Forever Is Over (45 page)

Kelly did not look convinced. She began to shiver and when she
spoke her voice was frail.

“
Jemma, if we lie about this, we
’
ll only make more trouble for
ourselves. Maybe it
’
ll be like you said before to Mum. Maybe if we
tell them how she used to beat you up and make our lives a misery and
explain that I just ran at her impulsively, to protect you from another
beating, maybe then I won
’
t go to jail for too long.
”

“
Kelly, shut up! Our future is dependent on you. I
’
m no genius, I
’
m
never going to
get a fancy job that pays a load of money
…”

Kelly interrupted,

“
You
’
ve got a good job in the bank.
”

“
I know but where
’
s that going to take us? If I
’
m lucky in a few years
time I might get a supervisors job, but that won
’
t make us a fortune.
”

“
We
’
ll be OK.
”

“
Kelly, I don
’
t just want us to be OK. You are the brains in this
family. You could be anything. You could be a Doctor, a Dentist, a vet,
a surgeon, a scientist, you could be whatever you want to be. The world
is your oyster. Do you think it will still be your oyster after a couple of
years in a young offenders institute? Of course it won
’
t! So let me say
this one last time. I heard a thud which woke me up. You slept through.
We went to bed at 11.30, after a night in together. OK?
”

“
OK
…”

Kelly was still unconvinced,
“
but what if they catch me
out?
”

“
Kelly, no-one
’
s going to catch you out. You went to bed at 11.30,
you heard nothing, you were woken up when people started arriving. It
’
s not difficult to remember.
”

“
What if they ask about my little accident?
”

Earlier I could not help noticing that Kelly had a wet patch between
her legs. It appeared that she had reacted to the bedlam in the manner of
a nervous puppy on Bonfire Night. There was no crime in that, sixteen
year old girls should not be sub
jected to this sort of ordeal.

             
“
Just say you are a really heavy sleeper and its really embarrassing
to admit, but on occasion you have a little accident. Anyway, no-one
will ask you about that.
”

“
Well, what if they start asking questions about how we got on with Mum?
”

“
Just say she was a pisshead but she was our Mum and we loved
her.
”

Kelly started to get a bit of colour back in her cheeks. She was finally
starting to believe we had a via
ble alternative to confessing.

             
“
OK.
”

“
Kelly, they may even get me to wake you, to break the news. Just
act like you normally would if I came into your room and woke you up
at five in the morning. Cranky!
”

“
OK.
Jemma?
”

“
Yes.
”

“
She is definitely dead, isn
’
t she?
”

“
Kelly, she is definitely, definitely dead. She was a horrible, horrible
woman, Kelly and I owe you big time for helping me when I needed you.
Please just do as I
’
ve said, don
’
t panic and everything will be OK.
”

             
I gave Kelly a hug, tucked her into bed, kissed her cheek, squeezed
her hands and then left her room, praying she would be strong enough
to get through this. On the landing, I collected the bread knife I had
dropped earlier and took it down to the kitchen, stepping over Mum
’
s
body on the way and putting it back in the cutlery draw. The knife had
not been used in anger and my fingerprints on the family bread knife
were not going to arouse suspicion. No-one was even going to look for
fingerprints, because there was no murder weapon. Vomit Breath fell
down the stairs. There was no mystery. Vomit Breath was a drunk, she
came home, drank a load of neat vodka, staggered up the stairs, then
fell. I
’
m sure police throughout the UK deal with a host of drunken
tragedies every weekend. I picked up the phone and pushed the nine
button three times.

“
Good morning! Emergency services! Which service is it that you
require?
”

“
I need an ambulance. It
’
s my Mum, she
’
s fallen down the stairs,
she
’
s out cold and I can
’
t wake her up. Please send someone around as
quickly as you can. PLEASE!
”

Richie

I struggled to get off to sleep on the night of the Hillsborough
disaster, but once I eventually fell asleep, I slept heavily. Too deep for
dreams. Under normal circumstances, if my Mum ever had to wake me
up, as soon as the door swung open, I was aware of her presence and
would be fully alert immediately. This time though, Mum came into
my room at 5am and a door opening, followed by some softly spoken
words apparently failed to make me stir, so Mum resorted to a good
old fashioned shake.

“
What are you doing, Mum? Leave me alone!
”

“
Richard, you are going to have to get up. There
’
s a policeman
downstairs waiting to see you.
”

That did the trick! Suddenly, I was
awake! I staggered down the
stairs in my pyjamas to find a solemn looking, uniformed but helmet
free constable sitting on our settee. The missing helmet comforted me
as I
’
d heard that arrests were only made by policemen in helmets. What
exactly he was going to arrest me for, I was unsure, although a public act
of indecency towards an insensitive idiot, sprang to mind. I was further
comforted by the police constable
’
s opening gambit,

“
I
’
m sorry to get you up in the middle of the night, Richard,
”
was how he began.

I was off the hook! I didn
’
t know much about the criminal
underworld, but I suspected that when thieves and no goods were
arrested in the middle of the night, the police did not start their arrests
with an apology.

“
it
’
s just that I have a very upset young lady in the car and she
mentioned to my colleague that she needed to see you. She just wanted
to tidy herself up a little before she came in. I
’
m afraid she
’
s had to deal
with some very bad news to-night.
”

I drew my own conclusions straight away. It was Kelly, there was
nothing more certain than that - who else would ask for me in the
middle of the night? And the bad news? There was only one person,
other than me, that meant anything to Kelly. I was 100% sure something
must have happened to Jemma. Som
ething
serious. Without adding anything further, the policeman stood up and led me through to the
porch. We looked through the double glazing and as soon as I saw Kelly
being escorted out of the patrol car, wrapped in a blanket and being
comforted by a young policewoman, my detective work was concluded
on the spot. Jemma Watkinson was dead.

The policewoman helped Kelly up the drive, like a uniformed crutch.
Kelly was unsteady and tearful. In my mind, it was now odds-on that
Jemma was the unfortunate victim, the only thing left to hear was
how her death had come about. My mind kept working its way back to
Hillsborough. Could Jemma have been there? It was a stupid question,
Jemma didn
’
t even like football. Two separate tragedies within such a
short period of time was too much for my brain to comprehend.

Once Kelly was halfway up the
path, she spotted me. I opened
the door and she broke into something faster than a jog but slower
than a sprint, a three-quarter pace dash into my arms. I ran to meet
her, reaching out out and enveloping her into my chest. Kelly just
sobbed, big, tearful, shoulder shrugging sobs. She could barely speak
but managed to stammer,

“
Sh sh she
’
s dead, Richie! I can
’
t believe it! Sh sh she
’
s dead!
”

‘
I knew it!
’
I thought to myself,
‘
Jemma
’
s dead!
’

Whilst comforting Kelly, in my mind I was applauding the powers
of my sub-conscious mind and its ability to sense this tragedy. When
we stepped back into the porch, my Mum suddenly re-appeared from
nowhere, clad in white dressing gown and fluffy pink slippers.

“
Can I make you a nice cup of tea, Kelly love?
”
Kelly nodded.

“
Go and have a seat in the lounge then love, whilst I make you a
nice cup of tea and a biscuit!
”

My Mum thought a lot of Kelly. Their paths had not crossed more
than five or six times, as I would spend most of my time around at
Kelly
’
s, once her Mum headed out on the razz, but when she came to
my house, Mum would repeat continually after her departure,

“
She
’
s a lovely girl that one! You make sure you take good care of
her!
”

There was a strange bond between my Mum and Kelly, maybe it was
because my Mum mothered Kelly, whilst her own Mum just acted like
an older sister you were ashamed of. Maybe the police had already told
Mum what had gone on. I was probably the only one who didn
’
t know.
I felt like I was missing out. I needed to find out. I took command.

“
Come in to the lounge, Kelly.
”

I began to guide her through. The police did not follow her out of
the porch. The policewoman began to speak in a calm but assertive tone.

Being a teenage boy, I wondered how often her husband managed to
coax her into wearing that uniform in the bedroom, handcuff him to
the bed and then punish him for being a naughty boy. Probably never, I
decided as I came to my senses and the cynic within me arrived.

“
We
’
re not coming in, love,
”
the policewoman said to me.

“
Look after her and see how she goes. If she wants to go back home,
ring this number,
”
she passed me a card with Ormskirk police station
’
s
number on,
“
and Lisa at the station will send a patrol car around to pick
Kelly up. If she stays with you, can you ring the station and just let them know if she
’
s still here by the afternoon, as at some point today we
’
ll just
need to ask Kelly some routine questions
…
.
”