Forever Is Over (39 page)

FA Cup Semi Finals were always played at neutral venues, ours was
Villa Park, Birmingham, the other one was at Hillsborough, Sheffield
Wednesday
’
s ground. I had a season ticket at Everton, so managed to
get hold of a couple of tickets for our Semi, but having failed my driving
test three times, I was intending to head down to Villa Park by bus.
That was the plan until Kelly
’
s sister managed to overhear a conversation
Kelly and I were having about me trying to flog my spare ticket so I
could afford to pay for an Eavesway coach down.

It was early one Saturday evening and Kelly and I were watching
Noel
’
s House Party in their lounge. After the bra around the thigh
incident, during my karaoke sessions at Kelly
’
s window, Kelly used to
keep me away from her mother, as I think she decided her Mum would
have me for supper, like a praying mantis, if our paths ever crossed
within their four walls. According to Kelly, her Mum referred to me as
“
F.K
”
(short for
“
Fit Kid
”
!), so to protect my personal safety, I was only
ever invited around on one of the regular nights her Mum was out on
the lash!

On this particular Saturday, I had just related my tal
e of poverty,
as if I was a modern day Jack from the beanstalk story, with the FA
Cup Semi-Final tickets replacing the cow, by being the only thing
I had of value. Jemma must have been earwigging in the hallway as
she popped her head in. I shifted uncomfortably on the settee, hoping
Jemma did not have a strong sense of smell, as we were at the stage of
our relationship where foreplay tended to be the end play, as it had been
ten minutes earlier. I made a mental note not to play these games when
Jemma was also in, she arrived unannounced too frequently and I did
not fancy the idea of being caught mid-spurt.

“
Did I hear you talking about FA Cup Semi Final tickets?
”

There was no
“
hello
”
, no
“
how
’
s it going?
”
Or
“
how are you doing?
”
Just straight in with the question, blunt as ever. Kelly reckoned Jemma
was a changed woman, but certain things remained the same.

“
I
’
ve got two,
”
I replied,
“
I
’
m selling one though
”
.

“
I
’
ll have it!
”
Jemma proclaimed.

It was Saturday 1
st
April, I looked at her face to see if there was any
indications that she was taking the piss. It appeared not.

“
How much do you want for it?
”

“
Just what I paid for it. Face value. Fifteen quid.
”

The  smell of  sperm  was  not the  only  thing  making  me  feel
uncomfortable now. Jemma appeared deadly serious but I really did not
like the idea of going to this game with her. I presumed she could drive
and that she would drive us down. If she did and I gave her the wrong
directions, I could imagine being accused of looking for a lay-by so I
could screw her again, like in her imagination, I already had. I bought
time as I thought of an excuse to turn down her offer.

“
I didn
’
t know
you were into football, Jemma?
Kelly
’
s never
mentioned it.
”

This was a genuine question. Nothing had ever given me the
impression at all, that Jemma was into football. If Colin Harvey,
Everton
’
s manager, had knocked on their door at that very moment, I
still suspected that she would have given him the milk money.

“
I
’
m not!
”

Phew!

“
Ray is though
…”

Damn!

“…
.he
’
s a big Evertonian! He
’
d love to go! You wouldn
’
t need to get
a coach down either. Ray could drive.
”

Brilliant!

So, at 7am on Saturday, 15
th
April 1989, Ray
’
s shiny, metallic blue
Ford Escort with spoilers, revved its engine outside our front drive and
Ray impatiently beeped his horn.

“
Who the bloody hell is that, tooting his horn at this time of the
morning?
”

I heard my Dad say through the bedroom wall that divided us.

“
It
’
s my lift to the match, Dad!
”

I shouted back through, as I gathered my scarf and headed out my
door and down the stairs, grabbing my jacket off the peg in the hallway,
although I guessed I wouldn
’
t need it, as there was every indication that
it was going to be a beautiful day. The sun had appeared from the horizon
with a smile on his face and a steely
determination to stick around.

             
“
See you later!
”

I shouted up the stairs.

“
Tell that lad he
’
s not a taxi driver and he can get up off his fat arse
next time and come to the front door, like a normal person!
”

             
“
OK, Dad! See you later!
”

“
Hope they win, son!
”

I would love to tell you I climbed into that car and over the course of
the next two hours, my opinion of Ray totally changed, that Kelly and
I had got him all wrong, that the journey was thrilling and I had never
laughed as much in my entire life and from that day forth, Ray became
a close friend. I would love to tell you that but I can
’
t. I can manage the
odd white lie on occasion, but not out and out lies. Kelly had Ray down
to a tee. Ray Walker was a wazzock. A bigger tit than either of Sam
Fox
’
s! He was a complete and utter banker!

At the end of that two hour journey, if Magnus Magnusson had
stopped Ray
’
s car, taken both of us out, whisked us both across to the
Mastermind studio and insisted our specialist subjects had to be each
other (Ray answering questions about me and me answering questions
about Ray), Ray would know nothing at all about me, not one thing,
other than my name and the fact that I was dating Kelly, which he
already knew before the journey, yet I had an encyclopaedic knowledge
of Ray! Every conversation was geared around Ray and if it threatened
not to be, Ray was quick to ensure he steered it right back.

For example,

“
Have you ever been to America, Richie?
”

“
Yeh, once. I went to Florida when I was ten.
”

“
Right. I
’
ve been about a dozen times now. When I was four, we
went with my parents to Vegas, then when I was seven, my parents
bought a holiday home in Fort Lauderdale. North East 22
nd
Way,
number 5950 it was. It was fantastic! Most years we would fly over to
Miami, head over to the house, stay there for a week or so, just watching
TV or swimming in our pool, then, after a week, we
’
d head off in the
car and make our way up to Orlando and do the whole Disney thing. I
remember going to the Epcot Centre when it had just opened. Fantastic!

Sea World was amazing too! My parents sold that house when I was
seventeen and bought one in L.A
…
.
”

He then went on and on about L.A and his time spent in California,
before finishing with,

“
Yes, it
’
s a great place the USA, pity you
’
ve never been! You really
should go!
”

Ray had managed to forget at so
me point in his fifteen minute
monologue that I had actually told him that I
’
d been to Florida! He
probably didn
’
t even register the information in the first place, he was
just teeing himself up with the initial question. Every conversation was
the same.

“
How are things going with Kelly?
”

Was followed by ten minutes
talking about his relationship with Jemma. How they met in the bank,
how he was concerned about how his bosses would view the relationship
so he had kept it from them, how Jemma hated her mother and referred
to her as
“
Vomit Breath
”
. Every possible piece of information I could
possibly be told about Ray, he managed to squeeze into that two hour
trip. I
’
m surprised he didn
’
t tell me how many strips of toilet paper he
used when he had a crap. He was happy to bore me with everything
e
lse. When we finally parked up,
about a mile from Villa Park, it felt
like I had endured three days verbal torture. If he
’
d been around, the
Viet Cong could have used him during the Vietnam war to torture US
soldiers.

Ray is officially the most boring man I have ever had the misfortune
to meet. As well as being the most boring, he also wins prizes for being
the world
’
s best talker about himself  and the world
’
s worst listener. I
’
m
surprised he ever managed to open an account for anyone in the bank,
because I imagine he would just start telling each and every customer
about his own three hundred accounts and how half the world
’
s money
was stored in them. My only consolation was that I didn
’
t much like
Jemma and there was some sort of perverse justice that she had been
lumbered with this idiot!

On the walk to the stadium, Ray must have sensed his capacity to
irritate had not quite peaked so he managed to annoy me even further
by showing a complete lack of footballing knowledge.

“
Hope Kendall puts a good team out, today!
”

Was irritating
statement number one.

“
Howard Kendall
’
s not here any more, Colin Harvey
’
s the manager!
”

“
That
’
s what I said,
”
Ray responded,
“
Colin Harvey.
”

Followed by,

“
We were great that year we won the League when Gary Lineker
was here.
”

“
Ray, we didn
’
t win a thing the season Gary Lineker was here! It
was the year before and the year after.
”

“
That
’
s what I said, Richie! The year before Lineker came, it was
great when we won the League! Bloody hell, mate, are you deaf or
what? I reckon you might need your ears syringing! A few years ago, I
had problems hearing and when I went to the Doctor
’
s, he syringed my
ears. It was wonderful! You know when you go swimming and you get
water in your ears and then eventually it pops and hot water gushes out
and all of a sudden, you can hear, well that
’
s what it was like. Are you
a decent swimmer, Richie?
”