Forever Is Over (38 page)

Vomit Breath strode towards the kitchen door, as she passed me, she sneered down at me like an upper class lady on her way to Royal Ascot, looking down at a pile of dog poo that obstructed her path. She
could not resist aiming one last kick into my back, as I lay prostrate on
the floor, dripping blood onto the kitchen linoleum.

“
Kids,
”
she muttered to herself as she went in search of the dual
comforts of fags and booze,
“
who
’
d fucking
‘
ave
‘
em!
”

Kelly and I just stood at the top of the stairs like pyjama clad
mannequins. We looked at each other and then looked at Vomit Breath
sprawled in a heap at the bottom of the stairs. My emotions were
everywhere. Panic, fear and joy were all jumbled together, it even
crossed my mind to throw a bucket of water down to see if the
‘
Wicked
Witch
’
theory had any mileage. Panic ruled though. Since she had
toppled down the stairs in a series of rolls and somersaults that Mary
Lou Retton had spent ten years perfecting, there was silence. Vomit
Breath had uttered none of her customary
“
f
”
words, she did not moan
or groan or even move, she just lay there, as still as a snowman on a
wind free day. Kelly broke the stunned silence.

“
Oh my god!
”
she exclaimed anxiously, then repeated it in a more
drawn out fashion,

“
OH
…
MY
…
GOD!
”

“
Quick!
”
I replied.

I don
’
t know what I wanted Kelly to do quickly or, for that matter,
what I should be doing quickly, I just felt a sense of urgency should be
demanded

“
What do we do?
”
Kelly asked.

“
I
’
ll go check on her.
”
I suggested, feeling a sense of duty once more
to take the senior role.

“
What should I do?
”
Kelly demanded.

“
Go and get a mirror.
”

“
Why?
”
Kelly asked.

“
Remember the Birch
’
s party. Caroline Billingham got a mirror to
check if James was breathing. Go and get one!
”

I ran down the stairs. My heart beat twice on every step. Vomit
Breath was still out cold. Once I reached the bottom, I wasn
’
t sure what
I was supposed to be doing, she was face down, arse up. I had seen on
television that you weren
’
t supposed to move people in case of paralysis,
but it seemed wrong to leave her upside down. I leaned over Vomit
Breath and gently rolled her over, so her head was facing up on my lap.
There was blood, thick blood, oozing out of her nose and ears.

Kelly looked down from the top of the stairs, her hand mirror
clutched tightly in her hand. She was in tears.

“
I can
’
t come down there, Jemma! I can
’
t!
”

I tried to be comforting. I spoke softly and slowly.

“
Kelly, leave the mirror there at the top of the stairs. I will come and
fetch it. What you need to do now is to go back to your room, get back
into bed, go to sleep and pretend nothing has happened. Once you hear
anyone arriving, turn over, let them come and wake you.
”

Kelly was incredulous.

“
You seriously expect me to go to sleep?
”

“
No, Kelly, but I need you to get back into bed. Once anyone arrives,

you need to at least pretend you have been fast asleep. Wait for them to
wake you. As far as they know, you slept through everything. You
’
re a
heavy sleeper, you didn
’
t hear an argument, you didn
’
t hear a thud, just
ask them what
’
s happened. OK?
”

I needed her to be strong for me. Kelly needed to keep everything
together.

“
Jemma, I
’
m not leaving you on your own with her.
”

“
Kelly, you can
’
t just stand there procrastinating, either get back into
bed or bring me that mirror now!
”

The word
“
procrastinate
”
took me back to the halcyon days of
Ormskirk Grammar School and English lessons with Miss Caldicott.
I think we were in for more than a detention this time.

“
Is she dead, Jemma?
”

“
I really don
’
t know, Kel. If you bring me that mirror, I
’
ll have a
better idea.
”

Kelly ran down. Whilst she had been deliberating, I had been
frantically, but tactfully, searching for some sign of life from Vomit
Breath, she didn
’
t appear to be breathing, so I checked for a pulse. I
couldn
’
t find one. This did not unduly concern me as I often tried to find
my own pulse, but couldn
’
t find that either. I searched for a heartbeat on
her chest, nothing. By now, my own heart was beating like the hooves
of Desert Orchid galloping on a concrete road. There had been so many
times I had wished this woman dead, but given the circumstances, this
time I wanted her alive. I would be quite happy if she died some time
soon, in a pool of her own vomit, on some kerbside outside a nightclub,
but just now I did not want her dead. Please not now. Kelly passed me
the mirror.

“
Shit!
”
I cursed.

“
Does that mean she
’
s dead or alive?
”
Kelly pressed.

I suppose all things considered, it was a lose-lose situation. Damned
if she
’
s dead, damned if she
’
s not.
I didn
’
t say a word, I didn
’
t need to. I just looked up at Kelly. We
were sisters. We had both had to endure this woman throughout our
lives. Not any more though. Vomit Breath had died. No more drunken
men pumping away at her groaning body at four in the morning. No
more punishments for failing to conform to her wishes. No more insults.
No more Vomit Breath. We should have been putting our red shoes on
and partying on down with the
‘
Munchkins
’
, and we would have done,
we really would, if only the circumstances had been different. As Kelly
and I stared at her lifeless body, we knew the nature of that evil woman
’
s
death would haunt us for the rest of our lives.

Richie

Sleep deprivation had become a by-product of the lump. Every
waking second its existence was there, somewhere in my sub-conscious
mind. Masturbation, the dosage of choice of teenage male insomniacs,
failed to assist. Even when I did manage to doze off, I would wake in
the middle of the night and instinctively reach down to check the lump
was still there, which it always was, like a scrotal Quasimodo. That was
the first thing I would do upon waking. The second thing I would do,
was panic.

I was almost eighteen years old. My mortality should not have been
at the forefront of my mind, I should have been thinking about drunken
nights out and sexual encounters. The only lumps that bothered me
should have been squeezed out forcefully into bathroom mirrors. Before
the lump, I thought I had a bit of depth to my character, but in reality
I had as much depth as the shallow end of a toddlers swimming pool,
but that began to change. I pondered the unanswerable questions,

“
Where would I go when I died?
”

“
Would there be a heaven? If there was, had I done anything in
my eighteen years to qualify for an entrance pass beyond the pearly
gates?
”

Two jumble sales for
“
Guide Dogs For The Blind
”
was the best I
ever managed to come up with! What about Hell? Anything warrant my
inclusion on the Devil
’
s guest list? I suspected there was more on that
list than on Angel Gabriel
’
s. I spent many a pre-teenage summer frying
flying ants on my Mum
’
s electric hob or put
ting insects into pans of cold
water then boiling them. I had also kept creatures in Tic-Tac boxes until
they starved or suffocated. Ming the Merciless had nothing on me!

Not only had I done bad things, I had failed to do the good ones.
I hadn
’
t prayed, I hadn
’
t attended church, most importantly I hadn
’
t
believed. I wanted a faith now, even more than that, or perhaps linked
to that faith, I wanted courage. Courage to go to the Doctor
’
s and
courage to deal with whatever news he delivered. I felt like the lion in
the Wizard of Oz.

My mind was constantly working overtime. As soon as I visualised
solutions to certain questions, new questions emerged. If I did get the
courage to go to the Doctor
’
s and he decided I had six weeks to live,
what would I do and who would I tell? Would it be courageous or
selfish to run away and die alone like a sick old cat? I decided, until it
came to a stage that my illness became evident, the only person I would
tell would be Kelly. I could mentally picture her holding my hand as I
slipped tragically away like a scene in an Australian soap opera, even to
the extent that I had some white coated Aussie running in as the flatline
sounded, shouting,

“
Strewth! The flaming gulahs copped it!
”

The others I considered telling were my Mum and Dad, my two
sisters and Jim, but I decided, Mum, Helen and Caroline would suffocate
me with kindness before the cancer got me and Jim would spend my
final few weeks saying,

“
I told you so!
”

As for Dad, I concluded that he would probably put every penny
the family had on a 66-1 shot running at Brighton, on the basis that if
it won, he would pay for me to trial some miracle cure.

It wasn
’
t hard to decide that confiding in Kelly was my only real
option. Kelly was smart and tactile, so she would say the right things and
provide the necessary amount of hugs needed. That was the intention
anyway. Sometimes though, where you set off towards and where you
arrive at, can be two totally different destinations.

Richie

It was never my intention to go to the match with him. I had always
had the impression that he was a token Evertonian, that maybe his Dad
had supported us and he had just followed suit and feigned an interest,
but Ray was Kelly
’
s sister
’
s boyfriend and Kelly
’
s sister still didn
’
t like
me, so it felt like I was duty bound to agree to it. It wasn
’
t just any old
game either, it was Everton against Norwich, FA Cup Semi-Final and
the winner, in all likelihood, would face Liverpool in the Final, as it
was widely anticipated that they would overcome Nottingham Forest
in the other semi. I had been to the Final in 1986 when Liverpool had
beaten Everton 3-1, despite Everton leading 1-0. Since then, Liverpool
had probably become even better and Everton were no longer as good,
but another Merseyside final would give the blue side of Merseyside an
opportunity to avenge this defeat.