Forever Is Over (8 page)

She was better at talking than me.

“
Doesn
’
t matter
”
.

I felt a fool. I turned around to walk away but she called after me.

“
Whatever it was you wanted. T
he answer
’
s yes
”
.

I should have thought this through. Here was a golden opportunity
the likes of which I had never had before. The answer
’
s
“
Yes
”
, Richie
Billingham, you just have to make up the question. Not untypically
though, I fluffed my lines.

“
Pardon?
”

“
Whatever it was that you were going to ask me, Richie, the answer
’
s
yes
”
.

“
Oh!
”

“
What was it then?
”

“
What was what?
”

“
What was it you were going to ask me?
”
“
Oh.
”

“
Come on Richie, spit it out, it
’
ll be my turn to skip again in a
minute!
”

She said this in a jovial, amused tone that gave me the impression
that she was taking this in her stride. I wasn
’
t. I was just about managing
to breathe!

“
Will you come to the disco swim with me at Park Pool on
Saturday?
”

“
No
”
.

“
I thought you said, whatever I was asked, the answer was
‘
Yes
’
?
”

“
Well, it would have been, but I can
’
t swim
”
.

I was shocked. Surely those breasts would keep her afloat. I should
have taken stock, then gone on to suggest an alternative venue. The
cinema, maybe. If I was nineteen or one of those super cool blokes in
Helen
’
s magazine, that
’
s what I would have done, I wasn
’
t though. I was
an eleven year old idiot.

“
Bring armbands
”
.

Of all the stupid things I could have said, that had to be number
one! I knew it was stupid the second it left my mouth. Whoever heard
of anyone going on a date with armbands on? There were no pictures in
“
Jackie
”
of some gorgeous fourteen year olds splashing around the
swimming pool in their rubber rings and armbands.

“
I don
’
t like swimming
”
.

“
We could go in the little pool. You can stand up in there.
”
Rachel took a moment to reflect.

“
OK then. I
’
ll bring my brother. What time shall I meet you?
”

“
Two o
’
clock
”
.

“
OK.
”

Off we went in our separate ways. Rachel back to skipping, me
back to
“
British Bulldogs
”
. I had to be the chaser because I
’
d skipped a
game. As I chased the boys around the playground, I reflected on what
had just happened. Success. Of sorts. I was now going on a date with
Rachel Cookson and her six year old br
other, Barry. He was in second
year infants. He was a bit mad, he once broke his leg when he jumped
out his bedroom window in his Superman costume, but he was OK.I 
guessed Barry probably couldn
’
t swim either. Knowing Barry though, he
’
d
probably turn up thinking he was
“
The Man From Atlantis
”
and I
’
d
probably have to keep fishing him out from the bottom of the pool. Still
a date with Rachel and Barry was better than no date at all, so I went
home that night feeling pretty darn
n
pleased with myself, until James
burst my bubble with his
“
Hunchback of Notre Dame
”
jibes.

I asked Rachel for a date on the Wednesday, by Friday, I was a
nervous wreck. All told, I was a nervous child. Before a football match,
whether it was playing for Cubs or watching Everton, I would get
nervous to the point where I could not sleep. This was similar, but a
hundred times worse. It wasn
’
t just nerves, it was pure, unadulterated
fear. What was I going to say to her? What would she be wearing? If
she just wore a bikini, what would I do? Could I be trusted not to stare
at her bust? Could my ding-a-ling be trusted to stay in my Speedos? If
I didn
’
t stare at her bust, would I be able to
look at her at all? I mean if
I was looking at her face, her bust wasn
’
t very far away and I know I
’
d
want to have a sneaky look. If I just looked away from her the whole
time, would she think I was a weirdo and would she be able to hear me
when I spoke? Was this a date? What would we do after we got out
the pool? Her Mum would probably have to pick her up if she had her
brother with her. What would I do then?

There were too many questions I just didn
’
t have answers for. I
liked to be in my comfort zone, not that I knew what a comfort zone
was when I was eleven and this was taking me very much outside of it.
Friday night, I hardly slept. Saturday morning came and I resorted to
new tactics. Safety in numbers tactics. Rachel was taking her brother,
so I would do the same. After breakfast, I found James in the corner of
our room, building aeroplanes out of Lego.

“
What are you up to today, Jim?
”

Some of the older kids in the road had started calling him Jim and
I thought it suited him, as he was such a serious child, so I had started
calling him Jim too. Not in front of my mother though, she hated it. If
anyone called around and asked,

“
Is Jim playing?
”

My Mum would say,

“
I am afraid you have come to the wrong house. No-one by that
name lives here.
”

Jim didn
’
t raise his head from his Lego.

“
Basically this
”
.

“
Fancy going to Park Pool?
”

“
Now?
”

“
No, this afternoon.
”

“
But it
’
s disco swim on Saturday afternoons. I hate the disco swim
”
.

             
Jim at ten was not cool. At twenty, he was cool because he didn
’
t
want to be, nor try to b
e, but at ten, Jim was square.

             
“
Its not disco swim in the small pool though
”
.

             
“
Why would we want to go in the baby pool?
”

“
We
’
re meeting someone there. Two people actually, one
’
s little, the
other can
’
t swim.
”

“
Who?
”

“
Rachel Cookson and her brother, Barry
”
.

Jim
’
s shoulders started to twitch, he then started giggling and
eventually he broke out into sustained laughter. Hysterical laughter.
He laughed so hard the sound eventually stopped and tears rolled down
his cheeks.

“
The Hunchback is having a date with Esmeralda in the baby pool!
Only babies and toddlers go in that pool, you
’
ll look ridiculous! You
have to be a non-swimmer too! How are you going to get the rubber
ring
over your hunchback?
And Esmerelda
’
s brother will be there too!
What a date!
”

“
And you
”
, I said, almost pleading, knowing anger would not help me,
“
I want you to come too.
”

Jim sort of grunted sarcastically.

“
I
’
m not going! There
’
s no way in the world I
’
m going on a date with
you, Rachel Cookson and her little brother! Not a chance!
”

             
James, despite being an intellectual, had an Achilles heel. He was
a money grabber.

“
Jim, I
’
ve got ten pounds in my money box. If you come with me,
it
’
s yours.
”

“
Richie, you
’
ve got
£
12-38. If I come with you, you give me a tenner,
you pay for the train and our tickets into Park Pool
”
.

“
Deal
”
.

“
Deal
”
.

We shook hands and the weirdest foursome in the history of dating
were now in place. The afternoon soon came around. If Rachel, Barry, Jim and I were
going to be, as I have just said,
“
The weirdest foursome in the
history of
dating
”
then the date itself could accurately be described as
“
The Worst
Date In The History Of The Universe
”
. Twenty five years on, Jim still reminds me of the infamous date with Rachel and Barry Cookson at
Park Pool or in fact to be more accurate, he calls it,
“
The Infamous Date That Wasn
’
t With Barry and Rachel Cookson
”
.
For boys, Jim and I had always been pretty sensible and Mum
trusted us from about the age of eight to tell her where we were heading
and then return back at a time she specified. We, therefore, were pretty
much able to play at the park in Winifred Lane whenever we wanted (I
did this a lot, Jim didn
’
t, he
’
d be stuck at home gluing Airfix models)
or head off to friends houses or go on bike rides or whatever we wanted
to do. Obviously, there were some boundaries. One Saturday afternoon,
Granddad was laid low with the flu and I announced that I
’
d be fine
going to Goodison to watch Everton on my own. Mum didn
’
t buy
into that one, she took me, but spent the whole game saying stupid or
irrelevant comments such as,

“
The wind is playing havoc with my hair!
”

“
Did you say Everton are the blue team or the black and whites?
”

“
What do you mean we aren
’
t suppos
ed to cheer when the black and
whites score, that man with the black perm scored a nice goal!
”

             
She even put her hands over my ears when the Gwladys Street
started chanting a song with an
“
f
”
word included. It was our one and
only joint visit to Goodison! Neverthele
ss, when Jim and I told her we
were off on the train to Ormskirk, this was fine. She even gave us the
money for the return train fare (36p each) and entrance to the baths (35p
each). Jim looked unimpressed with this, as he was looking forward to
making a further dent on my financial reserves.