Forever Is Over Read Online Free Page A

something fantastic. I still remember the phone number. 01-811-8055. Anyway, Dad made promises all the time that came to nothing.
    “ Father Christmas will be bringing Choppers for you and James this year and a bloody great big dolls house for your sisters. ”
    He didn ’ t.
    “ Jimmy in the office was saying he ’ s just bought his lad a goal with a net for the garden. I think I ’ ll get one of those for you boys and I promise I ’ ll come out there with you and we ’ ll have a bloody good kick about ” .
    No kick about, no goal either!
    Dad said things. He didn ’ t mean them, he just said them, so even at that age, I didn ’ t get excited as I knew it meant nothing, unless of course, the sentence was finished off with a , “ ’ cos I ’ ve had a win on the gee-gees! ”
    If Dad won on the horses, he was the happiest, most generous man in the world. When he won, it was like God turned the egg-timer over and he evolved from a sour-faced grump, infrequently seen, to an all singing, all dancing, one man cabaret. Helen, the oldest and wisest of his offspring, deemed it to be his “ three hour happy window ” . Good things happened in the “ happy window ” and one Friday he must have nipped into the bookies after work, fortune must have been on his side, as he arrived home that Friday evening with three tickets to Bolton Wanderers against Wolverhampton Wanderers, for Dad, James and I. I remember James asking if it was a local Wanderers derby!
    James wasn ’ t into football much then, nor is he now and at the time, although I told everyone I was an Evertonian and collected Panini stickers, I didn ’ t quite understand the older kids obsession with football either, but the most exciting part of the announcement was that James and I were going to be spending the whole day with our Dad. Our Dad, a man who generally focused five minutes of his day towards us, was going to focus his whole day on us well, us and Bolton Wanderers anyway.
    It ’ s more than twenty five years ago now, so my memories of the day are a little fuzzy. I remember being in Dad ’ s car, me in the front, James in the back. I remember it was a hilly journey and although it ’ s only about thirty miles from Ormskirk to Bolton, if that, at the time it seemed like a huge distance. Dad parked a long way from the ground and he took it in turns to carry James and I. I remember when I was aloft, his face felt re-assuredly strong and stubbly. Even on this day of days though, he wasn ’ t perfect. He stopped at a sweet shop and bought James and I some “ Spangles ” , then told us to wait outside another shop, a smoky shop, because children weren ’ t allowed in.
    “ I ’ ll just be five minutes ” , he promised.
    James and I talked. It was obvious to us that this was one of those “ bookies ” that Helen and Caroline had warned us about. The place where Dad ’ s bad moods came from. We stood there, crunching our Spangles and pining for our father like a pair of abandoned toddlers. We knew that his mood for the day would be determined by the five minutes spent in this shop. Smacks and hugs were on the line with only one winner. Thankfully for James and I, Dad emerged from that bookies with a grin the size of Burnden Park itself, his lucky streak had extended into a second day and he proudly announced ,
    “ Today has just paid for itself!! ”
    I didn ’ t understand exactly what that meant. Today was Saturday. How could Saturday pay for itself? He must have won money but what did that mean? I didn ’ t toy with the question for too long though, as Dad was so obviously happy, I just wallowed in his positivity. Me, my Dad and my brother were going to a real football match and didn ’ t it just feel great!
    I didn ’ t know or care back then, that lucky streaks don ’ t last. I was na ï ve to the fact that every gambler ha s a lucky streak at some point or other, but more often than not it is followed by an unlucky streak that lasts