Kiss My Name (37 page)

ARTHUR – May 2012

             
I was forced into going to Blackpool for Simon’s Stag Do by my daughter, Nicky. I am seventy two now, not twenty two, so joining a group of rowdy, drunken young men for a night out in Blackpool had as much appeal as me getting a mohican and becoming a punk rocker. I went solely because I love her and would walk across burning coals to keep my girl happy. Given the choice beforehand, I would have done the burning coal walk rather than attend the Stag Do.

             
The coach trip across to Blackpool, highlighted all of my fears, as there was a lot of drinking and vulgar singing. There had even a bit of a ‘to do’ before the coach departed. A man who Simon feels was culpable in his young brother’s death had tried to join the Stag party and was confronted by Simon. I think the blame for that one does not lie at Simon’s feet though. If he had spent more of his time over the last twenty years being as animated and passionate as he was in those few moments, perhaps I would have thought more of him. As the coach departed, I was grateful that I had taken the seat directly behind the coach driver, as I was away from all the mayhem. I had a pleasant conversation with Simon’s father, Frank, who was seated next to me.

             
Once we arrived in Blackpool, we were pointed in the direction of a shabby looking Bed & Breakfast by Joey Neill, who seemed to be in charge of all the arrangements. Not surprisingly, our B&B was only marginally better on the inside than it looked from the outside. Despite its very limited charms, I was happy to be in my bedroom there, away from all the frivolity. I was sharing a twin room with Frank and was enjoying reading the Daily Express, when my grandson, Will, knocked on the door. I was dreading a request to go out and join the rest of the group, so I could not have been more relieved when Will said they were all going to the fair, but we didn’t need to go.

“Are you happy just staying around here, Frank, rather than going to the fun fair?” I asked.

“That’s fine with me, Arthur. I am not sure I want to be cooped up in here for too long though. Shall we could nip down for a couple of quick pints later on this afternoon?”

“Sounds good to me,” I replied.

A couple of hours later, whilst the rest of the Stag Party were no doubt on Helter Skelters and rollercoasters, Frank and I were sat in a Wetherspoons enjoying a couple of pints of stout.

“Are you wishing you were on the Big Dipper now, Frank?” I asked as I took another enjoyable drink from my pint.

“Arthur, if I went on a rollercoaster at my age, I think it would just about finish me off!”

“I’m sure it wouldn’t, Frank, but the whole noise of the funfair, the screaming and shouting, the loud music, it is certainly not my idea of fun.”

“Nor mine, Arthur”

“I think these modern day pubs are bloody rubbish too, but the beer is cheap and is going down beautifully, so I am certain we made an excellent decision!”

“We certainly did, Arthur.”

After slapping ourselves on the back, we did what us old folks can’t help but do, we reminisced.

“When was the last time you came to Blackpool, Frank?”

Frank put a finger on each of his eyebrows and pushed together and apart as he thought.

“Must be thirty years. We used to bring Simon and his younger brother, Colin, to play in the amusement arcades. They used to love them. You could give them a bucket of penny and two penny pieces and it would last them the whole afternoon! What about yourself, Arthur? When were you last here?”

I had been asking myself this same question.

“My mother and father regularly used to bring me to the beach, when I was a child, just after the war. Blackpool was the place to be then, wasn’t it? The beaches were packed, the promenade was heaving and the Piers always had big stars performing on them in the evening. I remember staying in the Imperial Hotel once and it felt like my parents had come up lucky on the pools coupon. I’ve been back since, but I don’t think I’ve stayed overnight here since that night in the Imperial, which must have been around 1950 or ’51. Don’t fancy my chances much of being back in another sixty years!”

“If you are,” Frank smiled, “I hope I’m here with you!”

“Although,” I reflected, “I’m not sure it would be too much fun being 130! Give me another ten healthy years, I’d settle for that.”

There was a quiet moment whilst we reflected a little on our immortality and quietly finished our drinks. Frank went to get another round in and as he placed the beers back down on the table, the conversation resumed but not in the same amiable tones.

“Arthur, how do you get on with Simon?”

This felt like a leading question. I suspected Simon had been telling his father that I wasn’t his number one fan.

“We’re very different people, Fran. He came to my aid when I had a bit of trouble with my heart, which I’ll always be grateful for and he seems to keep Nicky happy, which has always been my primary concern.”

Frank, who had previously struck me as an easy going man, seemed to harden his attitude.

“I asked whether you got on with him, Arthur. Do you not like my son?”

“Frank, why are you asking me this? Has Simon complained to you that I’m not nice to him?”

“Arthur, Simon has never said a word. Will and Nicky, on the other hand, say you aren’t particularly pleasant towards him. I was just wondering why?”

I was caught off guard a little. I liked Frank. What was I supposed to say? That I found his only surviving son irritating and for no good reason, I always felt the urge to punch his gormless face.

“I wouldn’t say I’d been unpleasant, Frank. Perhaps, on reflection, I have unknowingly been a bit sharp with the lad. I think it’s an overprotective father thing. In my mind, no-one is good enough for Nicky.”

“Perhaps you need to grow up then, A
rthur, because I’m telling you now, Simon is good enough for Nicky.”

“Well, I...,” I tried to interrupt him to get my excuses in early, but Frank was having none of it.

“Just shut up and listen, will you Arthur,” he said sternly, his face reddening, “I’ve known Nicky since she was a little girl. She was a lovely kid then and is a lovely woman now. You’ve done a fine job in bringing her up since you lost your wife. Now, I’ve never had a daughter, but certainly over the last fifteen years or so, Nicky has felt like a daughter to me.

              I have had sons though. I had two. Sadly, Colin is no longer with us, but I couldn’t be more proud of the son I’ve still got. At work, he is a grafter, but also his spirit at work is excellent too. No matter what the weather, every day is a good day for Simon. He’s never in a bad mood, always thinks the best of everyone and since he first got it together with your daughter, he has always treated Nicky and Will like a Queen and a prince. Have you not noticed how he always calls Will his son, not his stepson? Once Chloe arrived, I must admit I was a bit concerned it might change the dynamics between Simon and Will, with him having a biological daughter, but it never did. If he had become Prime Minister or England cricket captain, I don’t think I would be any more proud of him than I am already. He is a fine human being, one of the finest, Arthur and if you don’t treat him like one, that says a lot more about you than it does about him. Just give the lad a break.”

“I will,” I replied, but that wasn’t good enough for Frank.

“Don’t just say it, Arthur, mean it.”

“I promise you, Frank, I will.”

“Good, I’m glad about that, Arthur. You seem like a kind man. What you have done for your daughter is little short of a miracle and you seem great with the grandkids too. Just remember, Simon is on their team.”

To be honest, I promised to give Simon a break just so Frank would stop badgering me, but the more I thought about it, the more I began to realise that I would only ostracise myself from my family if my attitude towards Simon continued. No-one who knew Simon well seemed to have a bad word to say about him, except me. If I wanted to stay on their side too, perhaps Frank was right, perhaps it was time that I gave the lad a break.

NICKY – May 2012

             
I worried about Simon. The whole Stag Do thing had grown into a much bigger monster than he had ever wanted it to be. It had become the Stag Do Joey Neill had always wanted rather than the one Simon wanted. When he left with Will, at lunch time on the Saturday, I was really hoping they would enjoy themselves, but instinct told me that Simon probably wouldn’t.

             
To take my mind off events in Blackpool, I took Chloe swimming at All Seasons in Chorley on the Saturday afternoon. As soon as we walked back in the house though, the home phone was ringing.

“Hello.”

“Hi Nicky, it’s me,” Simon’s voice sounded positive and he wasn’t slurring which I took as a positive sign.

“Simon, how’s it going? You don’t sound drunk yet.”

“I’m not, Nicky. We’ve spent the afternoon at the Pleasure Beach.”

“You bunch of kids! What did you go on?”

“The Big One, Infusion, Revolution, Avalanche...all the thrill rides.”

“Brilliant, I’d have loved them. So are you enjoying yourself?”

“Sort of.”

This wasn’t what I wanted to hear, I wanted Simon to be saying it was fantastic.

“Why, what’s the matter?”

“Long story. Put it this way, Nicky, I am speaking to you with my mobile in my left hand, as my right hand is handcuffed to a bloke called Tim, who is a dwarf covered head to toe in blue body paint, dyed blue hair and massive triangular ears. He seems very nice but given I can’t go to the bathroom without him, or him without me, can’t
sleep without him and basically can’t move without dragging him with me, I’m not quite sure how the next twenty four hours are going to pan out.”

I felt sorry for Simon, but also I felt really annoyed that he was daft enough to choose Joey as a second Best Man. It was asking for trouble.

“I take it this is Joey’s doing.”

“How did you guess? His mates think it’s hilarious, so do the lads from cricket, to be fair. In fact, I reckon I’ve had more photographs taken of me this afternoon than if David Beckham and Posh Spice had walked along the Promenade naked.”

A slight exaggeration perhaps, but I didn’t argue.

“Can they not unlock you now the joke is over?”

“No, they gave the key to the coach driver and he’s not back until tomorrow afternoon.”

“Oh honey, that’s awful. Look on the bright side though. At least you said this Tim seems like a nice guy. Imagine if the rest of the Stag party had handcuffed you to Joey! How bad would that be?”

“Even worse!”

“Keep your chin up, hun, kiss my name and this time tomorrow, I promise I will make it all better.”

Being on a promise was guaranteed to put a smile on Simon’s face.

“Thanks, Nicky. I love you.”

“I love you too, sweetheart. Just go out tonight and have a brilliant time. Have a dance and a few beers and enjoy yourself.”

“Dance! It might be difficult to dance attached to a Blue Goblin!”

“Simon, believe me, it couldn’t make you any worse.”

“Charming!”

“The truth hurts, honey! Are Will and the Dads enjoying themselves?”

“Will is. He’s loving it. Not really seen much of the Dads though. They didn’t come to the Pleasure Beach although I would have paid good money to see your Dad on ‘The Big One’. In fact, there’s someone else I’m very glad I’m not handcuffed to, your Dad!”

“”Now that would have been funny! Hope my Dad and Frank are OK.”

“They will be, Nicky. They’re old enough and ugly enough to look after themselves. We’re meeting back up with them later, I’ll ask your Dad to give you a ring in the morning, I’m sure he’ll be up before me.”

“OK, great. You ring me too when you’re up, Simon, just so I know that you’ve survived.”

“I will.”

Our doorbell rang.

“Simon, I’ll have to go. One of Chloe’s friends is at the door. Try to forget about the handcuffs, as much as it’s possible to anyway and just keep smiling. I’ll kill that Joey Neill when you get home!”

“Bye Nicky, love you.”

“Love you too. Bye!”

TIM ANDERSON – May 2012

              By Saturday evening, Simon Strong had coped with the attachment admirably. There had been the odd moan here and there, but on the whole, he had not been struck down by the same air of despondency that strikes some of my victims. He seemed to have remained the same decent guy he had been at school. After the Pleasure Beach, some of the lads, including Simon’s son Will, decided to go to watch some horseracing in the bookmakers for an hour, but Simon opted to head back to his room. Given it was impossible for him to wander off alone, this was deemed acceptable. When we were back in the room, Simon phoned his wife to be and it was during this call that I decided I would make him aware of our shared history.

“She sounds nice,” I said as he put the phone down.

“Nicky? She’s a brilliant woman, Tim. She’s gorgeous too. Not what you would expect to be marrying a chunky, balding, middle aged bloke like me!”

Simon always seemed to be self-deprecating, some people do this to fish for compliments, others do it because they are happy in their own skin, regardless of how that skin may look. Simon was one of the latter group.

“I don’t know, Simon, you’ve got a good heart and that counts for a lot,” I replied.

“Tim, how do you know I’ve got a good heart?” Simon said cheekily, “I might trip old ladies up and stick needles in babies, for all you know.”

“I doubt it, Simon. From what I’ve seen, you have a good heart. You certainly had a good heart when you stopped Luke Booth kicking the crap out of me back in our Parklands days.”

Simon pulled a confused frown, then the penny seemed to drop and he laughed out loud.

“Timmy? Timmy Anderson! Underneath all that crap is a middle aged Timmy Anderson. God, I feel stupid now, I should have worked it out when you said your name was Tim.”

“Yes, I’ve changed to Tim from Timmy now. Timmy’s a bit young sounding for a man in his late thirties.”

Simon shook his head.

“Well, I‘ll be damned. I said you were a decent guy to Nicky, didn’t I? I always admired you when you were at school. You were obviously the smallest kid in the year, but you knew how to look after yourself.”

“I had to learn, Simon. Boffin and his mates used to give me a hard time in the early years. He left me alone after you beat him up though. He was scared of you.”

Once again, Simon shook his head. It wasn’t in disbelief this time though, more in disagreement.

“I don’t think he was scared, Tim. That was guilt. It was never proved, but I’m certain he played a part in my brother’s death. I’ve always thought he pushed him in. Were you on the coach earlier when Boffin had the cheek to turn up?”

“Yes, that brought back memories, when you started fighting with him all over again!”

“I just lost it! He didn’t want to get off either, the scumbag!”

Simon was a laid back guy, but it was obvious the mere mention of Luke ‘Boffin’ Booth’s name was enough to trigger a deep rooted anger. I decided to move the conversation away from Boffin.

“Do you keep in touch with anyone from Parklands, Simon? Any of them on this Stag Do?”

“No, no-one from school is on this Stag Do. Not from our year anyway. Some of Joey’s mates from The Talbot and The Bay Horse may well have been to Parklands. I keep in touch with a few on Facebook. Do you remember Richard Tyler?”

“Yes, he was in my form. Nice lad, Richard. He lived over in Brinscall, didn’t he? Wasn’t he the one who moved down South somewhere?”

“That’s right, he moved to Cheltenham. I managed to track him down via Facebook. He’s an ex deep sea diver and now a scuba diving instructor at Blue Planet in Ellesmere Port. I managed to set something up with him for my proposal to Nicky. He held up signs in the water, on my behalf, asking Nicky to marry me.”

I must admit, given his brother died in water, it seemed like a strange way of proposing but perhaps he didn’t always want to have negative thoughts relating to water and that was a way of overcoming it. I was tempted to ask, but avoided it.

“Bet that looked cool,
” I said, perhaps a little unconvincingly.

“It did, mate. What about you, Tim? Still in touch with anyone?”

“Not any more. Can you remember a lad called Phil Moss?”

“Yes, I remember Phil. He said ‘mate’ more than anyone I have ever met! He used to go around with Boffin’s lot at first, but then he distanced himself from them, didn’t he?”

“That’s right. Good old Phil. He used to be one of the gang that bullied me in 1
st
and 2
nd
Year. He didn’t do much to me himself, but he didn’t stop them either. Once Boffin started leaving me alone though, Phil became really friendly with me. He was always apologising for how they treated me. We were best mates from fourteen onwards.”

“What’s he doing now?” Simon asked.

“Phil Moss. Did you not hear what happened to Phil?”

“No.”

“He died Simon.”

Simon looked really upset to hear this news. I’m not sure if it was genuine remorse or just that the news of an early death made him think back to the death of his brother.

“When?” Simon queried.

“January 1
st
1998. Did you not read about it in the Chorley Guardian?”

“No, I’ve only recently started buying the Guardian recently. My son, Will, is a really strong cricket player and his name pops up in the sporting section from time to time, so I buy it to see his name in lights, like any proud parent does. What happened to Phil, then?”

“He jumped off a bridge in Euxton on to the M6. A family coming back from a New Year’s Eve party in Edinburgh hit him. His death hit me really hard. I grieved for a close friend but I also felt guilty that I allowed it to happen. I was also mad that the silly sod inflicted his problems on that poor family in the car too. If he was so determined to die, he should have blown his brains out or taken paraquat. They have to live with the horrible memory of hitting him, one of the kids in the back was only five.”

“That’s terrible. I remember him being a bit of a nervy kid, but he was alright. What made him do it?”

“Not sure really. I’d been out for a few drinks with him on Boxing Day and he seemed in decent spirits. He had split from his girlfriend, Diane, in the November and that summer they had lost a baby when his girlfriend was twelve weeks pregnant but I thought he was getting over it. He didn’t leave a note, just stopped his car, ran over the road, climbed on to the bridge and jumped.”

“How awful is that? I’m surprised I never heard on the Chorley grapevine.”

“Me too. It’s a long time ago now though, nearly fifteen years since we lost him. I don’t think about him much these days, but I guess seeing you brought some memories back. We’ll raise a glass to him tonight, shall we?”

“Good idea. Do you drink when you’re working, Tim?”

It was my turn to smile.

“Simon, whatever you drink, I’ll drink. It’s not as though I have to drive home and as you’ll see later, a dwarf dressed as a Blue Goblin never has to buy his own drinks!”

“I can’t see it being that crazy,” Simon said, “as I can’t take my drink that well any more.”

“Pace yourself then, Simon. If you end up vomiting in the toilet all night, guess who’ll be right there next to you!”

“I couldn’t do your job, Tim!”

“I have no family, it pays very well and most weekends are a good laugh. There are worse things I could be doing than getting paid to party.”

“I take it you can hold your drink then, Tim.”

“Last week, I was handcuffed to a twenty three stone Welsh rugby prop. He could drink beer like Popeye can eat spinach. I matched him drink for drink. If I can get through that one, I’m sure I can cope with whatever else this summer throws at me.”

“What about dancing Tim? Can you dance?”

“I like dancing, Simon, but I’ve got two left feet.”

“Excellent. We’ll make the perfect pair. Do you like eighties and nineties stuff?”

“Love it.”

Simon broke out into a broad smile.

“Superb. I’ve a feeling tonight’s going to be a classic.”