Authors: Calvin Wade
SIMON – December 1991
We were an odd couple of teenagers. Complete opposites. Joey had been away at Manchester Polytechnic for a little over three months, doing the weirdest Combined Studies degree that I had ever heard of, “Geography and Measurement & Instrumentation,” which sounded to me like a course that just required a compass and a ruler. After seven years of private education, Joey’s parents wanted to see some form of return from their considerable investment into his education and despite not attaining the grades to study Law, like they had both done, they encouraged Joey to go to Polytechnic. He needed some form of degree for his future, they insisted. I think Joey would have been reluctant to go to Poly if going away to Manchester had not been an option. Prior to starting Poly, Joey had thrown himself into the whole “Madchester” scene of the time. He had gone to Sixth Form at Runshaw College, Leyland and was always heading into Manchester on the train after College to see one band or another. Joey was proud of the fact that he had been to Spike Island in Widnes to see a Stone Roses gig and it wasn’t just the music he loved but the fashion too. I remember seeing him the day he headed off to his new Halls of Residence in East Didsbury, kitted out in a James t-shirt with “Come” on the front and “Home” on the back, as well as a bucket hat which he said, “was the same as Reni’s from The Roses” and a £30 pair of jeans he had bought from Afflecks Palace. I thought he looked like a bit of a tit, but you could tell from his demeanour that Joey thought he looked great.
As for me, I had already decided at sixteen that education was not really my bag. It wasn’t that I was unintelligent, just not interested. My Dad had developed rheumatoid arthritis so wasn’t in the best of health, so wanted another pair of hands to help out on and eventually take over, his window cleaning round. So, at sixteen, my
career with a friendly smile, a ladder, a bucket and a sponge began. I enjoyed it, working with the old man. We only worked when it was dry and although I wasn’t earning a fortune, some days, particularly when it was damp, Dad would not be up to going out, so I’d do the round on my own.
Back in December 1991, when Joey had returned for Christmas, he rang one Friday evening to see if I fancied a few pints down at The Euxton Mill. I had a fair bit of cash sloshing about, as some of the ladies on the round had given me an extra fiver or tenner for Christmas, so I jumped at the chance. Joey turned up dressed like he was auditioning for the Happy Mondays or Inspiral Carpets, whilst I just wore whatever came cheap off Chorley market or the charity shops. I was never about setting trends, I was just interested in keeping warm in the winter and having enough T-shirts and shorts to keep me going through the summer. It also must be said that in his three months away, Joey Neill had transformed from having a healthy interest in sex to being a sex maniac, mentally if not physically.
“Do you ever stop and think, that at this very moment, there are thousands and thousands of men around the world with their dicks in women’s mouths and you’re not one of them?” Joey asked as we took a seat in the lounge and the froth on the top of his pint of Skol attached itself to his upper lip creating a bubbly moustache.
I placed my half a pint of bitter, in a pint glass, and bottle of Mann’s brown ale down on the circular wooden table and pulled up a stool, thinking as I poured the brown ale into the pint glass.
“Can’t say that I do,” I replied honestly.
I could tell from the way that Joey spoke in a slightly higher than normal tone that this was a subject close to his heart.
“I do. Often. Several times a day, in fact. Every minute my dick spends in my trousers is a wasted minute. It’s not designed to be in there.”
“It’s not designed to be in a girl’s mouth, either,” I pointed out.
“No, but it’s designed for action, Simon and we’re not getting any. We need to do something about it! We’re almost nineteen years old. Nineteen is a male’s sexual prime, isn’t it? Our dicks should be friends with some nice looking tonsils.”
I took another slurp of my beer. Joey was candid in his failure with women, but I thought I knew the root cause of our predicament, Joey was trying too hard and I was not trying hard enough. Not trying at all, in fact. My gun w
as loaded. I was just setting my sight before pulling the trigger.
“Joey, at this moment in time, I have no interest whatsoever in having my penis in some random girl’s mouth.”
Joey wiped the bubbles off his upper lip and gave me an incredulous look.
“Are you gay?”
Sometimes I felt that students never grew up. They did not see the real world. They were cocooned in their own little world and did not mix with your standard member of the public. I did speak to Joey like I was more mature than him, whilst he, mistakenly in my opinion, spoke back to me, trying to convey that he was the mature one. The worldly wise one, as he lived away in a big city.
“No, don’t ask pathetic questions that you already know the answer to, Joey. You know I’m not gay!”
“So, it’s Nicky then?”
“Of course it’s Nicky.”
Both Joey and I had known Nicky for a long time, Joey even longer than me. We were all friends, but in recent months, my feelings had changed towards her. Joey knew this, Nicky didn’t.
“So if Nicky ends up spending the rest of her life with Jason McLaren, you’re going to remain celibate, monk like, until you die?”
“Nicky won’t stay with Jason McLaren, they’re both only sixteen.”
“She won’t. Nicky and I are soul mates. We are destined to be together and one day, I know, she’ll realise that.”
Joey was drinking his pint faster than I was. Despite being friends, since he had gone to Polytechnic and I had stayed home, everything had become a mini-competition, even how much alcohol we could endure and how quickly we could consume it had become a private battle. I made the effort to catch him up, while he tried to take the moral high ground, which struck me as ironic given he had just been talking about sticking his dick into as many mouths as possible.
“Do you know how creepy you sound, Simon? You’re making yourself sound like a stalker. You’ll be stealing Nicky’s knickers off her washing line soon. so you can sniff them!”
“If they are on the washing line they’ll just smell of washing powder.”
Sometimes when you speak without thinking, you just dig yourself a bigger hole. Joey looked at me with disgust.
“You dirty bastard!”
“What?”
“You’ve even thought about this, haven’t you? No point nicking the washed ones, they won’t smell of Nicky.”
I went a little red. Not because he was right but because I felt foolish.
“Joey, behave yourself, we both know how I feel about her,” I paused before adding, “I love her.”
“Simon, it’s not love though, is it? It’s infatuation.”
“It’s love,” I insisted.
“No, Simon, it’s not. Love is a reciprocal feeling between two people. What you feel for Nicky is just a sad obsession.”
“Nicky likes me too.”
Joey scratched his head so hard you could see dozens of flakes of dandruff floating off it like snowflakes. Nicky was still like a little sister to him, I don’t think he had really embraced the idea that I intended to become romantically involved with her.
“That’s right, Simon, she LIKES you.”
I don’t think it would have been possible to emphasise the word ‘like’ any more than Joey did.
“She could grow to love me, though. We understand each other.”
“Simon, I’m a mate and I’m just telling you this because I am your mate....”
Joey took a giant swig of Skol and placed his empty pint glass down on the table triumphantly, despite my best efforts I had not caught him up.
“Go on,” I urged.
“In a million years, I just can’t ever see there being one day that Nicky will ever want to be anything other than friends with you. I know you’re friends and I know you share a common bond, but we both know why that is.”
I shook my head.
“It’s not just because of that.”
Joey waved his empty pint glass at me, to indicate that I had to drink up and go and buy the next round.
“OK, I’ll go in a minute,” I acknowledged before Joey contentedly returned to the main conversation.
“Simon, you’re only fooling yourself, mate, no-on else. The only reason that you and Nicky talk so much is because you’ve both lost people close to you. Death is your common denominator.”
I finished my brown bitter. I stood up to go to the bar before arguing back,
“We were friends before that. Before it became our common denominator, anyway.”
“Only because you knew me, Simon. Do you think Nicky is a good looking girl?”
“She’s stunning.”
There was no debate about this. Everyone thought this, me, Joey, Jason McLaren, everyone.
“And do you think you’re good looking?”
This too was a question that did not require a great deal of thought.
“No.”
“I tell you what, Simon, you stick to chasing after Nicky and I’ll stick to chasing anything half-decent in a skirt and let’s see which one of us ends up with a smile like a Cheshire cat and which one of us only ever smells fish when he’s smoking kippers.”
I didn’t say another word to Joey before heading over to the bar to be served by the rosy cheeked, overweight landlord. I hated Joey for saying that. He was brash, cocky, sexist, disrespectful but ultimately I hated him because I understood that more than likely he was probably right.
ARTHUR MOYES –April 1992
I could hear Nicky sobbing in her bedroom, really sobbing. I had been watching Rumpole of the Bailey and had just nipped upstairs to get my slippers from the bedroom. At first, I thought the strange, high pitched noise was a cat that had managed to get in via the front door and sneak up the stairs. Cats are a bloody pest and I was ready to shoo it out. I wasn’t used to hearing our Nicky crying. She has not had the easiest of childhoods and has developed a steely resolve, so tends to soldier on regardless. She is not one for unnecessary dramatics, that’s for sure. Anyway, I was all set to deal with the cat. My hand was on Nicky’s door handle, when I heard sniffles accompanying the high pitched noise. I stopped dead in my tracks. I am aware that some people see me as a cold, offhand man, but not Nicky, she understands me better than anyone. Nevertheless, my head was filled with uncertainty. Should I go in and see what this commotion was all about or should I give my daughter some space? I decided to head back down and put the kettle on whilst I thought it through.
By 1992, I had been a single parent for nine years and I can honestly say that at no point prior to Angela being diagnosed with and subsequently dying from cancer, did I ever envisage myself as a single parent. I had always expected Angela to outlive me. Once I became one though, I had to learn fast. There were the practicalities of raising a daughter that I had previously left to Angela to sort out, such as doing Nicky’s hair, buying her clothes and decorating her bedroom. I wasn’t a natural. I took advice from family friends, es
pecially Gill Neill, but also listened to the wishes of my daughter. I asked Nicky how she wanted her hair, her clothes and her bedroom, then would check with Gill whether such things were appropriate for a child of her age. If everything had just been left to me, I knew full well that she would be teased relentlessly for looking like an odd ball. Over time though, I became better at it and turned to Gill for advice less and less.
As Nicky grew older, and became a teenager, I anticipated trouble and defiance, but other than growing older and her body adapting to womanhood, nothing changed, her personality remained as warm as ever. I had dreaded talking to Nicky about women’s things, I am sure that sort of thing would have been difficult for any man with a daughter, but especially a man as old fashioned as I was. I was never even aware of Angela’s women’s troubles unless I placed a suggestive hand on her thigh and was warned off by a simple, ‘Not now, love, maybe in a couple of days. It’s my time’.
When Nicky was eleven, I asked Gill Neill to discuss the ‘birds & the bees’ with her. I did not feel I would deal with the matter adequately or respond to any questions Nicky may have in the correct manner. Gill had always been close to Nicky and I knew there was a mutual trust. Following that conversation between them, Nicky and I did not discuss ‘women’s things’ at all, she sorted out all that business herself, I would just give her fifteen pounds on the first day of every month for ‘toiletries’, what this involved, I did not know, nor did I care to ask.
Despite shirking sensitive issues in the past, my love for my daughter has always been at the forefront of my decision making process and to hear her crying like that was not a scenario I could avoid confronting. Whilst downstairs, I decided this time I must investigate the issue full on, so made a pot of tea, placed it on a tray along with two china cups and carried them up.
“Nicky, can you open the door, please? There’s a cup of tea here for you.”
The door opened without a word and Nicky immediately turned her back on me, wiping her face and sniffing once more, before sitting on the bed and looking up at me through tear filled eyes. Her face looked red and blotchy, a consequence, I concluded, of a prolonged bout of tears.
“Nicky, what on earth is the matter?”
Nicky was sixteen now and even through the tears and reddened nose, it was strikingly clear that she had inherited her mother’s beauty. Every time I looked at her, I was reminded of Angela. Angela would have been so proud of how she looked and the person she had become. So, so proud. Without Nicky, I don’t think I would ever have coped with my loss. She began to speak but the words didn’t come out right, she cleared her throat.
“Dad, I’m so sorry. I’ve been an idiot. I’ve done something that. I’m ashamed of. I know I’ve let you down. I feel like I’ve let everyone down. You, Mum, myself, everyone. God, Dad, it’s a right mess. I’ve been so stupid!”
Inspector Clouseau could probably have pieced this mystery together. I am, probably due to the experiences I had previously endured, a glass is half empty type of man. I fear the worst. So when your sixteen year old daughter is in floods of tears, telling you that she has been so stupid, there is only one conclusion that you can jump to. Even at that point, I could have begun to rant and if it was anyone else but Nicky, I probably would have done, but Nicky is the exception to every rule I have ever made.
“Look Nicky, just gather yourself together.”
“I wish gathering myself together would make everything alright, Dad, but it won’t.”
“I know that. Listen, you and I have been through difficult times before and we got through them. Now, I don’t know yet what stupid thing you’ve done, but whatever it is, together, we’ll get through it. Have you killed anybody?”
“No, Dad, of course I haven’t!”
“Are you ill?”
“Sort of, but not really.”
“Nicky, are you dying?”
“No!”
“So you aren’t going to prison for life and you aren’t heading to heaven just yet, whatever else it is, believe me, we can deal with it.”
Nicky just looked at me with her big, puppy dog eyes, then reached out her arms to hug me. I swept her up into my body and she began to sob heartily again.
“Dad, I’m pregnant.”
“I know you are love. I know.”
“I’m so sorry.”
“Don’t be. That baby inside you is our family, Nicky. It doesn’t want us to be sad that it’s joining us. When your mother told me that she was expecting you, I was the happiest man alive. OK, ideally this would all be happening in ten years time, but life doesn’t always work out perfectly. Your mother and I could never have any more children after you, turns out her body wasn’t healthy enough. What happened to your lovely Mum was a tragedy, Nicky, this is just a challenge.”
Nicky came out of the hug, took a step back and looked at me once more.
“What if I’m not ready for a baby, Dad?”
“I wasn’t ready to deal with a seven year old daughter on my own, Nicky, but we adapt.”
“I don’t mean that. I mean, what if I get rid of it? Would you hate me if I got rid of it?”
I could see her eyes welling up once more.
“Nicky, whatever you decide to do about this baby inside you, I will always love you unconditionally. We have probably not discussed my feelings on abortion, but in my opinion, it is a last resort, it should only happen in the most extreme of circumstances. If you think about everything long and hard and ultimately you decide the best thing for all concerned is an abortion, then that is your choice. It will not stop me loving you, Nicky.”
“But part of you will hate me for doing it. For killing your grandchild.”
“Shh, shh, shh, don’t be making decisions based on what people will think of you. Think everything through, think about the implications and then make a decision....
Does the father know, Nicky?”
“Not yet.”
“I’m presuming the father is the young man who’s called around here a few times recently, the boy with the muddy knees. Jon?”
“Jason. His name’s Jason, Dad.”
“That’s right, Jason.”
I hadn’t even attempted to remember his name. I thought he’d just be a two minute wonder. Probably was just a two minute wonder, that’s probably why Nicky was pregnant.
“I’m going to tell him soon, Dad. Jason’s ambitious, I’m not sure he’s going to react very well.”
“Nicky, you’re ambitious. Having a baby shouldn’t thwart ambition.”
“He’s very sporty. He wants to go to Loughborough University. How would he be able to do that if I had this baby?”
I felt like saying, ‘well, he should have thought about all that during your tomfoolery,’ but I just squeezed her hand and said,
“Don’t second guess him, Nicky. Speak to him and then take it one step at a time.”
Nicky hugged me again.
“God, Dad, I love you so much! I was so scared about how you’d react. Thank you, Dad! Thank you!”
I kissed her forehead.
“I will always be here for you and my grandchild, Nicky, always. Now let me pour us a cup of tea whilst you dry those tears.”
I smiled half-heartedly at her and after pouring the two cups of tea. I took one and left Nicky with the other. There would have been no point insisting that she have the baby, I thought it wiser to be more subtle in my approach. Having said my piece I needed to leave her alone. Not that the news of Nicky’s pregnancy was something I was delighted about, anything but. I felt like going back to my own room, falling on to my bed and crying myself. The blame for this lay squarely with me. How could I blame a sixteen year old girl, who I had given no sexual guidance to, for falling pregnant? It felt as though Angela was looking down from heaven and shaking her head. I had neglected my duties as Nicky’s only parent. I had no idea what Gill Neill had discussed with Nicky when she had spoken to her about sexual relations, I should have checked. I should have stated exactly what I thought she needed to know. Instead, I buried my head in the sand and completely left her to it. Without a doubt, this was my fault. Well, mine and that Jason’s anyway.
‘Wait until I see him,’ I thought, ‘I’ll kick his backside all the way to Loughborough myself.’