Read Forever Is Over Online

Authors: Calvin Wade

Forever Is Over

 

 

 

Forever Is Over

 

 

 

 

     
Calvin Wade

 

AuthorHouse™ UK Ltd.

500 Avebury Boulevard

Central Milton Keynes, MK9 2BE
www.authorhouse.co.uk

Phone: 08001974150

 

©
2010 Calvin Wade. All rights reserved.

 

No part of this book may be reproduced, st
ored
in a retrieval system, or
transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

First published by AuthorHouse
11/29/2010

.
ISBN: 978-1-4567-7009-9 (sc)

This book is dedicated to my wife Alison,
my two
sons, Bradley and
Joel, my mother Jacqueline, my father Richard, my sister Lisa and my
gra
ndparents Elsie and Ernie (Rest In Peace).

Alison - my love for you grows stronger by the day, there is no stronger
bond.

 

Bradley & Joel - for teaching me the meaning of parental pride and
making me appreciate where my father was coming from!

 

Mum & Dad - for providing me with the perfect upbringing. I am very
proud to have you as my parents.

 

Lisa - we were always different but we were always good friends (except
for that time in Majorca!)

 

Nan & Pop -

behind every successful man, there is a wise woman
the only thing missing from my thirties, Nan, was you.

 


Forever Is Over

was inspired by

Sunny Road

, a song by Emiliana Torrini on the magnificent album

Fisherman

s Woman

.

I would to thank the following people for their support in putting
this project together:-

David  Allen -
for  th
e  website 
www.calvinwade.com
.

Andrew
Wharmby f
or the cover photo taken near Obyce, Slovakia - the relevance
to the book is artis
tic rather than geographical!

Mark Sunderland
for
friendship, trust and belief.

Guy Cullen
for providing the motivation
to start the book.

Emiliana
Torrini for making time to respond (several
times) despite being pregnant and mov
ing home.

Adele Riley
for the
offer of a helping hand.

Dr.
Rob Letch for medical guidance.

Sara
Griffiths for friendship and
proofreading
.

Kathryn Saxby at Fleetriver
for poi
nting me in the right direction
.

Jill Wildman
for the boundless
enthusi
asm and unwavering support
.

Ivone Gomes de Silva for caring
.

Gareth Roberts (Editor of

Well Red

Magazine) and Kit Loughlin
for honest feedback
.

Michelle Loughlin for some new ideas
.

David Stuart-Capita at the BBC f
or permission to use the chilling broadcast
by Peter Jones on Sport On Two,
H
illsborough 1989.

Paul Rawson
for
the very entertaining sto
ry that he allowed me to pinch!

Thanks to the following people for their friendship, love and encourage
ment:-

Lisa, Vin, Olivia and Max (

The Vernons

). Paula & Barry Walker
.
Jennie, Jon,
Chloe and Emily Askew
. Andrew & Sarah Moss. Andrew&
Yvonne
Berry. Phil & Joanne Holmstrom. Graeme & Jackie Gregory. Andrew
Elkington (for the horseracing craic and the offer of help at a moments
notice). Jo, Shaun, Ellie & Lucy McManus. Dereck, Joy, Tom and Ben
Stagg. Dave & Gill Hughes. Chris Evans. Jon Evans. Jamie Lowe. Jay
& Debbie Davy. Lee Rankin. Sean & Kellie O

Donnell. Carl & Katie
McGovern. Tamsin & Paul Hawkins. Dave & Laura Barron. Gareth
Jones. Anna & Paul Ponting. Ed Payne. Chris Ayres. Gordon, Hilary,
Gavin, Alexin and Colin (

The McGraes

and Inksons). The Wades.
Andy Sykes. Emma Millington. Rod & Heidi McKirgan. Nicola Guy
Edgington. Phi
lip Hesketh. Howard & Pam Slack. Charles Canning.
David Robinson. Sara Curtis. Iain Lindsay. Michael Walsh. Ian Sincock.
John Ritchie. Gary Lugg. Tina Panayi. Vicky Ingham. Katriona Dixon.
Emma & Mark Butterworth. Rick Blanks .Nicky Harburn. Amy Stabler.
Nadeem Iqbal. Stuart Napier. Ian Prowse. Dave
Pinnington. Marie Grundy. Kevin Formby. Amanda Bramhill. Sara
Leigh Boyd. Cathie Hunter. David Prescott. Alison Coates.
Ian Bates.
Louise Dermott. Steve Collins. All my Facebook friends who have
spread the word to their friends! Andy Seel, Dave Pilkington, Alastair Mollon for helping me run Gregson Lane JFC U11s!

All the lads at
Metropolitan and Dingwall Football Clubs - the football was great and
the laughter was always loud! Cheers! I am sure I have left ou
t a million and one other people,
I apologise
in advance!

 

 

Jemma - The Beginning Of The End

 

I really wanted him to open the door but he wouldn

t. Perhaps he
smelt a rat, I

m not sure. Perhaps he recognised some of the cars outside
,
I

d told them to park down the road and walk up, but it was a wet and
windy night and some women would rather spoil the surprise than spoil the hair they have just spent hours putting into place.


Go through

, I said to him, trying to coax him in.


Can you not open a door?

he asked, in a tone that implied he may
have clocked my unusual behaviour. I wa
s not in the habit of standing
on ceremony! Anyway, Richie was having none of it, so I made a grab
for him, whilst simultaneously trying to push open the double doors.

As I opened the doors, I was greeted by about a hundred of Richie

s
nearest and dearest, party poppers at the ready, for when his frail but
smiling face emerged. The DJ, sensing his moment had come, pressed
play and the room was filled with Elbow

s

One Day Like This

. It was
no good though, multi-tasking had never been one of my strong points
and as I pushed the door open, Richie had wriggled his skeletal frame
out of my grasp and somehow managed to summon enough strength
to run as fast as his legs could carry him, out the exit and back towards
the car.


Just give me two minutes

, I explained apologetically to the anxious
crowd, as I turned on my heels to go after him. Richie

s Mum, Dot,
made a move to the door too, but I wasn

t waiting and shot off after him
in a Shaggy & Scooby styled run.

Back in his healthier days, Richie would have reached the car in a
flash, but once I was outside, I knew he was not going to escape me, as
his run had become a determined stride,
still oblivious to the howling
winds and rain that only Gene Kelly would want to be out in.


Richie, what are you playing at? Everyone

s here for you?

I loved every single pore on that man

s skin, every ounce of flesh,
every strand of hair, every eyelash, every tooth, every finger, every toe,
but he was as stubborn as a mule when he wanted to be.


I

m not going back in there

.


Yes, you are.

I replied without sympathy.


Jemma, I

m not

.

Richie

s Mum was outside by now, but thankfully, for once, she
kept her distance.


Richie, people have travelled a long way to get here. They

ve
arranged babysitters, booked hotels, bought dresses, had their hair done,
your Helen, even looks like she

s had a boob job especially

.

Richie didn

t laugh. Sometimes when he was trying not to laugh,
you could see the sides of his mouth curling upwards, this was not one
of those times.


Jemma, I can

t do it. I wish I could, but I can

t

.


Yes, you can

.

Tears started to well up in his eyes.


I can

t face it, Jemma. I can

t face a Pity Party.


Come on Richie, once you get inside you

ll enjoy it. You know you
will.


Jemma, these people are here because I

m dying

.


They are here because they love you.


No, they are here because I

m dying. What am I supposed to talk
to them about? Where are you going for your summer hols, Dogger?
Majorca, great. I

m going to the crematorium, its going to be bloody roasting, but don

t worry, I don

t really feel the heat or at least I won

t
when I

m dead!

I was going to rush in with a sentence that began with,

Stop being

so bloody stupid
…”
and then I was going to let my anger and annoyance

complete the sentence for me, but for some reason, I stopped to think.
Richie was dying, we all knew that. I desperately wanted him to see all
his family and friends, some of whom he hadn

t seen for years. I wanted
him to see them whilst he was still well enough to enjoy the night, but
I was not the one who

s life was slipping away. If it was too much for him, it was too much for him, I shouldn

t push it.


OK, Richie, just listen to me for a minute.


Jemma, I don

t want this

.


Richie, just listen. Don

t interrupt, just listen...


Shit!

I thought to myself.

SHIT!

I

m not one for swearing out loud, I very rarely swear, but, at that
very moment, my brain was turning the word

shit

over and over like
food on a barbeque. With good reason, I was wanting inspiration to
arrive like an express train, but it had
been delayed by leaves on the
line.

This was supposed to be my moment. Our moment. I wanted to say
something witty or brilliant. Something inspirational. Something that would make him see things in a totally different light. Problem was I
had nothing planned, no start, no middle and no ending. I

d just have to blag it. Here goes nothing.


Look Richie, your Mum and I arranged this for you. As you
know, only too well, I am from a weird family. I

ve had

stepdads

,

stepbrothers

,

stepsisters

,

stepcousins

, I

ve had more steps than a
John Buchan novel, but your family

s
different. From the moment we
met, I loved you, but I was always jealous of you. You had a proper
fami
ly. A Mum and Dad who adore you.
Your Mum is an interfering old
bat, but she

s prepared to stand outside in the pissing rain in the middle
of November for you. You

ve got a brother and two sisters, all from the
same Dad and you all get on. You

re like the bloody Waltons!

That

s not all. You

ve got friends who you

ve known since infant
school. People you would do anything for and would do anything for
you. I wish I didn

t have to say this, but these are friends you may never
get the opportunity to see again after tonight. Now, if you want to miss
out on an opportunity to see these people because you think they are
so tactless that they

ll talk about their summer holidays, then lets get
in the car and go home. But we both know the real reason they are
here. They

re here because they know you

re dying and it

s destroying
them like it

s destroying me. They are here because they want to have a
wonderful night with a wonderful man. Th
ey want to celebrate your life
with you and not at your funeral when they can

t hug you and kiss you
and tell you how much they love you. They

.


That

s enough, Jemma.

Richie took a tissue out his pocket. Blew his nose, wiped away a
tear and walked towards me. I wasn

t one hundred percent sure whether
he was going to slap me or hug me, but he wrapped those skinny little
arms around me and held me tightly.


I

m sorry, Jem. I want to be brave, I want to be positive, I want to
live every moment like it

s my last, but it all doesn

t seem real. Nights
like tonight, however well intentioned, just remind me of what lies
ahead. I remember being on Sales courses at work and you

d get these
really confident

life coaches

who would tell you to assess the problem,
then gauge its importance from one to ten, with ten being death. This
problem is a big, fat ten, Jemma. I

m dying. Our kids won

t have a father
next Christmas. I won

t see Jamie score his first goal and I won

t be there
to walk Melissa down the aisle on her wedding day. I so wanted to do
that. You won

t believe how much I wanted to do that

.

Richie broke down, sobbing and sobbing as all the fears and anxiety
that had been built up since the diagnosis came spilling out. Richie

s mother, Dot, a woman who would not normally go swimming for fear
of getting her hair wet, shuffled towards us like a rat that had been
drowned and revived several times over.


Everything alright, love?

she asked from just further than slapping
distance away, which is what half of me felt she deserved for asking such
a stupid question. The other half understood though that she needed to
be there for Richie and I managed to keep quiet, paving the way for a
response from her son.


Everything

s fine, Mum. Jemma

s just
persuaded me to go back in
and see everybody. You go and get yourself dried off, Uncle Billy would
have a field day if he saw you looking like that! Get yourself dried off
and we

ll follow you in, in a minute.

Dot gave her son a re-assuring smile and headed inside, looking
every single day of her sixty three years. She didn

t deserve a daughter-
in-law like me. She deserved better. She only ever saw the good in
people, especially Richie. I don

t believe all parents have a favourite
child, but Dot

s was definitely Richie and she was losing him. I

m sure
people learn to live with loss, but I knew in those moments neither Dot
nor I would ever learn to live with the loss of Richie. Intertwined and emotionally battered, Richie and I went inside and
the party began.

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