Kiss My Name (34 page)

NICKY – MAY 2012

              I didn’t share Simon’s conviction that my Dad would have just agreed, without protest, to go on his Stag Do. Once Joey had confirmed to Simon that they were heading on an overnight trip to Blackpool, that very weekend, I thought I had best pay Dad a visit. Throughout our relationship, Simon had always strived to win my Dad over. I don’t think Simon wanted to be his best friend, I just think he wanted to be given the impression that Dad respected him. Despite potentially saving Dad’s life, after he passed out at the allotment, my Dad was still curt and unpleasant towards Simon. I knew that Simon wanted my Dad to go to Blackpool, but I also knew my Dad would be very unlikely to go, without me exerting my influence on him.

             
It was a miserable, damp, drizzly day and I ran through the puddles on Dad’s front drive to his door. Dad opened and shut the door quickly, as though he had a cat that he was trying to prevent escaping. As always, Dad looked happy to see me, but he also looked trim, healthy and a good colour. Since he had been diagnosed with atrial fibrillation, he had looked after himself better and it was a relief to enter his house knowing that it would not reek of pipe smoke.

“Come in love, out of the rain. Shall I put the kettle on?”

“That would be lovely, Dad.”

We headed through to the kitchen.

“The weather’s lousy, isn’t it?” Dad commented, “If it stays like this, these bloody Olympics are just going to be one big wash out. Stupid idea having them in London, that Usain Bolt won’t know what’s hit him. He’ll be running the 100 metres in a plastic Mac and wooly mittens.”

“It’s still a couple of months off yet, Dad, it might brighten up.”

“This is England, love, it will never brighten up!”

Dad began preparing to make the tea, putting teabags into his pot and taking his two best china cups out of the cupboard. I only graduated beyond the chipped, tea stained mugs after I left home!

“Anyway,” I said, putting my plan into action, “I’m just hoping it’s dry this weekend.”

“Why, what’s happening this weekend, love?” Dad asked.

“It’s Simon’s Stag Do, Dad.”

“I thought Stag Do’s were supposed to be the night before the wedding,” Dad said oblivious to the hint. He continued to busy himself with the tea preparation.

“Not any more, Dad. Life has moved on.”

“I don’t suppose it’s tuppence a pint, either,” Dad said, chuckling to himself.

“Afraid not.”

“Where are the boys off to then?” he asked seeming genuinely interested.

“Blackpool.”

“I’ve had a few great holidays in Blackpool in my time. When I was a boy, we would regularly have a week up in Blackpool in the summer. I’d spend hours on the beach with my bucket and spade. That was the allotment of my childhood, I suppose. Tell Will to have a look if my sandcastles are still there, I used to write my name on them. They will be easy to identify, I don’t suppose there are too many children called Arthur these days.”

Subtle approach having failed, I now went for the blindingly obvious.

“You could always check for those sandcastles yourself, Dad!”

“What do you mean, love?”

“Well, according to Simon you agreed to go on his Stag Do.”

Dad moved his head around in meerkat like jerks. I think this was his attempt to portray confusion.

“I did nothing of the sort! Why on earth would I agree to go on his Stag Do? I’m an old man with a dicky heart.”

Dad used the dicky heart excuse to get him out of things that he did not want to do. It didn’t sop him going to his allotment.

“Simon said he asked you the day he asked your permission to marry me.”

Dad went to get some milk from the fridge. He did seem like he was genuinely trying to recall what happened the day Simon came to ask for his permission for my hand in marriage.

“Let me think, he came here, made a bit of a fool of himself by getting down on one knee, then asked if I wanted to go for a pint, which I didn’t and then I threw him out as I wanted to go to the allotment. No, he didn’t mention a Stag Do to me, Nicky.”

“Are you sure, Dad? Simon may not be your favourite person in the world, Dad, but even you know he doesn’t lie about things.”

“Well, I can’t be 100% certain. I was just wanting him out so I could get down to the allotment, love! If he had asked me to go camel trekking in the Sahara with him, I would probably just have said ‘Yes’, just to get him out of the house.”

“Dad, you paint such a beautiful picture of my future husband! Why can’t you just try to be nice to him?”

“Because I save all my love for you, my darling.”

I smiled sarcastically back at him. Ironically, Simon had suggested something similar.

“So, Dad, on the basis you may possibly have promised to go, when you weren’t listening, are you going to be a man of your word?”

“Well, if I agreed when I wasn’t listening, I’ll have to go, won’t I?”

“Seriously?” I said with genuine excitement in my voice.

“No, of course not, Nicky! I either never agreed to go or only agreed when I wasn’t listening. That doesn’t count.”

“Dad! It counts as far as Simon is concerned. He doesn’t know that you weren’t listening to what he was saying.”

“Tough, I’m not going.”

Dad acted like a stubborn young child at times.

“Will’s going.”

“I’m very pleased about that. Will and Simon get along very well, so I assume they will have a wonderful time without an old man cramping their style. Well, cramping Will’s style anyway. Simon has never been known for his sense of style.”

“Have you seen Will recently, Dad?”

Dad thought about Will with his rock T-shirts and long hair.

“OK, granted it was a poor choice of words. They will have a great time without having to drag an old man with a dicky heart around with them. I have plans for the allotment this weekend anyway.”

Dad poured the tea from the pot and passed me a cup. There was no way I was ever going to get Dad to go to Blackpool unless I used my trump card, blackmail! I looked at him with big, begging eyes.

“Dad, for my sake, can you not just go on this Stag Do? It would mean a great deal to Simon and he’s the man I love so by making him happy, you’re making me happy.”

“Nicky, I don’t think it’s very fair of you to ask. I would hate it.”

“You wouldn’t hate it, Dad. Will’s going, Simon’s Dad, Frank, is going. Just make an effort, come on Dad, please.”

“You can try and sweet talk me as much as you like, love, but I’m not going.”

I knew I would have to use blackmail. I was only warming up with the ‘Daddy’s little girl’ routine.

“What if I were to say that I will get someone else to walk down the aisle with me, if you don’t go on this Stag Do?”

Dad took a sip of his tea whilst composing a response. I felt awkward, but it needed to be said.

“If you did say that, Nicky, which I’m sure you wouldn’t, I would say, in return, that you are a vindictive young woman and I am ashamed that you would stoop to such preposterous tactics. I also know we’ve been through too much for you to threaten that. You would be cheating yourself, as well as me.”

“Ok, Dad. Forget it, I’m going home. If you aren’t going on this Stag Do though, you can ring up and tell Simon. I’m not prepared to tell him on your behalf. Everyone says you’re a stubborn old sod and I’ve always stuck up for you, but I’m beginning to wonder whether they are right.”

Having said my piece I left. I didn’t kiss him goodbye or give him my usual hug, I just left. I didn’t like doing it, I worried that he may drop dead and I would have to live forever with the guilt, but thankfully it didn’t work out that way. About ninety minutes after I left Dad’s house, our phone rang.

“Hello.”

“It’s your Dad,” my father said in a tone of displeasure mixed with conciliation, “I’ve had a think. Now, I’m only doing this for you and Will, but if I have to, I’ll go on this bloody Stag Do! Tell Will to phone me and let me know what the arrangements are. Tell Simon if I have to share a room, I will need to share with Frank. If there’s more than two in a room or Frank is sharing with someone else, then I’m sorry but I am not going. That’s as good an offer as you are going to get from me, love.”

“Dad, that’s great. Thank you. Simon will be delighted.”

“As long as you are delighted, that’s all I care about.”

“Well, I am delighted too. Thanks Dad.”

“That’s OK. I can’t have you walking down the aisle huffing and puffing at me. I want you to be as proud of me as I am of you, Nicky.”

“I will be, Dad. I will be.”

SIMON – May 2012

“Who’s texting you now?” I asked.

It was less than a ten minute walk from our house to The Talbot car park, where the coach was leaving from, but by the time Will and I were halfway there, Will’s phone must have beeped about twenty times.

“Laura,” Will explained.

“Again?”

Laura was Will’s girlfriend. He was nineteen. Laura was sixteen. I was uncomfortable with the intensity of their relationship, mainly because of what happened to Will’s mother when she was Laura’s age! Lightning does not just strike twice when it comes to teenage pregnancies, it strikes over and over again.

“She’s worried, Dad.”

“About what?”

“About me going away for the weekend with the lads!”

“Did you not tell her that both your Grandad’s are both going? That might put her mind at rest. Text her back, tell her not to worry and then switch your phone off and don’t switch it back on until we are on our way back on Sunday!”

Will could text at about one hundred words a minute, even whilst walking and carrying his weekend bag.

“Right, sent.”

“Switch it off now then.”

“I’m not switching it off, Dad. Laura will worry if I’m not accessible!”

“Will, you don’t need to be at her beck and call.”

Will wasn’t really listening to me. This was not unusual. I sensed something was distracting him.

“Are you listening to me?” I asked irritably.

“Hang on…my Blackberry’s vibrating!”

Will stopped walking and took out another device from inside his jacket pocket. It was too hot a day for a jacket, but it was easier to wear than to carry. We stopped for a minute whilst Will clicked and scrolled and I stamped my feet a little like a spoilt three year old. Will started to laugh.

“What’s funny?”

“Laura’s e-mailed me. It was too many characters for a text, so she’s e-mailed instead.”

“Bloody hell, Will! Do you two actually ever speak to each other, or do you just text, e-mail, poke and twit?”

“Tweet,” Will corrected me, “anyway, Dad, we do speak to each other. You’re probably too old to remember but when you’re in love, you want to keep in touch in every way that you can.”

“Too old!” I scoffed, as we began walking again, “may I remind you whose Stag Do this is!”

Will ran his hand through his long mane. His Mum and I were always telling him to cut it, but he was always deaf to our advice. He was always complaining that seedy blokes would come up behind him and slip their arm around him in The Bay Horse or squeeze his bum anticipating a female face. In my opinion, if he didn’t want that sort of attention, he shouldn’t encourage it! I was intending on persuading him to have it cut before the wedding.

“Dad, face it, you and Mum aren’t exactly ‘Love’s Young Dream’!”

Will was deliberately throwing the phrase I repeatedly used to describe him and Laura, back at me.

“No, but we still love and respect each other and if you can still say that about Laura in nearly twenty years time, then I promise you that I will give you an enormous pat on the back.”

Will smiled.

“Like Grandad Arthur does with you, you mean?” joked Will, who was well aware of his grandfather’s frosty attitude towards me.

“That’s a bit different.”

“Why? You’ve stuck with his daughter through thick and thin.”

“Your Grandad just thinks I could have done certain things better, that’s all.”

“Like what?”

Will was the questioning type. He always wanted to know who was up to what. He watched every soap opera religiously to ensure he didn’t miss out on any gossip, even if it was fictitious.

“Will, I don’t want to get into this now. It’s my Stag Do, I want to enjoy myself. I don’t want to be analysing why your grandfather doesn’t like me!”

Will accepted now was not the time.

“OK.”

             
We walked the rest of the way in silence not because Will took offence to my request, but because he was sending an e-mail back to Laura on his Blackberry. When I agreed to allow him to come away with us for the weekend, I should have built a clause into the contract that banned his i-phone and Blackberry. Will wasn’t the greatest mixer with his peers and if he spent his whole weekend with his nose in his gadgets, he would never learn to be.

             
The coach was already parked up at The Talbot when we arrived and bizarrely, it already seemed full. Joey Neill and the driver stood outside by the entry door, but there seemed to be a face at every seat, certainly on the passenger side anyway. I checked my watch, it was still only five to one. We weren’t supposed to be meeting until one o’clock.

“Will, what time do you make it?”

“12.55,” Will said without looking up from his Blackberry.

“Me too, weird that the coach is full already.”

“Yeh, weird.”

We walked over to Joey and the driver, who was extinguishing a cigarette under his boot.

“Come on Muscleman! Get a shift on!” Joey shouted over.

It was a glorious Spring day. Joey was wearing, what looked to me, like an expensive pair of designer sunglasses with his jeans and T-shirt. I shook his hand and then he shook Will’s hand too.

“How’s it going, Will, my boy? Are you going to be able to cope with a weekend away from that gorgeous babe that was in the Bay Horse with you, the other night?”

Will looked embarrassed.

“Laura. I am sure I’ll survive, it’s only one night, Joey.”

“Good for you, mate! Good for you. Punching above your weight like your Dad here!”

“You told me one o’clock, Joey!” I said, voicing my disapproval about seemingly arriving late.

“Half twelve mate!”

“Joey, you said one!”

“No matter, you’re here now! Get on board and let’s get this party started!”

Will jumped on, followed by the driver.

“Is the coach full?” I asked Joey as we climbed the steps.

“Every seat, mate! A few of the lads didn’t come up with their money, so I didn’t bother with the second coach.”

“Good!”

As I followed Joey up the steps, I saw the driver pass him the microphone. He took it with his right hand and grabbed my shoulder with his left, to stop me going to sit down straight away with Will, who was sat on the second row, behind my Dad and Arthur, who were also sitting at the front, looking as awkward as two heterosexuals on a night out in Canal Street, the gay area of Manchester.

“Lads! Lads! Finally, we have your stag! Please put your hands together for Mr. Simon Strong!”

Joey lifted my arm up like I had just won a heavyweight boxing bout. Everyone cheered other than one man halfway down the coach, who looked like he had a red rosed tattoo on his neck. He seemed to put his head down and shift uncomfortably in his seat. I hadn’t brought my glasses so couldn’t quite see who it was.

“Let’s get to Blackpool and get pissed!”

Joey announced once the cheers had subsided.

My eyes were still drawn to the figure who seemed to flinch and hide when my name was mentioned. He was bald and I knew I remembered him with hair, possibly ginger hair.

“Joey, who’s that bloke halfway down the coach on the left, by the window? The one next to Charlie Smethurst?”

Joey had become as short sighted as me. I normally wore bifocals at home as I was both long and short sighted which I wouldn’t have even thought possible, before I was given the glasses. Nicky told me not to take them with me in case they got lost or broken.

“I can’t see from here.”

“Neither can I.”

We both took a few steps down the bus. I recognised the squirming figure first, but didn’t acknowledge the fact. I just clenched my fists and moved towards him. Joey then recognised him too, as he gave out an “Oh shit!”

Joey tried to make a grab for me, but I had managed to get a couple of paces ahead of him.

Luke ‘Boffin’ Booth, that’s who it was. If I could have chosen one man on the planet not to be at my Stag Do, that’s who it would have been, Luke ‘Boffin’ Booth. I wanted to say something to him, but my anger had rendered me mute. I had heard people talk about a ‘red mist’, but until then, I had never experienced the sensation myself. Booth saw me coming and stood up, not to land the first punch, but he knew I wasn’t coming over for a bit of male bonding and a firm handshake, he stood up to protect himself.

“Muscleman,” he said almost apologetically, “they didn’t tell me it was your Stag-Do. They just said some lad from Euxton…”

I didn’t let him finish his excuses. I’d had twenty five years of excuses from that bastard and I wasn’t about to hear any more. Excuses and lies. What a load of crap! Luke Booth was full of crap and I wanted to beat it out of him. I lunged at him. I was like that boxing champ again, but this time mid-bout and I now had a startled opponent against the ropes. I threw a weak left and then a couple of right-handers towards his face but he managed to cover it. I only managed to catch the side of his head, by his left ear. A combination of Joey and Charlie Smethurst pulled me off him.

“What the hell’s going on?” Charlie asked as Luke dabbed his face to check whether I’d drawn blood and I just snarled like an angry bull.

“They’ve got history…” Joey began to explain.

“He’s a bloody nutcase!” Luke said, trying as usual to pin the blame on someone else.

“Which fool invited that killer on my Stag Do?” I demanded.

“You never told me it was his bloody Stag-Do! I wouldn’t have come if I’d have known it was his do,” Boffin protested.

“Well sod off home then!” I said, as I struggled to free myself and throw another punch. Joey tightened his grip on me.

“Calm down, Simon!”

“Get him off the coach then, Joey!”

Luke Booth was a cheeky bastard.

“I’m not going anywhere other than to Blackpool, mate! I’ve paid my money for this, just like everyone else.”

I couldn’t believe he had the audacity to say that!

“After everything that’s happened, you’d spend the weekend with me, my father and my son rather than forsake a few measly quid, Boffin. Well do you know what, that just about sums you up! Joey, take the money out of my pocket and give this dickhead his cash.”

Joey was sceptical.

“If I let go of you, Simon, you’ll hit him again.”

Joey was probably right.

“Well, let Charlie get it then!”

Charlie Smethurst went through my pockets, extracted my wallet and withdrew a wad of notes.

“How much was it again?” Charlie asked.

“Fifty quid.” Joey answered.

“And the other twenty we had to chip in!” Luke added.

I didn’t understand this at the time.

“What other twenty?”

“Never you mind, Simon!” Joey said, “Charlie, give him seventy quid.”

Charlie handed over seventy quid of my money to Luke Booth. A half-decent bloke would have just taken the hit, but Luke Booth was not and had never been a half-decent bloke.

“Right Luke,” Joey said, “I’ll keep hold of Marvin Hagler whilst you get yourself off the coach.”

“I’ll make you pay one day, Boffin!” I threatened.

Luke Booth made a hasty exit. I was half-expecting my Dad to get up and throw a punch at him, but Dad had never been as convinced as I had been about Boffin’s guilt. As soon as Luke Booth stepped off the coach, the driver shut the doors behind him and we began our journey to
Blackpool.

“I’ve never been on a Stag-Do that’s started quite like that!” I heard someone say.

“I know, the fighting doesn’t normally start until closing time!”

A bewildered Will headed towards me, as Joey released his grasp.

“What the hell was all that about?”

“Will,” I explained, “that was Luke Booth.”

I’ve never seen Will look so stunned.

“Luke Booth. The lad who was with Uncle Colin when he died?”

“The bloke who killed Uncle Colin,” I corrected him, “that was the bloke who killed him.”