloody Deptford! Surprisingly, I never got nicked.
    Eventually I had both arches welded by a work colleague, bit of a bodge, but what do ya expect for a score? Anyway, the arches lasted longer than the bloody van.
    It was during this period that I made a few errors in judgement, and I mean big errors. I want to try and explain how I felt; it was like a bereavement, like something had died inside of me and I couldn’t accept it, half expecting to wake up and it never happened. The feelings I encountered were alien to my mind and heart, so the only way I could deal with it was to act like I didn’t give a toss, but in reality I was dying inside of a broken heart. But in true Eddie fashion, I buried it! To this day, I still refuse to show any feelings when someone hurts me and believe me, there’s been a few who have tried. However, I no longer have to carry on with the act and the true Eddie has emerged from all the heartache and disappointments.
    Daniel’s wedding, oh boy, why did I behave in such a childish manner? My only excuse was the way I was feeling, which at the time was completely alienated from everyone. So, in my infinite wisdom, I decided to be the centre of attention, which I hasten to add, didn’t go down too well with Daniel, or the other guests. To this day, I still beat myself up over my stupid actions. I mean, why I took a call on my mobile during the wedding reception speeches dumbfounds me. I think my actions stemmed from my experience at the church. I stood outside while the photos were being taken. Nobody spoke to me; it was like I was on parole for mass murder. I’ve never felt so stranded in a sea of guests. Everyone ignored me and even the brief conversations with Daniel and Stephen were strained. I couldn’t even buy them a wedding present, due to the fact I was so bloody skint.
    Anyway for what its worth, I’m truly sorry for that day. Over the next few weeks, I eventually found myself a job working in Southwark, refurbishing the council’s empty properties. At last, I started to get myself a bit straight; unfortunately, my elbows and wrist started to give me a lot of grief, ultimately ending up with cortisone injections every four months just so I could work free from pain. I recall taking the morning off work to have my injections and afterwards I visited the council offices in Grove Park, to see if there were any chances of me getting a flat. I explained to them that my bedsit was so small I couldn’t even get a fridge or cooker in the gaff and as for a washing machine, well let’s just say a yellow builder’s bucket was mine. The housing officer informed me that hell had more chance of freezing over than I did of getting a flat. No points, none at all, he told me. I left the offices totally dejected and seriously pissed off.
    On the plus side, my new job seemed to be going OK, thankfully, because I was spending a fortune on dry-cleaning and bloody takeaways. Edward would come and visit me nearly every evening and, on quite a few occasions, we went to the pictures or bowling. He was the only one, and I mean only one, who stood by me through all the lies and accusations. I think deep in his heart he knew the real truth, and never believed the lies that were started in a vain attempt to destroy me. Poor Edward; he had to sit on the fence and say nothing. He’s a good kid. When I think back to the day he was born, so tiny and fragile, who’d have thought that this little weenie bundle of joy would later in life kick his old man’s arse on the golf course? Brilliant, utterly brilliant! I won’t mention the badminton either, ha ha, too close to call.
    Over the next couple of months, I started dating a girl from the office at work. She was ten years younger than me, and really great fun to be around. To say she was vivacious would be an understatement. We just simply hit it off; she liked the things I liked and vice versa. It didn’t last a heartbeat, thanks to Sue, who thought it was OK for her to have a fella, but not for me to have a girlfriend. Unfortunately, my bedsit was on the ground floor and Jackie and I had just returned with a bottle of wine. We were sat on the floor, listening to music and chatting, when suddenly I heard screaming and swearing from outside, then to my horror the front room windows smashed, covering Jackie and the whole room in glass. She screamed and jumped up in shock. Sue was on the other side of the broken windows, hurling a torrent of abuse at me. I just looked at her, shaking my head in disbelief. Well, as you can imagine, Jackie didn’t take too kindly to what happened and a week later gave me the Ole Spanish-Archer routine, ‘El, Bow’. I don’t think she appreciated the fact I wouldn’t inform the old Bill. I just bought new glass and repaired the windows myself. The only reason I mentioned the window incident was because it has a bearing later on. Soon after, I decided enough was enough and started divorce proceedings with my solicitors for two acts of adultery. I must admit to being a bit reluctant to divorce Sue. I still found it hard to accept that there wasn’t a chance in hell of repairing our marriage. Well, when you’ve spent from the age of fifteen till forty-one with the same person, surely you can understand how much it hurt?

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
    A few weeks later, I was working in a house in Bermondsey, when I got a call on my mobile.
    “Can I speak to Eddie Allen, please?” the voice asked.
    “Yeah, speaking. What can I do for ya?” I said. I didn’t recognise the guy’s voice.
    “My name is Mr. Sands. I work in the rehousing office in Grove Park. Something extraordinary has happened, Eddie. The computer has offered you a one bedroomed flat. Your name has been put forward for rehousing by the computer system, and seeing as everything that occurs in the council evolves around the system, I am legally bound to make you the offer.”
    I paused for a moment, thinking there must be some sort of mistake. “Are you sure you’ve got the right person?” I asked in an uncertain tone.
    “Absolutely,” he assured me. “When can you come and view the property?”
    My mind was buzzing with thoughts.
My own flat? Bloody hell, what a touch but how and why? There’s gotta be a mistake surely?
    “I’ll be there in an hour, if that’s OK?” I said excitedly.
    “That’ll be fine. The quicker the better; the council don’t like leaving their properties empty for too long,” he said.
    After finishing the call, I stood near my van, feeling slightly dazed and confused.
I bet you any money, Eddie boy, that you’ll leg it down there and find out it’s all been a big cock-up,
I thought to myself. Thankfully I never listened and screeched down the road like a rally driver. I actually got from Bermondsey to Grove Park in half an hour; my poor old van just about made it. On arriving at the offices, I asked if I could just sign for the flat here and now. The housing officer explained that I had to view the flat first, and that he was coming with me. So we walked around the corner to view my flat, which was five minutes away. Well, you could have knocked me down with a feather; I just loved the place, so I did the honours and signed. I moved into my new home on the fifteenth of February - my forty-second birthday! How strange was that? Well, not really! That’s Karma, believe me. As I have said all the way through, the spirit world had guided me to where I am today for a reason, but that reason has not yet been disclosed to me…or has it? I had nothing, literally nothing; no cooker, fridge, freezer, washing machine, settee, bed, wardrobes, cutlery, linen - nothing. And do ya know what? I didn’t care.
    I’d only been in the flat a few weeks when I received a letter from the housing officer, asking me to drop by his office to see him. Well, you can imagine all manner of thoughts were going on in my head. Had they realised they’d made a mistake and decided to take the flat back? Thankfully not, however apparently, someone had phoned the town hall with rumours of corruption and that Yours Truly had bunged Mr. Sands £1,000 to get my flat. Well, what can I say except that same old fucking word, jealousy? But who? I had neither friends nor family, so who could have hated me that much that they wanted to see me in the gutter? Anyway, after explaining to the council that I never had a pot to piss in, let alone £1,000, the matter was dropped. A few weeks later, fate dealt me yet another blow; this time I lost my job. How many bloody times was I going to get laid off? It was during my visits to the job centre that I meet this guy Dave again. I knew him when I lived at my bedsit. He wasn’t a mate at the time, just an acquaintance, or, should I say, drinking partner. Well, if you think I’m a loser you should have met Dave. At least I had bundles of virtues; this guy had sod all.
    Over the next year or so he treated my flat like a hotel and I fed him and lent him money. Why? I hear you ask, simply for the company. Sad eh. Now, I must admit at being a bit naïve on certain issues. Dave always had the sniffles and a runny nose. To be honest, I thought he suffered from hayfever or some sort of allergy. It never occurred to me that he was a junkie. He was smart and always took pride in his appearance and his erratic behaviour I put down to wacky baccy - never had a clue he was bang on crack and cocaine. What a plum I can be sometimes. Anyway, these were desperate times. My van finally gave up the ghost and retired to the local scrapyard, so I was unemployed with no van and my tools were stuffed in the cupboards, waiting to come out and earn me some dosh. I walked for miles looking for work; my £46 a week jobseeker’s allowance lasted five minutes, so consequently I was always polo mint. I lost so much weight at one stage I was a tad thinner round the waist than Edward! Every time I phoned for a job from the local rags I was told it had gone, so I just left my name and number, hoping that I’d get a call if anything cropped up. Well, I did. Three months before Christmas, I got a call offering me a job as a multi-trade in Peckham, so I met this guy called Peter in a café off Rye Lane. He gave me a start and informed me I could use the firm’s old van for getting about in.
    The first four weeks went well; my money was on time every Friday and I was mobile. Then one Monday morning he informed me that I would now be paid on a monthly basis and seeing as it was the middle of November my next payday wouldn’t be until 19th December. I wasn’t happy about it, but at the end of the day I had no choice. So all I had was £200 to last me nearly five weeks. Anyway, I ordered Edward’s Christmas presents and paid a holding deposit until just before the big day. I seriously struggled to make ends meet; the last two weeks I smoked poxy roll-ups and ate sod all. I grafted like mad to finish the job in time for Christmas. Then, on the 20th December, Peter phoned me on my mobile, said he had difficulty getting to me and asked would I meet him in Sidcup, which I agreed to do. After work I left for Homebase’s car park in Sidcup, seriously stressed out. I wanted to bank the cheque that day so it cleared in time for Christmas. I arrived at 5:30 and Peter was already there waiting. He jumped out of his four-by-four with another guy. I started to feel a bit edgy, not sure what was actually happening. He came over smiling and handed me my cheque for £1,700. He then asked for the van’s keys and told me to empty my tools onto the car park’s tarmac. When I asked him why, he just said it’s my van and it’s going in for an MOT in the morning and if it passes I’ll get the van back. So why take my tools out? He reckoned that if it failed and needed lots of work done, it would have to wait until after the holidays. I couldn’t argue with that, so I asked him how I was going to get home with my tools, he just stuffed a score in my hand and told me to get a cab, which I did. The next morning I got a bus into Bromley and paid twelve quid to have my cheque expressed, being reassured by the bank teller that the funds would be there on the 22nd or 23rd. I left the bank sighing with relief.
    My relief lasted two days; the bloody cheque bounced and I was now totally fucked! I tried phoning Peter on his mobile and the office phone: nothing. His mobile just said the number was no longer in service and the office phone had been disconnected. I got a bus home and arrived at my flat at midday, I made myself a coffee and burst into tears, thinking that I’ve let Edward down for Christmas. I tried to get a grip of myself, wracking my brain as to where I could get some dosh, just to get Ed’s pressie. Then a ‘miracle’ happened and I don’t use the word ‘miracle’ lightly. My front doorbell rang at 1 p.m.; standing on my doorstep was this woman asking me if I needed some extra cash for Christmas. Extra cash I thought, I ain’t even got enough to buy a bloody chicken leg, let alone a turkey. I glanced at her clipboard thinking my God, she’s from the Provident, so I signed up and at 9 a.m. Christmas Eve she brings me £500 worth of vouchers. All day it took me. All bloody day, to find what Edward wanted. The shop where I ordered his stuff didn’t take vouchers, and to top it all I lost my deposit. However, I got Ed’s pressie and I bought a hamper and two turkeys from Dewhurst’s butchers. Both turkeys were for my neighbours, who in turn gave me cash, after I gave them a slight discount. So, even though I spent Christmas Eve and day on my own, I still had a beer and a bit of grub. Now that’s a miracle!
    After the New Year, I was again on the hunt for another job. It was during these seriously hard times that my divorce was finalised, after Sue signed an affidavit admitting adultery. Daniel and Stephen in their infinite wisdom decided to disown me, after believing the lies and accusations that flew in my direction from everywhere. Dave shacked up with some old slapper and consequently we only met up occasionally for a beer. I found a new job in Thamesmead, which came with a company van. So once again I started to get straight, Edward and me would go to watch most of QPR’s home games at Loftus Road. Life at last started to look a little bit rosy. I was keeping on top of my bills and started dating a gorgeous blonde called Vicky; my God what a horny bird, and only twenty-eight.
    The next few months were without doubt absolutely sublime! I recall going to a house on the outskirts of Thamesmead; my job sheet included new patio doors and two base units for the kitchen. It was a blazing hot July day as I pulled up outside the house; my mood was sky-high, and I felt really good and chirpy. After introducing myself and showing my ID to the young fella who answered the door, I was told his mother was out for a while, but not to worry just carry on with the work. So I unloaded the van and started on the kitchen’s back patio doors. It was around 11 o’clock when I decided to have my break. I sat in the garden, puffing a fag and drinking my stewed tea from my flask. I was staring up at the sun, getting beautiful hot rays on my mush, when I heard footsteps coming from the kitchen, followed by a quiet gentle voice.
    “Hi, I’m Helen. You’re obviously from the housing association?”
    “Yeah that’s right love, I’m Eddie,” I looked her up and down; very tall at least 6 foot, I thought. Her dress sense told me that years ago she was probably a hippy or a flower-power girl. Her long blonde hair glistened in the sunshine and her pale complexion gave her an angelic appearance, which I thought was quite sweet. I couldn’t hazard a guess at her age, but I reckon she was somewhere in her late forties.
    “Would you like a decent cup of tea? Those flasks always do tea an injustice,” she laughed.
    “Yes please. I’d love one, thanks, and you’re right, I made it at six this morning and it’s stewed already,” I smiled.
    After Helen made the tea, we sat in the sunshine chatting. She was an extremely very friendly lady; my type of person. When we both finished our tea, she disappeared into the house and I carried on with my work. By the end of the day, I’d fitted the patio doors, glazed thirty panels and fitted the locks. While I was packing up my tools, Helen came out and asked me if I fancied a sandwich, and another tea before I drove home. Well, I’ve never turned down a cuppa and today was no exception; so after loading my van I sat in the kitchen and took her up on the invitation. After I’d eaten a lovely ham and mustard sarnie and as we sat chatting, the conversation that followed intrigued me immensely. Helen told me that her house had an unwelcome visitor who came and went. When I asked whom she was referring to, her answer didn’t really shock me; more like surprised me. She reckoned that for the last five months a spirit had moved into the house, apparently it happened after one of her sittings. Now, for some unknown reason, I seem to be drawn to either clairvoyants or mediums during my life; why, I don’t know. Then she made a startling statement.
    “He’s here in the kitchen with us,” she claimed.
    This time it shocked me.
    “Bloody hell, he’s looking for you, Eddie. He’s been waiting for you to come to my house; he knew you would,” she gasped.
    The hairs on my body stood on end, the kitchen felt like I was sitting in a freezer. I instantly knew she wasn’t joking with me. My mind shot back years, thinking of him and his promise that he will never let me go until he had me. I glanced around the kitchen, looking for a sign - anything that would show who it was.
    “Eddie. He says he knows you. He wants you to remember why he will never let you go,” Helen quietly said. “Do you know anyone past or present called Terry?”
    
Fucking hell, it’s Tyzak.
    “No, never heard of anyone called Terry,” I lied.
    “He’s laughing, can’t you hear him?” Helen asked.
    Again I lied. “No, not a sound,” but in truth I was now starting to feel slightly concerned about the faint hideous laugh I could hear.
    I stood up and asked Helen if I could use the toilet, explaining that the tea had gone straight through me. She looked at me, nodding her head and pointed to the toilet door in the hallway. I strolled over to the toilet, entered and shut the door. While I stood over the pan, peeing, I had this strange feeling that I wasn’t alone. Suddenly, the temperature in the toilet dropped to near freezing and my whole body started to tingle. The hairs on my arms bristled to attention as if touched by some unseen force. I felt a rush of icy cold air penetrate my body; all my senses were totally confused. My breath hung in misty balloons before my eyes. I could hear faint whispers in my ears, as if something were sitting inside my eardrums, the whispers were coming out from inside. I turned and reached for the toilet door, my outstretched arm refused to obey my order and open the door. I knew he was in here with me; my body began to tighten like it was held by a giant vice. Suddenly and to my relief the toilet door flung open. Helen stood staring at me, her face contorted with fear and horror.
    “I heard voices. He was in here with you, wasn’t he?” she asked frantically. The sensation left my body and the temperature returned to normal, I knew he’d gone.
    “Yes, he was and he’s still as powerful as ever,” I sighed.
    “So you really do know who he is, then?” she frowned.
    “Unfortunately, yeah. He’s been after me since I was a child,” I said nervously.
    I walked back into the kitchen and lit up a fag, puffing on it like my life depended on it. Helen sat next to me, looking white-faced, her eyes wild with excitement.
    “You say he’s been after you since childhood. Would you like to talk about it?” she asked pensively.
    “No not really, I don’t mean to be rude, Helen, but talking about it won’t change the facts. In any case, it’ll take all night to explain. Maybe another time.”
    Helen gazed into my eyes, “OK that’s fine,” she said.
    I glanced at my watch, realising the time and told her that I had to go. She walked to the front door with me smiling.