Forever Is Over (94 page)

Some heckler shouted out,
‘
A Dairy Farm!
’

“
No, not a dairy farm, but I like your thinking! Richie took her
to Park Pool swimming baths. He wanted to see those boobs bobbing
on the water like
‘
weebles!
’
There were a few flaws in his devious plan
though, weren
’
t there, Richie?! Tell everyone the main one!
”

“
She couldn
’
t swim!
”
Richie reluctantly admitted. The guests smiled or laughed. Jemma bowed her head and shook it in mock displeasure.

“
That
’
s right! Rachel could not swim! So, Rachel dragged her
armbands and her brother, Barry on the date and Richie dragged me.
Did the date go swimmingly, Richie?
”

“
No!
”
was Richie
’
s curt response.

“
Tell everyone why!
”

“
Jim and I got kicked out the baths before Rachel got there!
”

“
And tell them all why that was!
”

“
If I remember rightly, you were going to tell Rachel that I was a
bedwetter, so I punched you!
”

“
That
’
s right! We ended up fighting in the deep end during the disco
swim, so some burly lifeguard chucked us out! So, seeing you missed
out, I
’
ve brought something else for you
…
.
”

Once again, I delved under the table, this time I dug out the skimpiest
pair of adult Speedos I could find in the shops and a pair of armbands.

“
Jemma, Richie, if you want to have any dates at the swimming
baths, you may need these. Richie, would you like to try these Speedos
on, now?
”

“
No!
”
Richie replied,
“
but it
’
d make my day if you put them on!
”

“
Swiftly moving on! Richie and I got over the altercation at Park
Pool, I had the reconstructive surge
ry on my nose and we gradually
started getting on better. Not well, I might add, just better! Then, one
day when we were in our late teens, something major happened in both
our lives and completely changed how I saw my big brother. Richie, as
I am sure you all know, was diagnosed with testicular cancer. Up until
that point in our lives, I had always ta
ken Richie for granted. He was
just the slightly older brother, who I would try and wind up every day.
Richie was a constant in my life though and once he became ill, all be
it for a short period of time, I recognised for the first time really, how
important he was to me. I stopped focusing on the negative side of his
character like the vanity, the fact that he was a lot better looking than me
and the fact that I always felt that Mum and Dad and our sisters, Helen
and Caroline liked him more than they liked me. I stopped focusing
on that and started to notice the good points like his bravery and
his ability to be respectful towards women, which I only really learnt
once I started dating Amy. Anyway, thankfully, after an operation, the
cancer was removed and our family learnt an important lesson about
the fragility of life and how much we loved our brother.
These days, as
adults, Richie and I are the best of friends. It probably helped that our
wives are best friends too, so we have spent a lot of time as a foursome.
Richie is a brilliant guy and I know Amy and I will miss Richie and
Jemma enormously when they move to Nottingham. To ensure he fits
in, I bought him a couple of things
…
.
”

For the final time, I rummaged under
the table, this time dragging
out a Brian Clough mask and Robin Hood and Maid Marian outfits.

 
“
Put the mask on, Richie! You can save the Robin Hood and Maid
Marian outfits for whenever it takes your fancy!
”

Richie did as instructed. Several mates and members of the family
took the opportuntity to take a photo. I took a sip of water.

“
One final story. Richie deals in
mortgages these days and most
of his customers come into the branch but he also has to do the odd
call to customers houses. Last year, he pulled up outside a smart, four
bedroomed property in Lydiate and was greeted at the door
by a very
pleasant but ugly man who welcomed him and showed him through to
the lounge. Above the fireplace, was a big, framed photo of someone in
their robes, receiving their degree. Richie decided it would be good to
make pleasant chit chat.

‘
Is that your brother?
’
Richie asked.

‘
No
’
replied the man,
‘
that
’
s my wife!
’

Then trying to make good out of a cringeful situation, Richie
continued digging his hole,

‘
Oh, it
’
s just that she looks like you!
’

Fantastic!

Well, that
’
s it from me. I am really proud and delighted to be Best
Man today for Richie and Jemma. It is an honour. I wish them a long
and happy life together. Could everyon
e please be upstanding for one
final time and raise your glasses to the bride and groom.
‘
Jemma and
Richie
’
!

“
JEMMA AND RICHIE!
”

I sat down to loud cheers! I took two minutes to take everything in
and then set about getting absolutely battered! The wedding was on the
Saturday, my hangover was so bad, by Monday morning, I still couldn
’
t
open my eyes!

Like every man, I am a flawed human being. My biggest flaw in
adult life, has been that my happiness has been dictated by the amount of
sex I manage to have. Around the time of my wedding and honeymoon,
I was happier than Imelda Marcos in a shoe shop. Before my marriage,
married male friends had dampened my sexual expectations. Several,
including Jim and Dogger had warned me that their brides were too emotionally overcome, too tired and too drunk to make love on their wedding night.

“
I couldn
’
t even play with the little fella myself, as it felt like
cheating.
”
Jim moaned.

I had no such issues. Jemma
’
s sexual appetite had always been as
strong as mine, but from our wedding night onwards, for the next
couple of years, I was the one who went to bed of an evening sometimes
just hoping to sleep. Don
’
t get me wro
ng, most times I would eagerly
encourage any remote signs of foreplay, but if my body had shed its reproductive load on several consecutive nights, and sometimes the
following morning too, my aching ball would cry enough. Being kicked
in the scrotum and being asked to go to work on an empty sack, create
an uncannily similar reaction
from your non-electric organ.

             
On our wedding night, I was blissfully unaware that this problem
would arise. We stayed at Briars Hall Hotel on the night of our wedding,
but as Jemma was fearful that some of our exuberant friends would trash
our room, as an act of bizarre amusement, we had to leave an hour
before the end in a taxi, circle around a little, park up, change from our
wedding clobber into hooded tracksuits and then sneak back into the hotel.

As soon as I put Jemma down from carrying her over the invisible
threshold, our sexual adventures began. By the time we arrived back
from Sorrento, I felt like an Olympic gold medal winning marathon
runner, exhausted but elated. Funnily enough, the day that sticks in my
mind most from our honeymoon, was our sole day off! We woke late,
had coffee on our sunlit balcony as housemartins travelled busily back
and forth to feed their young in the ne
st above, then decided that as
the Bay of Naples looked like a mill pond, we should take a boat trip
over to the isle of Capri. We were in the hills a mile or two up the cliffs
from Sorrento so we took a taxi down to the harbour and I remember
pointing Vesuvius out to Jemma on the way down.

That day was one of those perfect cloudless days ideal for a slapping
on the sun lotion, putting a cap on your head and heading out on the
Tyrrhenian Sea. The views back to Sorrento as we departed and arrived
back were breathtaking, as were the views of Capri as we arrived at the
Marina Grande. We had a full day on the island from mid-morning to
early evening, but the highlight of the whole holiday for me was going
into
‘
La Grotta Azzurra
’
(
‘
The Blue Grotto
’
) in a little rowing boat. This
is a small cave that you have to get into by hiring out a boat and then
ducking down to avoid having your head ta
ken off at its entrance point.
The cave itself is not much bigger than a very large swimming p
ool, but
the water colour in there, is just the most intense blue that you will ever
see. It reminded me of one of those Radox baths I used to have as a kid,
around at my Nan
’
s. It was like my Nan had been there and tipped a few
million boxes of the stuff into the sea! As it was such a sunny day, the
sun poured in through the entrance like a torch. Whilst the boatman
circled around, Jemma held me tightl
y with one hand and dipped her
other into the water.

“
This is just a fairytale!
”
she said and started to cry with tears of joy.

It was just the high point of a brilliant honeymoon. An unforgettable
moment.

Eighteen months, almost to the day later, I arrived home in
Hucknall, to our semi-detached house, after a mortgage filled day of cavity wall ties and retentions in Nottingham city centre. As soon as I
arrived on our bumpy drive, which had a small, scattering of snow on
it, Jemma opened the front door clutching a white, plastic contraption,
which at first glance, I thought was a toothbrush minus its head. It was
unusual for Jemma to greet me as soon as I arrived. When I had been
‘
going out
’
with Kelly, at the end of the day, she would often stand at her
doorway and watch me until I disappeared from view, but making a big
fuss at arrival or departure was just romantic schmaltz to Jemma, so it
immediately struck me as odd that she had been awaiting my arrival. As
I stepped out my Peugeot 306, in my long winter coat, the snow flakes
circled around me lik
e midges. It was mid-December.

             
“
Had a good day?
”
Jemma asked not really managing to feign an
interest.

“
A day underwriting mortgages is not quite the same as storming
an embassy for the SAS, but it pays the bills.
”

“
Right, right,
”
Jemma replied in a manner that indicated that if I
’
d
said I
’
d spent the day trying to milk a zebra she would not have batted
an eyelid.

“
Come and sit down, honey, I
’
ve made you a cup of tea!
”