Forever Is Over (116 page)

As Jim raced excitedly to the counter to collect his winnings, I toiled
with a new dilemma. What would I bet on now? Once Jim left Stanleys,
I would place the new bet there, as the staff knew me well enough to
accept my muddy notes, but what or who should I bet on? Jim solved
that riddle.

“
Bloody hell, Dad!
”
he shouted over,
“
what
’
s happened to you? Have
you been rolling in cow pat again? You best go and get yourself cleaned
up before the match!
”

The match! England versus Switzerland. Three o
’
clock start. It was
becoming increasingly obvious, Jim was carrying out God
’
s work here,
he was definitely steering me towards the righteous path. He had not
managed to rescue me yet though, just provide a reprieve, but the
football would be my salvation.

What would be a sensible bet at around
5-1 to turn a grand into six?

             
Shearer first goal? No, that was too optimistic, he had not scored
for England for a year.

England to win? Too short a price and I didn
’
t fancy them anyway.

             
Switzerland win then? The price was 7-1. Seemed like a reasonable
bet to me, but a draw was more likely and a draw was not going to be
a decent enough price to turn my thousand pounds into six thousand
pounds.

What about a correct score bet then? 0-0. Loads of England games
finish 0-0 but more often than not when we are away from home.

             
What about 1-1 then? The price was 13-2. If it was 1-1,
I would win
£
7500 from
£
1000. That seemed like a good bet to me. A nation
’
s false
hopes riding on our first trophy win for thirty years, surely we could
be trusted to completely cock things up at the first hurdle. 1-1 seemed
like a plan.

“
Jim, I
’
m just going to buy a T-shirt off the market before the
England game starts.
Where are you watching it?
”

“
The Buck. What are you drinking, Dad? I
’
m buying!
”

“
Guinness. See you up there in ten minutes.
”

I ran off, bought myself a t-shirt, then doubled back to Stanley
’
s,
entering from the back entrance, probably just as Jim left from the
front. I was right, they did accept my dirty money.
£
990 on - England 1
Switzerland 1 - at a price of 13-2. Any ot
her scoreline and I was a dead
man. As I placed the bet, Kubilay Turkyilmaz was probably doing little
warm up sprints on the Wembley turf, unaware that, as Switzerlands
centre forward, he was all that now stood between me and a bullet to the
brain. I did not realise at the time, but despite my new found Christian
faith, I was now relying on a Muslim man to ensure I was still alive at
Christmas!

My Dad was trying to speak but nothing was coming out. I don
’
t
think he knew where to start. Mum was standing in the lounge, hands
on hips, awaiting her explanation as to why Dad had stashed a load of
old bills, relating to large scale credit card debts and a letter from Kelly
to me, in a drawer in his office.

“
Charlie!
”
Mum said impatiently,
“
I don
’
t really care what this is to
do with, I just want the truth. The truth, Charlie, not some story you
cobble together, off the top of your head, to get you off the hook. The
truth!
”

“
Dorothy, what
’
s the point in raking up the past? This is all old news
now. I
’
ve changed. You know I
’
ve changed. God has changed me. My
lies are consigned to history now.
”

“
Good. Just tell me the story then, Charlie.
”

“
We had problems, Dot. Financial problems. Problems I had created
by my gambling.
”

“
Why did you not tell me?
”

“
I didn
’
t want to worry you.
”

“
OK. So I know the gambling has stopped, but what about the
financial problems, do they still exist?
”

“
No.
”

“
Thank goodness for that! What about the letter from Kelly to
Richie, why were you hiding Richie
’
s letter?
”

Dad gave Mum a look which was a mixture of confusion and
“
don
’
t
be so ridiculous
”
.

“
I wasn
’
t!
”

“
Richie, show him the letter.
”

I held up the blood smudged envelope.

“
I
’
ve no idea,
”
Dad replied genuinely, before adding,
“
hang on, it
probably arrived in the post on Derby Day 1996!
”

I looked at the date stamp on the envelope, sure enough, it was
stamped 7
th
June 1996. I knew from the years spent living with Dad,
that Derby Day was in June.

“
That
’
s the date on it, Mum,
”
I confirmed.

“
What was the significance of Derby Day 1996, Charlie?
”
Mum
asked.

“
You should know this, Dot.
”

“
Remind me!
”

“
Derby Day 1996 was the day God revealed himself to me, the day
I became a better man.
”

I stood up off the settee. I had heard Dad
’
s story about God showing
him the light before and to me, it always sounded a little crazy! I had
never heard the full story, but quite frankly, I didn
’
t want to either.
Dad had been a self-absorbed, devious, selfish gambler and a few years
ago he
’
d changed, he had become a Christian, a born again Christian.
As an atheist, I was not interested in what had
triggered the change,
I was just happy that he had become the father that he had not been
throughout our childhood, a proper husband to Mum, a man who now
cared about keeping her happy and a proper father to his children, who
would now listen to what we were saying, without drifting off to a world
of galloping hooves mid-sentence. It was time for me to go.

“
Mum, Dad, I
’
m going to head to your toilet and then I
’
m off home!

“
Do you not want to hear what your father has to say?
”

I gave Mum a kiss.

“
Not really.
”

Dad came over to me and gave me a hug.

“
I don
’
t have to explain everything to our Richie, Dot, he understands
me.
”

“
That
’
s right, Dad, I do. I
’
ll see myself out. I
’
ll give you a ring in
the week, Mum.
”

I didn
’
t really understand. Sometimes I didn
’
t really understand
myself, let alone Dad. As far as I could see, we were all just brains with
limbs and senses. Why we thought the way we did, acted the way we did,
was unfathomable. How anyone of any religion or anti-religion could
claim to comprehend the meaning of life or death, was, in my humble
opinion, giving their own brain too much credit. All I wanted from life
was to be happy without making anyone else unhappy. This seemed a
simple enough task, but I was failing to achieve it. I felt I was failing
in the most glorious of ways. I had a beautiful wife and two beautiful
children, but I felt something was missing from my life, not something
spiritual, something physical. To me, religion and testosterone have
their similarities, they both lead you on a path away from logic. Having
said that, if Dad had reached a point in his life, through his belief in
God, whereby he was happy and was not inflicting unhappiness on
anyone, then I was genuinely delighted for him.

Once I drove away from Mum and Dad
’
s, I parked up a couple
of hundred metres up the road to open Kelly
’
s letter. Dad had spent
the last four years telling everyone he had been on a path laden with
thorns until God had picked him up
and shown him a more righteous
path. In a totally different way, maybe I was on the wrong path. As a
teenager, I had developed my
“
Black Jack Theory
”
whereby I felt we were
all chasing perfection. Perhaps for me, Kelly was my perfect partner,
would I ever have married Jemma if Kelly had not gone away? Perhaps
my marriage to Jemma had just been a rebound thing, a ricochet on to
the wrong path. Was I being true to myself to stick with Jemma if I was
only ever going to feel like I settled for
a mediocre relationship? Jemma
must have felt something similar, as at least I was eager to re-ignite the
passion, whilst Jemma just seemed to pour cold water on the embers. I
put my hazard lights on and tore open the blood stained envelope.

As soon as I opened that envelope, memories flooded out. As I read
through the letter, feelings I felt I had long since buried, raised their
heads back above the ground. It was a cryptic letter. A letter short on
detail, but strong on intent. In July 1996, Kelly had wanted to meet
me back in Aughton, back on the
“
Sunny Road
”
, like we had always
talked about, back when we were teenag
ers. The letter was four years
old now, I felt my opportunity had been and gone, I could almost smell
the burnt bridge. I wondered whether Kelly had turned up that day
and I also wondered what had happened to her since? Four years was
a big time span in anyone
’
s life. It was now 2
nd
July 2000, almost four
years to the day that Kelly suggested meeting up. I pondered whether
it would be worth just taking a journey over to the
“
Sunny Road
”
at
midday on the 4
th
July, just on the off cha
nce that she might be there. I
chided myself. What would be the point in that? This was all ridiculous.
OK, my relationship with Jemma had probably reached its nadir, but if
I was going to even consider leaving that relationship, the worst thing
I could possibly do, is start a relationship with Jemma
’
s sister! It would
be crazy. Kelly is my children
’
s auntie!

The problem I had though was that the same thought kept returning
into my mind. A morbid thought. I had had a reminder when I was
diagnosed with testicular cancer that I was mortal. We only had one
life and it was a short one so we had to make the most of it, maximise
the opportunities presented to us. Could I honestly say I was doing
that married to a woman who seemed to lack any desire for me? For all
the negatives that would surround me rekindling my relationship with
Kelly, further along the line, perhaps there was an opportunity to be
really happy. To coin a phrase would it be
‘
short-term pain for long-term
gain
’
? I felt there was only one way to find out. I needed to go back to
the
‘
Sunny Road
’
on the 4
th
July, just to see if Kelly was there. Just to
get an indication of how she was and what she was up to. Just a journey
to see an old friend, I told myself. I kept telling myself that, I was not
committing a crime, it was just a journey to see an old friend.