Forever Is Over (30 page)

Ray was not a stereotypically handsome man but I found him
attractive. He was very tall, over six feet, but was very slim, skinny
even. A high jumper
’
s frame. He probably weighed less than ten stone.
He was dark haired and freckled, his hair was curly too which helped
cover up his ears as they protruded. I remember an old school friend of
Ray
’
s once came into the Middleland and called Ray,
“
Plug
”
. I presumed
the reason for this was because he bore an uncanny resemblance to the
character in the Dandy. Luckily for Ray, it was not a nickname that had
followed him into adulthood.

Over the next twelve months, Ray and I grew closer. I always
felt as though Ray enjoyed the fact that he thought he was dating an
intellectual inferior, so he could lead and I could follow. He enjoyed the
relationship being on a teacher and pupil type basis. He did teach me a lot, I had absolutely no understanding of politics or world affairs and I 
did became a better informed individual through Ray. Ray was a true
blue Conservative, but from what he told me, I think my political views
were moderate, SDP seemed like the right party for me.

At work, Ray decided the relationship should be kept under wraps
from our colleagues, as the bank tended to frown upon relationships
between two staff members within the same branch. With the branch
performing well in Regional tables, Ray did not want our relationship
to be the cause of him moving on. I am sure a few of the staff guessed,
but we remained colleagues only at work. For my part, I decided to keep
Ray away from my house and, in particular, Vomit Breath. If he walked
me home, I avoided inviting him in. If we were going out somewhere,
like the cinema, I would watch out of Kelly
’
s window until he arrived
and then run out down the path before he had an opportunity to make
it to the door. I gave him a full briefing about Vomit Breath, so he
knew she was a nasty piece of work, but in the early stages, I did not
want him to see for himself. After six months of dating though, Ray
decided he wanted to meet Vomit Breath
“
in the flesh
”
as
“
she can
’
t be
all bad
”
. So, we agreed that one Saturday evening, Ray would come to
our house and I would do something for our tea before heading out for
a couple of drinks.

There was plenty to like about Ray but he was a stubborn man, very
opinionated and seldom admitted he
was wrong. After his encounter
with Vomit Breath that Saturday evening, he was quick to retract his
statement that Vomit Breath
“
can
’
t be all bad
”
. He admitted people, or
Vomit Breath anyway, could be
“
all bad
”
! Ray was very keen for a first
visit, but not so keen for a second. After t
hat first encounter, I stopped
having to use Kelly
’
s room as a lookout point, Ray would just sit in his
car and await my arrival. Once bitten, twice shy as they say!

By the thirteenth morning of standing outside Kelly
’
s bedroom
window, I was pretty sure she had no romantic interest in me whatsoever
and just wanted to get back at me for cancelling our date, puking on
her sister
’
s hair and having sex with her sister (a charge I strongly deny),
by humiliating me. On Morning Two, it was not Kelly that opened
the curtains but Claire Northover and I had to perform
“
My Funny
Valentine
”
, a Frank Sinatra classic, in a howling wind, pouring rain and
an over-sized bra. Thank goodness it was another short song!

On Morning Three, it was dry, but a pensioner up early to walk
his dog, stopped on the pavement below me to check what on earth
was going on and hear my rendition of U2
’
s MLK. I had deliberately
incorporated my three shortest songs into the first three days, as I had
deduced that my confidence would increase as the days progressed so
needed to get a few short but sweet songs in first.

Morning Four was another dry one, but I had my biggest audience to
date - four (or five if a dog counts). The pensioner from the previous day
had now brought his wife and Kelly had invited Jemma in to spectate.
Having Jemma watch me was very unnerving. I liked to think Kelly was
on my side and probably found my efforts a little charming but with
Jemma watching, I could just feel the
“
what a dickhead!
”
vibes. I sang
“
Have I Told You Lately
”
and if Van Morrison had been watching, I am
sure he would have dragged me off well before the second verse.

On Morning Five, the rain was back, it was absolutely belting
down. I had decided if Kelly had even a shred of decency, she would
stop me even before I started singing and invite me in for a nice warm
cup of tea. It didn
’
t happen, so I changed my Stevie Wonder song from
“
I Just Called To Say I Love You
”
to
“
For Once In My Life
”
. It was an
attempt at irony that I am sure Kelly didn
’
t appreciate, but I was pretty
sure now that, in contrast to the song I was singing, Kelly did not need
me at all. I should have just told her where to go, there and then, as
there was no-one else around, the pensioners were obviously put off by
the bad weather and Kelly had not invited anyone else along to wallow
in my misery.

Morning Six was actually brilliant, the only day I really enjoyed. I
sang The Beatles
“
When I
’
m 64
”
, at the time, I sang it because I liked it,
we used to sing it in primary school, but now the fact I chose that song
makes me feel incredibly sad. It was a bright, sunny morning, even at
that early hour and once I finished Kelly smiled her beautiful smile in
my direction. I skipped home that day and I even found time to shake
the hand of the pensioner who had brought his dog out to watch once
more.
It was all downhill from there! On Morning Seven, the second
Saturday, I imagine Kelly must have stopped out as he curtains never
opened. She either slept through my rendition, heard it from bed or
woke up elsewhere and laughed at my expense. I began by singing,

“
Something
”
by The Beatles, but when it was evident that I was
performing to an audience of zero, I swopped over to
“
Unforgettable
”
by Nat King Cole. Once again, I sang this for its ironic value. The
pensioner didn
’
t show up either. I was expecting an apology somehow, a
phone call or a call at the door but it did not come. What was I supposed
to do now? Keep on calling or just call it quits? I decided I would arrive
on Morning Eight and if Kelly was still not there or could not be arsed
getting out of bed again, then that was it, I was going to pack in.

I won
’
t bore you with all the details from the following five mornings,
Morning Eight to Morning Twelve, but needless to say, Kelly was back
and I sang my love songs with an ever decreasing amount of gusto.

I must also have lost my novelty value as far as the pensioner was
concerned, as he had stopped attending.

On Morning Thirteen, I sang
“
Songbird
”
the Christine McVie,
Fleetwood Mac classic. Once again, I sang a song that
’
s lyrics were
totally unsuitable for the circumstances, because by now I was utterly
and completely pissed off with the whole thing. I just felt like I was
making a complete fool of myself and when Kelly popped her head out
the window after I
’
d finished, I was ready for her.

“
I
’
m looking forward to tomorrow, Richie! Just the final, naked
performance and then I am happy to draw a line in the sand and go on
that date with you!
”

“
Piss off Kelly!
”

“
Pardon?
”

It was starting to rain. Black clouds gathered together in an almighty
huddle.

“
I
’
m not coming back tomorrow, you can forget it. I
’
ve made myself
look a complete arsehole for the last thirteen days and you
’
ve stripped
me of any dignity that I used to have. There
’
s no way I am stripping
off all my clothes too. You may think it
’
s worth putting me through
this to pay me back for sleeping with your sister, but I have never slept
with your stupid sister! I don
’
t even like your sister, she
’
s an arrogant
bitch! The only reason I
’
ve allowed myself to look this stupid, Kelly
Watkinson, is because I love you. I have wanted to go out with you for
the last two years, but if you don
’
t feel the same, frankly I don
’
t give a
shit any more! Find some other poor sod you can humiliate!
”

I took my mother
’
s bra off and threw it at her window, then I
stormed down the path and back to
“
The Windmill
”
to collect my
clothes. By now, it was really throwing it down and I arrived back at
the side of the pub just in time to see that stray mongrel from the other
day, cocking its leg up on my clothes. Bloody typical!

By the time I was halfway up Prescot Road in my piss stinking
clothes, I was completely soaked. Thunder came, followed by lightning,
followed by my tears. I felt like jumping on someone
’
s roof, borrowing
their TV aerial, strapping it to my back and seeing if one of those
lightning bolts could come and finish me off. Why had I allowed myself
to look so stupid? I hated myself for this and, for a short while, I hated
Kelly just as much.

I arrived home feeling cold and miserable. As I walked in, my Dad
was sat in the kitchen, drinking a cup of tea and listening to Radio
Two.

“
Good morning, son! Where have you been? Out trying to impress
that girl again?
”

Bloody Caroline! Sometimes I thought I could trust her, but she
had a big mouth!

“
That was the last time. I
’
ve made an idiot of myself, Dad.
”

My Dad took a sip of his tea.

“
Son, you
’
re not the first lad to make a fool of himself for a woman
and you certainly won
’
t be the last! A little bird tells me she
’
s called
Kelly. A very nice girl so I
’
m told, she certainly sounds very nice!
”

How much had Caroline told him? I was going to kick her in the
shins when she woke up!

“
I thought she was nice, Dad. I
’
ve changed my mind now!
”

“
Why
’
s that then?
”

“
She
’
s made me do things I shouldn
’
t have done.
”