Forever Is Over (112 page)

“
If you used to be a Headmaster, Roddy, then I used to be a bloke!
”

             
“
Kelly! Now you come to mention it, I
’
ve always wondered why you
had such a massive Adam
’
s apple!
”

“
Sod off!
”
I said playfully.

“
I swear, I was a Headmaster for six years. Swear on my Mum
’
s
life.
”

Roddy did not look any older than
about twenty five, but he was
makin
g his statement with such convi
ction, that a small part of me
started to believe there must be an element of truth in what he was
saying.

“
At which school?
”
I enquired.

“
School
? What are you on about woman?
No school! I was a
Headmaster at Bobby
’
s Barbers in East Ham! Six years cutting hair,
I got so bored even selling books for a living seemed like a decent
option.
”

“
Do you know anything about books?
”

“
Not a thing! I just know that you ope
n them, read everything inside
and then you
’
re done, Bob
’
s your Uncle, Fanny
’
s your Aunt!
”

             
That was typical Roddy! He was always upbeat, always cracking
jokes, never took himself too seriously, it was a joy to be around him, as
he would always make me feel good about myself. If Roddy had been
in the mirror on the wall, Snow White would not have been the fairest
of them all, I would have stolen that prize. I knew how Roddy felt
about me, as he would consistently tell me, but it was not a reciprocal
attraction. If I had given Roddy even the slightest inkling that I was
interested, he would quite literally have grabbed the opportunity with
both hands. I was sure that would not be happening though. I knew
I wanted my future to be with Richie. I made it abundantly clear to
Roddy that my interest was purely platonic and he should not entertain
any ideas that further down the line we may become an item. I told him
it was never going to happen. I told him that if I ended up marrying
Richie, he could be a pageboy!

As July 4
th
, approached, the butterflies in my stomach, the pounding
heart and the erratic breathing returned, like they had in the weeks
before my visit North, in each of the last four years. I felt like a silly,
lovestruck schoolgirl again, which, given every visit so far had failed to
deliver Richie, seemed very optimistic of my internal organs.

The routine I had followed on the four previous trips to Ormskirk
had not changed. I felt like a Crimewatch actor, re-enacting the same
scene every twelve months. Each year, I
would travel up by train from
London Euston to Preston, then take another train to Burscough, stop
at a hotel between Ormskirk and Burscough, called the Beaufort and
then on the morning of the 4
th
July, I would make a four mile walk up
to the
‘
Sunny Road
’
. I did not mind the walk there, it was always filled
with both nervous excitement and optimism, but the lonely trudge back after a no show from Richie was always tough.

This time around, I had decided it was time to do things differently.
Rather than book into the Beaufort, I decided to book into the West
Tower Hotel in Aughton, which was a lot more expensive, but only
half a mile from the
‘
Sunny Road
’
. The other more radical thing I
decided to do, was to journey up with a companion. I decided, all things
considered, it would be a good idea to bring Roddy up with me.

Over the last four years, I had always avoided going into Ormskirk
whilst I was on my annual pilgrimage to the
‘
Sunny Road
’
. I did not
want to risk public humiliation or arrest by the local constabulary
still looking for the fleeing accomplice from Mum
’
s murder. The main
reason I avoided Ormskirk though, was to steer clear of a face to face
confrontation with Jemma. The repercussions of crossing Jemma
’
s path
scared me more than the thought of being arrested. Jemma had been
responsible for most of the positive aspects of my childhood and it was
the guilt that I felt that had led to me avoiding her for so long. I did
not know how I could possibly rebuild the bridges that I had burnt, so
thought the least complex solution was complete avoidance. The longer
I avoided her, the guiltier I felt and the more certain I became that she
would now hate me.

The issue I faced though was that each year after Richie failed to
turn up, I had no emotional support and the long walk back to the
Beaufort Hotel and the subsequent trip home had been heartbreaking.
Romantically I felt like I was just torturing myself by pursuing something
that probably should have been consigned to the
‘
happy memories
’
part
of my brain, but I just could not help doing it. Journeying up and down
with Roddy I thought would ensure my spirits would not sag irrespective
of circumstance and if Richie did not turn up, I would finally close this
Chapter of my life and allow another one to begin. Americans called it
‘
closure
’
and that
’
s what this one last trip to the
‘
Sunny Road
’
was for
me -
‘
closure
’
.

One lunchtime at Dillons, Roddy and I were discussing our
imminent trip to Ormskirk.

“
I love spending time with you, Kelly, you know that, but the one
thing that makes me feel uncomfortable about this trip, is the thought that Richie will finally turn up this year.
”

“
Why does that make you feel uncomfortable?
”

“
Two reasons. One, I
’
ll just be stuck on my Jack Jones looking like
a gooseberry, but secondly, and more importantly, I don
’
t want to lose
you as a mate.
”

“
Roddy! You
’
ll never lose me as a mate!
”

“
I might if I punch this Richie bloke for not having the decency to
turn up for the last four years!
”

“
You wouldn
’
t do that!
”

“
I
’
d be tempted. I didn
’
t mean that though, I mean if you two
fall into each other
’
s arms like a pair of lovebirds and everything goes
swimmingly, you might decide to move back up North. If that happens
our little lunch time chats will come to end and I
’
ll be lonely working
here with all these stuck-up arty farty types!
”

“
I wouldn
’
t start worrying about all that stuff just yet, Roddy! Richie
hasn
’
t shown up for the last four years! We
’
ll probably just go up, have
a trip to the
‘
Sunny Road
’
, have a look around, sit and have a picnic and
then come back down.
”

“
If he does turn up, what would I do with myself? I ain
’
t hanging
round watching you kissing him, I
’
ll be jealous!
”

“
You can kiss him too if you like!
”

Roddy gave me a look of being a little vexed with me.

“
You know what I mean!
”

“
You could just go back to the Hotel for a bit and I
’
d meet you there
an hour or two later.
”

“
Maybe all this just isn
’
t worth the bother, Kelly. I mean if he hasn
’
t
shown up for four years, why give him a fifth chance?
”

“
I don
’
t know. Part of me thinks, for some reason, that Richie is
going to show up this year.
”

“
He won
’
t.
”

“
Is that what you think Roddy or is that what you hope?
”

“
Both!
”

“
Well, we
’
ll never know unless I go, will we?
”

“
I still think the money we are wasting on this search for Prince
Charming could be put to better use. You and I could just go out on an
almighty piss up and drink to Richie
’
s health.
”

“
Roddy!
”

“
What?
”

“
Richie
’
s had cancer.
”

“
So? All the more reason to drink to his health!
”

“
I suppose
…
.anyway, don
’
t be trying to talk me out of it, it
’
s just
something I feel I need to do. One last time.
”

“
You probably said that last year, Kelly!
”

“
I didn
’
t! I swear this is his last chance. If Richie isn
’
t on the
‘
Sunny
Road
’
by ten past twelve on the 4
th
July, I
’
ll move on and never mention
his name again.
”

“
Can I quote you on that?
”

“
You can! Start the tape recorder.
”

Roddy pretended to press play and record on an imaginary tape
recorder and then held an invisi
ble microphone up to my mouth.

             
“
Make your statement, Kelly Watkinson!
”

“
I, Kelly Watkinson, hereby announce that if Richie Billingham is
not on the
‘
Sunny
Road
’
by ten minutes after twelve o
’
clock on the afternoon of the
4
th
July 2000, I promise and swear on my own life and that of my best
friend
’
s, Roddy Baker
’
s, that I shall never ever mention the name Richie
Billingham again, throughout the term of our natural lives
…
..OK?
”

“
Ideal!
”

By the time I arrived back from my enforced visit to the
‘
Sunny
Road
’
, Dot had left for work. Dot worked part-time in an old people
’
s
home as a care assistant and this included a
‘
ten until four
’
stretch on
a Saturday. She
’
d left me a key under a
plant pot in the front garden,
which was our usual emergency hiding p
lace and a note on the kitchen
table that read,