Forever Is Over (26 page)

“
Euuuurrrrgggghhhh!
”
shrieked Kelly and Amy in unison.

I ignored it and plugged on towards the toilet, battling against the
elements like Scott in the Antarctic, reaching my destination just before
the second wave of sick arrived. I hate being sick. Retching and the
stench of puke are not pretty and things went from bad to worse when
Amy, who had sympathetically kneeled down beside me to stroke my
hair observed,

“
Jemma. Now may not be the best time to tell you this, but it looks
like someone has spewed in the back of your hair.
”

             
I ran my hand through my hair and it em
erged full of diced carrot.

I threw up a third time.

I hated Richie Billingham. He had crept into my room, taken my
virginity and then at some point, puked all over the back of my head and
then cleared off before I realised. How did I not realise that someone
had been sick in the back of my head? To make matters worse, he
’
d also
asked my thirteen year old sister out. How could I tell her what he
’
d
done? She was only a child, it would break her heart.
I owed Richie Billingham big time. I
’
d make him pay for this. No
doubt about it, I would make him pay.

Ormskirk
’
s nightlife wasn
’
t the greatest. Everywhere shut down at
11pm and then until midnight, half the town
’
s drinkers congregated
outside a fish and chip shop called the Acropolis, either to soak up
their alcohol with fish and chips or sausage and chips or to scan around
desperately looking for an available member of the opposite sex. When
Helen and Caroline were younger and were first heading out into
Ormskirk in the mid 1980
’
s, the pavement outside the Acropolis also
doubled up as a boxing ring, as many bare knuckled fist fights took place
amongst Ormskirk
’
s inebriated. By the end of the Eighties, however, a
healthy police presence had minimised the outpourings of testosterone
and if it began to kick off, the aggressors were bundled into the back
of a police van.

Ormskirk is a market town in West Lancashire, located approximately
halfway between Preston and Liverpool. Half its occupants are the
offspring of
“
Scousers
”
who have moved out of the city and the other
half are the offspring of dyed in the wool Lancastrians. The former were
known as
“
plastic Scousers
”
and the latter
“
Woolybacks
”
. Our family
were pretty much a combination of the two.
“
Plastic backs
”
or
“
Wooly
Scousers
”
!
Unless alcohol was involved, there was no animosity between
“
Scousers
”
 
and
“
Woolybacks
”
,  generally  a  small  town  spirit  of
togetherness had been created with everyone knowing everyone or, at
the very least, knowing someone who knows someone.

Good people are
created in Ormskirk but very few famous people. The only one I can
think of is Tony Morley, the former Aston Villa left winger. I
’
m not
even sure he grew up in Ormskirk, I just know from my Panini sticker
albums that he was born in Ormskirk. Ironically, Tony Morley once
scored the
“
Match of The Day
”
Goal of the Season, but it was for Aston 
Villa against Everton in about 1982 and I was there to witness it! Being a goal against Everton, it was a painful blow, but it wasn
’
t as painful as
every other goal scored against Everton by non-Ormskirk folk!

Amongst the older generations, Ormskirk is noted for having a
Parish Church that has both a tower and a steeple and a market that
takes place every Thursday and Saturday. It also had a teaching college
called Edge Hill, which supposedly had about ten female students
to every male, but none of these women ever came looking for me.
Ormskirk was a wonderful place to grow up, but it wasn
’
t London.

At half eleven on a Friday and Saturday night in my late teens, I
would generally stumble out of
“
The Chelsea Reach
”
,
“
The Brahms &
Liszt
”
or
“
The Buck I
’
th Vine
”
and stagger down to the Acropolis with
my mates.
“
The Chelsea Reach
”
was directly opposite the Acropolis,
so we often planned our night with strategic precision to ensure the
drinking part of our night out concluded there, so we had minimal
staggering distance to the Acropolis.
Every Friday and Saturday was
much of a muchness, I would buy a portion of chips, chat to a few
schoolfriends, friends from old football teams I had played for, or fellow
Evertonians, then wander back home to Aughton, my home village,
two miles away.

Educationally, I had surprised myself and passed seven
“
O
”
levels,
so had stayed at Ormskirk Grammar School for
“
A
”
levels too, so home
l
ife, school life and night life all centred around Ormskirk. I was happy
with my routine, I had a 100% record of romantic failure on nights out
in Ormskirk during my first two years of drinking, but this was through
a lack of trying rather than trying and failing.

One Friday night, in late summer 1988, everything changed. It
was in the middle of the summer holidays, I was about to go back
into Upper Sixth and had just had a few pints in
“
The Buck
”
with my
mate, Dogger before wandering down to the Acropolis on my own.
Dogger was in Sixth Form with me, but he lived in Westhead, and the
Acropolis was five minutes walk in the wrong direction for him, so he
had forfeited chips and walked home. I had bought chips and stood
outside, unravelling the paper and surveying the scene. I spotted her
instantly. Crossing the road from
“
The Chelsea Reach
”
, linking arms
with three of her friends, was Kelly Watkinson. Back at the Birch
’
s
party, when I first noticed her, Kelly was a pretty young girl, but now,
nearing sixteen, she was a stunning young woman. If there had been
an agent for some massive modelling firm out in Ormskirk that night,
Kelly Watkinson would have been the one and only girl that would have
been worthy of his attention. To my mind, Cindy Crawford and Naomi
Campbell were languishing miles behind Kelly in the beauty stakes,
Linda Evangelista ran Kelly close, but Kelly had a slight edge on her too!

Her hair was now long, straight and blond, she had grown taller over the
two years since the Birch
’
s party and now must have been 5 feet 7 or 5
feet 8. With heels on, she towered over some of her friends. This was not
new information to me though, every school day for the past two years
I had been tortured by her presence. The
thing I did notice that night,
more than ever before, was her bum which was packed tightly into a
white pair of jeans and a fine pair of breasts that were only partially
covered by a silver silk shirt that had its top few buttons undone. Where
had those beauties sprung up from? They weren
’
t massive, but weren
’
t
bee stings either.
“
C
”
cuppers, I concluded.

I watched Kelly and her friends go into the Acropolis. I watched her queue and then watched her come out, armed with a portion of
chips and gravy. Kelly was the f
irst of her friends to come out.
I took
advantage of the opportunity and rushed over,

“
Had a good night, Kelly?
”

“
Brilliant until about ten seconds ago.
”

This wasn
’
t fair.

“
This is getting boring now!
”

“
You brought it all on yourself, Richie!
”

“
That
’
s where you
’
re wrong!
”

“
How do you figure that one out?
”

Kelly
’
s friends were coming to join her now, I took it as a positive
that she was prepared to continue to argue with me rather than just
walk away.

“
I haven
’
t done anything wrong! Give me one good reason why you
and I should not go out on a date?
”

“
Because you
’
re revolting!
”

I knew she didn
’
t mean that!

“
A real reason!
”

“
Richie, if seven legged aliens arrived on the planet and killed off
every single male with the exception of you, I still would not go out with you.
”

“
That
’
s not a reason!
”

“
Ok. I
’
ll give you three reasons. One, we had a date arranged two
bloody years ago and you didn
’
t show up!
”

“
Hang on! I didn
’
t stand you up, I cancelled! There was a reason
…
.
”

“
Hold on! I said three reasons. Let me finish.
”

“
OK.
”

“
Secondly, you virtually raped my sister!
”

“
Bollocks!
”

“
And thirdly, you threw up in the back of her head!
”

“
When exactly?
”

“
That same night in the bedroom at the Birch
’
s party!
”

“
That
’
s bollocks too!
”

Not complete bollocks, but I wasn
’
t going to tell Kelly that! I threw up in her hair on the landing not in the bedroom!

“
How you ever expect me to forgive you for asking me out and then
sleeping with my sister, on the very same night, I will never know!
”

             
I sighed.

“
Look Kelly, how many times are we going to go over this. I DID
NOT and I repeat DID NOT sleep with your sister. She was very
drunk, she either dreamt it
…”

“
Why would she dream of sleeping with you? My god, how vain
are you?
”

“
Or she slept with someone else.
”

“
She is 100% sure it was you.
”

“
It was not me!
”

“
Well Jemma says it was and I know who I believe!
”