Forever Is Over (107 page)

Not knowing who this guy was, I wondered why Dave had become
a bumbling idiot.

“
What about yourself ?
”
Kiffer aske
d turning his attention to me.

             
“
I
’
ll have a few quid on, but I was ju
st saying to Dave, things are
tight, so that
’
ll be it.
”

“
What if they weren
’
t tight?
”
Kiffer asked as he glugged his drink through the lime,
“
what would you put on then?
”

“
A bit more. Dave
’
s lad gives us the tips and they are normally spot
on.
”

“
Are they now?
”
Kiffer said with a great deal of interest.

“
Begginer
’
s luck!
”
Dave explained.

“
Don
’
t be harsh on the lad, Dave! He knows his stuff!
”
I added.

I
didn
’
t know I was potentially creating an issue for young Joe, only after,
when Dave told me about Kiffer and I was reminded of the conversation,
did I cringe. Luckily, as far as I
’
m aware, Kiffer never did make contact
with Joe, although whenever he is unseated when riding a favourite, I
do wonder whether Kiffer had advised him that it if his girlfriend wants
to continue looking pretty, it may be in his interest to fall off .

“
So,
”
Kiffer continued,
“
how much more if things weren
’
t tight?
”

             
“
I
’
ve no idea. This all very hypothetical, as they are pretty damn tight right now. I have four kids in their teens and twenties. Cost me
a fortune.
”

“
I understand,
”
Kiffer said empathetically,
“
I have a two year old
daughter myself, Melanie, she
’
s my little angel but she costs me a
n arm
and a leg. Luckily, in my game, I can afford to spoil her, but I understand
everyone is not as lucky as me.
”

“
What is it you do?
”
I asked.

“
This and that.
”

Dave threw me a warning look but at the time, I thought it was
some sort of nervous tick.

“
Like what?
”

“
I help people. Good people who need a helping hand. People like
yourself, Charlie.
”

I concluded that he had obviously heard my name earlier. I realised
he knew my name but I did not know his.
“
Sorry, what
’
s your name?
”
I queried.

“
Simon Cunnington.
”

“
Pleased to meet you, Simon
”
I said. I got up, walked over and
shook his hand.

“
Always good to meet new people,
”
he replied.

The name Simon Cunnington meant nothing to me. Fifteen minutes
later, when he announced he had better get going, as he had a small
matter to attend to, Dave revealed that Simon Cunnington was
‘
also known as
’
Kiffer.

“
So, go on then, Simon, explain how people like you help people like me.
”

“
Simple economics, Charlie. You want to have a tidy bet on a horse
tomorrow, but can
’
t afford to. I provide the financial backing to allow
you to place your bet and if you win, you give me my money back plus
50% on top for allowing the transaction to take place.
”

The idea sounded interesting but the costs sounded prohibitive.
“
50%! So if you give me
£
100, I have to give you
£
150 back? No thanks!
”

“
Think about it though, Charlie. What price is this horse of yours?
”

             
“
I
’
ve no idea. Dave what sort of price will this horse go off at?
”

             
By now, Dave really did not look like he was wanting
to be part
of this conversation. Normally, he drank at a very leisurely pace, but
his pint of mild that had been almost full when I had walked in, was
virtually gone.

“
I
’
m not sure, Charlie, with it going at a new distance and on better ground, there are a lot of unknowns. I
’
d guess about 5-1.
”

“
OK then, Charlie. The way it would work, is that I would give you
£
100. You would back the horse at 5-1. It wins. You collect
£
600, pay
me back
£
150 and you get to keep
£
450 without ever having to place a
penny of your own money. How good is that?
”

It sounded too good to be true. I needed to investigate the potential
catch.

“
What if it loses?
”

“
Just pay me back when you get the money, there would be no rush,
you look like a man I can trust. You could just pay me back the next
time you get paid, or if you want, I could lend you a bit more next time
you get a tip and you could pay me back from the winnings from that one. I
’
m a fair man, Charlie. A very fair man.
”

I have subsequently learnt that if a man has to tell you he is a
‘
fair
man
’
, he probably isn
’
t one.

“
So what do you reckon, Charlie? Want to borrow a hundred notes?
”

             
A deal was done and Simon Cunnington took out five crisp twenty
pound notes from a wallet crammed full of them. It felt great, but
admittedly not half as good when Dave told me who I was dealing with. As luck would have it, Joe was right,
“
Red Nose Knight
”
won
by a distance at 9-2 and I pocketed
£
400 after paying Kiffer back, the
following evening in
‘
The Dog
’
.

“
I knew I could trust you!
”
he said with a smile,
“
I could tell.
”

This should have been the end of my dealings with Kiffer, it wasn
’
t,
it was just the beginning. I knew his reputation, knew he was not doing
this through generosity of spirit or to win a knighthood for services to
mug punters, he was a businessman and a ruthless, vicious businessman
at that. I just got greedy.

To be fair, the first few horses I backed, having borrowed Kiffer
’
s
money, all won and then, when the next couple didn
’
t, Kiffer was
patient and understanding. Kiffer said there was no panic, he knew I
was good for it and if I ever wanted a
ny more, the same 50% increase
on capital borrowed terms would apply. I had a couple of County Court
Judgement
’
s that Dot did not know about, so it was not as though banks
were falling over themselves to lend to me at better rates, so the simplest
way for me to get hold of money was via Kiffer. Caroline, my daughter,
bailed me out once, but other than that I was always good for Kiffer
’
s
money, that is until that spell in 1996, when the wheels well and truly
came off. Day by day my losses were just getting bigger and bigger and
eventually rather than asking Kiffer for more money, I just decided it
was best to keep a low profile and avoid him. Kiffer was not the only
person I needed to avoid, I needed to avoid all my creditors too, as I had
managed to rack up a series of debts I could no longer afford to pay.

Our postman, Tom, used to turn up between seven and seven thirty
every morning, so I used to wait for him and once he had parked his bike
at the top of our drive, I would sneak out, collect the mail, stuff any bills
in my pocket and then leave the rest on the kitchen table so Dot could
deal with the Reader
’
s Digest subscriptions and the junk mail.

Saturday
June 8
th
1996 was Derby Day at Epsom. The
‘
Derby
’
was the big race
of the flat racing season. The top three year old horses would race over
one and a half miles of the undulating Epsom Downs. I felt lucky that
morning, I had yet to pick my horse but thought I was due a big winner
and there was no better time to get it than Derby Day. I had woken
early that day with sunlight creeping through the curtains and the birds
singing their same old songs. It required less sneaking on a Saturday
morning to collect the mail, as Dot used to like a lie in at weekends.

Just after seven, I was looking out th
e landing window and I saw Tom
arriving at the bottom of the road, thro
ugh the passageway that linked
our road to the main road. I quickly crept down to the porch and as he
parked his bike up, I followed my norm
al routine, unlocking the door
and quietly going out to meet him halfway down the drive.

“
Morning, Charlie!
”
Tom said cheerily,
“
got your Derby horse
picked?
”

“
Not yet,
”
I responded, taking a bundle of mail off him, some
looking, as usual, like threatening letters,

“
I
’
m waiting for my Racing
Post to arrive, the kid who brings it isn
’
t an early bird like you!
”

“
I was going to ask you for a tip!
”

“
Well, Tom, the only tip I can give you is not to bet! It
’
s a mug
’
s
game!
”

“
Doesn
’
t stop you!
”
he said laughing and climbing back on his bike
before cycling away.

I turned back around with my body pointed back towards our front
door, with my head down, examining the post, seeing what damage
was being inflicted today. Credit card bill - that
’
s for me! Gas bill
- mine! Personal loan company
–
missed payment letter - I
’
ll have
that! Catalogue company
–
Dot
’
s. Junk mail - Dot
’
s. Then there was
a handwritten letter, who would write us a letter? Hang on, it wasn
’
t
addressed to us, it was addressed to our Richie - Dot could have that
too, she would remember to pass that on to him. I stuffed the bills in
a back pocket of my jeans and was carrying Dot
’
s letters in my hands,
when I heard a voice.

“
Good morning, Mr. Billingham! And what a lovely morning it is
for a drive! Perhaps you
’
d like to join us?
”