Forever Is Over (100 page)

After Jemma
’
s arrest, I had phoned and spoken to Amy, but as time
passed, paranoia kicked in. I kept thinking the police would be tracing
my calls and wherever I was in the world, Interpol would catch me if I
made a call home. In the first couple of years, it was particularly hard
not to give in to temptation and pho
ne Jemma on her birthday or at
Christmas, but I had no idea where she would be living, I knew she
could possibly be in prison and I feared any attempt to trace her would
ultimately lead to my arrest too. For all I knew, Jemma may have had to
tell the police exactly what had happened that night. In over five years,
I had not heard any news about Jem
ma, Richie or Amy, I needed to
know what Anna knew.

“
My Mum did die, yes. She fell down the stairs.
”

“
That
’
s right or she was pushed. Your sister went to jail for it, didn
’
t
she? Her name
’
s Jemma, isn
’
t it? She argued that she was asleep but the
prosecution argued that she was pushed. I used to read about it every
week in the
‘
Ormskirk Advertiser
’
.
The jury agreed with the prosecution, didn
’
t they? What did she
get, three years?
”

I felt numb. Jemma had been jailed for my crime.

“
I don
’
t know.
”

Anna Eccleston almost wet herself with excitement.

“
Oh my god! That
’
s right, you disappeared, didn
’
t you? I have just
found Ormskirk
’
s version of Lord Lucan!
”

I was not delighting in my notoriety in quite the same way as Anna.
Anna was having the same capacity to irritate as me as Brad.

“
What are you going to do, Anna? Administer a citizens arrest? Call
the local police and claim the reward money?
”

Anna looked at me like I was deranged.

“
No! But I will buy you a few drinks and you can tell me the whole
story. I don
’
t think the police are overly bothered where you are these
days, there will be a stamp on that file saying
‘
Solved
’
, but I
’
m bothered.
I
’
d love to know what really happened. I
’
d gladly buy a few drinks for
the only living person, with the exc
eption of Jemma, who knows the
truth.
”

If Anna was right and the police file was closed, there was no way
I was ever going to tell her what really happened the night Mum died.
Having said that, I fancied having a few drinks. It was a luxury I could
not afford and a few drinks with someone from Ormskirk who could fill
in a few gaps for me, seemed really appealing. I played along.

“
Buy me a few drinks, Anna and I may well tell you! We
’
ll have
to leave now though, my boyfriend will be back from the glacier in a
minute and he knows nothing about any of this and I would prefer to
keep it that way!
”

“
Deal!
”

Anna helped me gather up my things and we ran off in search of
the nearest bar. Poor Brad apparently waited for ninety minutes for my
arrival, but we were only re-united once I stumbled back into the hostel
at midnight. By then, Anna had told me enough for me to not care too
deeply about how Brad was feeling. I did not want to hurt Brad, but in
the whole swing of things, it mattered little. I knew it was time for me
to start my journey home.

As a baby, Jamie was not good at going to sleep, in fact, that is
putting it mildly, the truth is, Jamie was an awful sleeper. This was
particularly hard for Jemma and I as we had been lulled into a false
sense of security by Melissa, who was a terrific sleeper. We thought
the phrase,
“
sleeps like a baby
”
was an accurate one until Jamie arrived.
Jamie fought sleep. Every night Jemma and I took turns to battle with
him, but for short term gain we made the ridiculous decision to rock
him off. This set the mother of all precedents and from six months to
twelve months old, Jamie would not fall asleep at night without a thirty
minute rock session that Guns
‘
N
’
Roses would have been proud of!
Every night, the routine was bottle of milk, wind his back, rock him off.
If we did not persist with the rocking for at least thirty minutes and then
attempted to put him down in his cot whilst he was half asleep, Jamie
would kick, scream and howl and the half-hour rock session would need
to be re-started. How a child that could not yet speak or walk could dictate terms to two adults, I really do not know, all I do know is that
Jamie managed it.

The whole routine was tiresome. One night, Jemma or myself would
have the privilege of bedtime reading with Melissa who was as loveable
a three year old girl as you could possibly imagine. Fairy stories and
handsome princes were always the order of the night, whilst by default,
if we were not cuddling in with Melissa, we would be battling with
Jamie. Melissa
’
s bedtime routine always lasted less than ten minutes,
Jamie
’
s was always more than half an hour. If I had not been there at
conception, I would have struggled to believe he was mine!
On the nights Jemma put Jamie down, she would eventually come
downstairs feeling exhausted, irritated, dismayed that she was not a
better mother and at odds with herself.
If it was my turn with Jamie,
I had almost identical emotions although I obviously questioned my
ability as a father. The fact that one or other of us was always trying to
curb depression and high blood pressure, did not bode well for harmony
in the late evening, child free slot. Our nerves were too frayed for
rational and coherent conversations. Silently vegging out in front of
some banal nonsense on the television became standard practice. We
lost the art to converse.

On one particular evening, it had been my turn to deal with Jamie
and, having emerged victorious but battle scarred after a particularly
arduous routine, lasting almost an hour, with tears from one side and
almost tears from the other, I arrived in the lounge seeking nothing
like peace and quiet. What I walked i
nto was nothing like peace and
quiet!

Jemma was sat on the nearest two-piec
e suite to the television. She
had changed into her pyjamas already. The days of skimpy, silk pyjamas
had long gone, these were pyjamas designed to cover every ounce of
flesh below the neck. It was sometimes hard to believe we were in our
twenties not our fifties. I threw myself back on the other settee. We
had two, two seaters. In the days before Jamie, we would have cuddled
together on one, we now had one each. As soon as I was sat, Jemma
switched the TV off with the remote. A tell tale sign. Switching the
TV off in the evenings in our house was equivalent to taking swords out
their holsters. It meant one or other of us was ready for verbal conflict.

“
He
’
s a bloody nightmare at the moment, isn
’
t he?
”
Jemma began.

“
Too right. We need to do this
‘
tough love
’
thing, Jemma. The
controlled crying that Jim and Amy did with Gracie, when she was
playing up at this age. It worked for them. We just can
’
t go on like this,
Jamie
’
s eleven months old now, he
’
s getting too big to rock off. If we
don
’
t get it sorted, we
’
ll still be doing this when he
’
s thirteen!
”

             
“
Lucky we
’
ve only got one like him,
”
Jemma said,
“
imagine if we
had two!
”

“
I know,
”
I replied,
“
thank goodness Melissa
’
s as good as gold.
”

“
I didn
’
t mean, Melissa. I meant, imagine how bad it would be if we
had another baby and that baby was as difficult as Jamie? That would
be hell on earth.
”

I could feel the tremors coming, but was still unsure as to why this
earthquake was about to erupt. I attempted to douse the flames but it
was futile, a bit like standing on the edge of an erupting volcano with
a bucket of water.

“
Not really something we need to worry about right now, Jemma,
given the circumstances.
”

The circumstances I was referring to were our monk and nun-like
existence. In the last few months, our once a month sex had dwindled
to once every few months.

“
I think you should have a vasectomy, Richie.
”

My natural state is calm. Admittedly though, when pushed, I do
have a tendency to overreact. I don
’
t just think I was being pushed here, I
was being manhandled! I became as prickly as a porcupine sandwich.

“
Is this your idea of a joke, Jemma, as I
’
m not finding it very
funny?
”

“
No, I
’
m serious, Richie. Jamie has changed us. We
’
re always on
edge these days, but we are just about managing, we wouldn
’
t manage
if we had a third child though. You need a vasectomy.
”

My ears were now doing their own opinion of a volcano. Lava was
spilling out along with the steam.

“
Am I missing something here, Jemma? Surely a vasectomy is a
measure that allows sex but protects against the risk of pregnancy. Given
we have a
‘
no sex allowed
’
policy in this household at the moment, what is it that we are
protecting against? Are you fearful of landing on the wet patch if I have
a saucy dream?
”

Jemma switched the TV back on. This annoyed me even more.
“
What do you think you are doing, Jemma?
”

“
I wanted a reasonable conversation,
”
she said,
“
if I
’
m going to have
to listen to your
‘
poor celibate me
’
spe
ech again, I may as well watch
TV.
”

“
Hang on! I have the
‘
Poor celibate me
’
speech because I AM CELIBATE!
”

I stood up and switched the TV off again from the power button
then returned to my settee.

“
On that basis,
”
I continued,
“
my argument is a consistent one. Your
argument, however, is a completely shit one! Your argument is,

‘
Richie, given we never have sex, how about you have a vasect
omy?
’
”