Forever Is Over (109 page)

“
I am not sure many men have such detailed conversations with their mothers!
”

Mum laughed too.

“
Because they are not lucky enough to have a mother like me!
”

“
I suppose not!
”

“
Do you want a scone, love? I made them this morning!
”

“
That
’
d be nice!
”

“
Butter and jam?
”

“
Yes, please. I
’
ll just nip to your loo before I eat.
”

Mum stood up to go and make the scones, I followed her out the
room to head to the loo. Before I went, I
nipped into the porch to check
on Jamie who was flat out in his pushchair, looking like butter wouldn
’
t
melt. I then headed upstairs to Mum and Dad
’
s main bathroom, there
was a downstairs toilet, but there was a low
ceiling in there and I tended
to forget post-pee, so the upstairs bathroom was a safer option.

Every time I went back to Mum and Dad
’
s, for nostalgic reasons,
I always looked into the old bedroom that I used to share with Jim.
Dad now used it as an office, but he had never got round to having a
proper clear out, so a lot of our stuff was still there. I peered in and then
decided, given I wasn
’
t too desperate for a wee, that I would have a little
look around whilst Dad was out. I sat at his desk, he was a right scruffy
bugger, he had work papers everywhere. All the top drawers were full
of Dad
’
s work stuff, but a lot of mine and Jim
’
s stuff was stuffed into
the bottom drawers, so I pulled one o
r two open and started to look
through.

One drawer was full of my old Roy of the Rovers comics. When I
was seven, I had announced to Mum and Dad that I no longer wanted
the Beano every week, but instead wanted Roy Of The Rovers. I have
no idea what happened to my copies o
f the Beano but once I started
receiving the
‘
Roy Of The Rovers
’
, I would not throw any away. This
hoarding has continued from that day forward, after Roy of The Rovers,
it was Shoot, then Record Mirror and then Q! As I opened the drawer,
the top copy was the classic issue where Melchester Rovers emulated
Dallas and Roy was shot by Elton Blake. The front cover had a black
border, hinting at the possibility of Roy dying and
‘
Get Well
’
wishes
were inside from many stars of the day, including Eric Morecambe. I
was momentarily excited that this issue could be worth a few quid until
I remembered that I had taken the middle pages out to blue tack the
poster of the footballer in the middle on to my bedroom wall. I don
’
t
even remember which footballer it was, I did that every week, so I had
four years worth of
‘
Roy Of The Rovers
’
comics all with the middle four
pages missing!

I opened a second drawer. It was full of old photographs. I started
to flick through them, they were stereotypical family albums of the
seventies and eighties, mainly containing photos of Helen, Caroline,
Jim and I with bad haircuts and dodgy clothing. Someone had arranged
them in some sort of chronological order, so there were the baby photos,
then the naked paddling pool shots, then the children
’
s party photos
with the magicians, Jimco and Fredco and then the teenage year shots,
Helen playing
‘
Simon & Garfunkel
’
on her
‘
Frisco Disco
’
, Caroline
crimping her hair, Jim looking like the bastard child of Johnny Cash
and me looking like I thought a Kappa
kagool was the coolest fashion
item ever invented. I laughed when I saw one photo of Caroline with a
mass of blonde curls, cuddling up to a very youthful Nick Birch. That
was a collector
’
s item, as Caroline had been with Donna, her girlfriend
for years. By this point, Caroline had still not officially
‘
outed
’
herself
to Mum and Dad, which was ridiculous, as Mum and Dad had long 
since guessed and always put the pair of them in a double bed when they
came over from Yorkshire to stay.

A third drawer was full of school reports. Jim and Helen
’
s reports
were at the front, I presumed this was because they were the academic
ones and would have had the better reports. The
‘
lesser
’
reports of
mine and Caroline
’
s were probably hidden away at the back. I pulled
the drawer out as far as it could go, as I did so, I could see something
behind the drawer, it seemed to be some post that had fallen down
the back of the drawer, probably because at some point the drawer had
been overfilled. The first thing that struck me was that the postal items
seemed to have blood on them. I put my arm in, behind the drawer and
felt around, there seemed to be quite a few of them so I pulled them all
out, one by one. It was crumpled old post. There were thick droplets of
blood on each of them, I thought it was all junk mail at first, but as I
looked at them individually, I discovered some were old, opened bills
and reminder letters, addressed to Dad. The very last one I came to, was
in a white envelope, handwritten and I squinted to make out the name
behind the blood, it was addressed to me. As soon as I realised it was
addressed to me, my heart started pounding, as I knew who it was from.
I was about to open it when I heard a shout from downstairs,

“
Richie, what
’
s taking so long? Are you having a poo? I
’
ve made you
another coffee, it
’
ll go cold!
”

“
I
’
ll be down in a sec, Mum,
”
I yelled back,
“
I
’
m just having a root
around my old room.
”

“
Tidy it up whilst you
’
re in there!
”
Mum shouted,
“
it
’
s a pig sty, but
your father doesn
’
t allow me to clean his precious office! It
’
s the one
room in the house that is always a mess!
”

I was about to tear open my letter and then I stopped myself. I
needed to get things straight in my head first, wanted to understand who
knew what, so I gathered up all the bloodied post and took it straight
downstairs. I was bursting for a
wee by now, but it could wait.

             
Mum was already back in the lounge.

“
Have your coffee, Richie, it
’
ll be ready to drink.
”

I put the letters down on the coffee table in front of Mum. I felt
like a detective, presenting the evidence to an accomplice to a murder
to gauge her reaction.

“
Mum, what are these?
”

Mum leaned forward to take a closer look.

“
They
’
re letters. They
’
ve got blood on Richie! Are you OK?
”

“
It
’
s not my blood! What are they?
”

“
I
’
ve no idea.
”

“
They
’
re letters and bills from 1996,
”
I picked up the one in the
white envelope,
“
this one is addressed to me, it
’
s from Kelly.
”

             
Mum took the envelope o
ut of my hands and studied it.

             
“
How do you know it
’
s from Kelly, if it isn
’
t open?
”

“
It
’
s her writing.
”

Mum passed it back to me. I could tell she really wanted me to open
it there and then, but Mum was a right old nosey parker, always had
been and now I had established she knew nothing about it, I wanted to
open it in private.

“
Open it then!
”

“
I will, Mum. Just not now.
”

Mum understood.

“
You mean, not whilst your interfering mother is around! I know!
What are these others?
”

Mum began to pick up each piece of junk mail and then each bill.
She studied the opened ones carefully.

“
These are final reminders, Richie! I don
’
t understand, your father
always says we don
’
t have any money worries.
”

“
Did you have any in 1996?
”

“
Not that I know of. It doesn
’
t make sense, some of these bills are
from credit card companies that I still use, as a second card on your
father
’
s account.
”

I didn
’
t understand what Mum meant.

“
So?
”

“
Well, if the bills weren
’
t paid, they wouldn
’
t let us carry on using
the cards, surely?
”

“
Maybe it was a temporary problem back in 1996,
”
I said,
“
maybe
Dad sorted it.
”

Mum seemed flabbergasted by this whole revelation. I was less so. I
knew Dad had borrowed money off
‘
Kiffer
’
in the past. Men with money
do not borrow from loan sharks like
‘
Kiffer
’
.

“
Maybe
”
.

I could tell Mum was furious. I knew Dad was going to walk
straight into a row when he came home.
Mum placed everything back on the coffee table, so I picked them up again and started sifting through them, trying to make some sense
out of this mystery.

“
The thing I don
’
t understand though,
”
I said,
“
is why he
’
s hidden
an unopened letter for me and some stuff about H.R.T and catalogues
for you, as well as all the reminder notices?
”

“
And
”
, Mum added,
“
why does everything have blood on?
”

As Mum
’
s question lingered in the air, we heard the sound of a key
penetrating the front door
’
s lock and then the sound of a front door
opening.

“
Dorothy, I
’
m back!
”
my Dad announced warmly.

Dad had been over to see his brother, Billy in Wavertree. My Mum
and Uncle Billy had never seen eye to eye, so she had opted out of
joining Dad, making the excuse that she needed to stick around to help me with Jamie. I thought they probably didn
’
t get on because they were
too similar, both too outspoken.