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DICKIE WILLIAMS By Nigel Dean

Before I could say anything and I did have a lot to say, a tirade of anger and abuse ripped my way as I was blamed for the accident.  I tried to respond but he wasn’t listening and certainly wasn’t interested in anything a mere mortal like myself could offer.  Other motorists had left their vehicles but just stood watching the scene from a safe distance.  I suppose the fact that neither of us were hurt prevented them rushing forward, perhaps they were reluctant to get involved in our argument or perhaps they were stunned when they saw who it was standing there in flesh and blood hurling forth his venom to myself.  Then I remembered nothing, my mind went a total blank, my eyes closed and I crumpled to the floor.  I don’t even remember hitting the warm dusty tarmac.

I awoke in the ambulance but did not fully regain my senses until I was in  hospital.  There I was examined, put through a series of tests and eventually told that I was alright, nothing broken and no sign of any internal injuries.  I had been lucky.  The conclusion was that I had passed out in shock and they would keep me in for twenty-four hours observation after which I could go home.  “Take a couple of days off work and you’ll be fine.”

“Hello.”

“I really don’t know what to say to you.  I was born a prat and have been working hard ever since to perfect it.  I guess sorry really isn’t enough is it but I am sorry.  And my outburst is without excuse.  So – sorry ! My mother would kill me if she ever found out I behaved like that.”

I didn’t know what to say.  I just looked at him.  I suppose at the end of the day he was just like any other person but how could anyone quite so famous be ordinary ?

He sat on the edge of my bed.  “I really am sorry.”

“It’s fine,”  I found myself saying.  “I’m not hurt, I’m going home tomorrow.  Don’t worry.”

“But your car ?”

“It doesn’t matter, it‘s insured.”

Bloody hell it was him.

“I hope you don’t mind me coming round,” he said somewhat nervously, the fingers of both of his hands twisting round one another as he spoke..  “I mean I hope I am not disturbing you.”

“Richard !  No, not at all.”

We stood momentarily looking at one another, me in my doorway and he on the small landing that served the four apartments on my floor..

“I brought you something.  Something to try and show that I am sorry.”  He half  turned and waved a hand towards the wall.  It's outside, parked on the road."

I looked confused.

“It’s yours, I want you to have it – a gift.”

"What ?" 

"Come down and look."

Together we descended in the lift and walked out to the road.  Richard was like an excited schoolboy wanting to show off something he had found. 

Then I saw what he was talking about. How much could it have cost ?  A fortune.  A Porsche Boxter – god only knows.

“But –“

“Please don’t embarrass me.  I wrecked your car so I’ve replaced it.  It’s no big deal it’s only.  It would ease my conscience and make me happy if you would accept it.”

He held out the set of keys and I took them.  What a gift !  “Thank you.”

He smiled and then his eyes sparkled the way I had seen them in so many of his promotional pictures on television, on bill hoardings and magazine covers.  But this was the real thing, Dickie Williams standing outside my very own front door.

“Would you like to come in ?”  I asked.  “I mean can I offer you a coffee or something ?”

Shit my little flat wasn’t tidy – it never was – and I had just asked a world-famous icon into it.

“That would be nice Nigel,”  Richard’s smile broadened, “but what I would really like is if you would come out and have a drink with me.  Just to let me say I am sorry.”

“I’ll do you a deal,”  I said bravely.  “I’ll agree only if you agree to stop saying sorry.”

He laughed.

My new car was an absolute dream and it was so easy to think that it was all just a dream.  Several times I pinched myself to check the truth of what was taking place and yes it was real.  I could feel heads turning to look as we drove past.  They would have turned again had they seen who was seated inside making the car itself a poor second.  I felt warm and was happy to be spending some time with Richard, I had a developing sense that we were going to become friends. I hoped beyond dare that we would even become good friends.

“Where are we going ?”  I asked seeking directions.

I thought we could perhaps call into my local, it was a bit late to catch them serving lunch or bar snacks but they were always open through the afternoon.  I suggested we go there.

Richard hesitated for a moment then said, “Nigel, please don’t take this the wrong way but would you mind if we went to a pub I know.”

“Sure, anything you like.”

I was about to ask where to drive but Richard was still speaking even if his hesitation continued.

“It’s not easy for me to simply go out for a quiet drink, people won't leave me alone but there is this special pub I often go to, the thing is it‘s a gay pub.  Is that a problem ?  Do you mind ?

I didn’t mind but did not have the chance to say so as Richard continued to give his explanation.

“I mean if I go to an ordinary pub people will never leave me in peace, it isn’t easy being who I am you know.  But there is this bar I use where people just accept me and all the fame rubbish counts for nothing.  If you don’t mind it’s quite cool.  I hope you will like it.”

“Fine by me.”

“Oh thanks.” He sounded relieved. “I didn’t know how to put it.  I mean I don’t want you to be offended.”

“No, not at all.  So are you gay ?”  I asked somewhat clumsily then immediately added, “Sorry I shouldn’t have asked that.  Forgive me.”

“Not a problem, you have a right to know.”

I did not see that I had such a right at all but sensing Richard wanted me to have an answer  although he had not actually given it asked the question again.

“I guess so,”  he said.  “Well yes I think so.  I don’t have a boyfriend or anything like that but I suppose in all honesty I am. Yes Dickie Williams is gay !”

I just smiled  to myself.

“You don’t mind ?”

I didn’t.

“You haven’t realised have you ?”  I said.

“Realised what ?”

We chatted a little and drank a lot, more than we should have done and certainly far too much for me to drive.

“Call a taxi,”  Richard said.  “You do it please because they’ll never believe me if I give my name.  They’ll think it’s a wind up.”

“Perhaps you should start to use an alias.”  I suggested.  “Like Julia Roberts did in Notting Hill, you know the film.”

“Yeah, what should I call myself ?  I wonder.  Perhaps I should use your name – Nigel – it’s a nice name.”

The mini cab pulled up outside the pub and the driver sounded the horn loud and long.  It had started raining so we ran the short distance to the car, quickly shutting the doors behind us. We sat together in the back and I gave the driver my address.   “When we get there my friend will tell you where he needs to go.”

“OK mate,”  the driver said looking in his mirror.  “Hey, has anyone ever told you that you look just like Dickie Williams ?”

“Only my mother,”  Richard giggled.

The driver looked again.  “ Hey shit you are Dickie Williams aren’t you ?”

“That’s me.”

After that he didn’t stop talking all the way:

Wait ‘til the guys hear who I had in my car –

What’s it like being a star –

Do you ever drink in my local, The Admiral’s Head –

What’s the best goal you’ve ever scored –

Is it best being a football star or a pop star –

On and on and on.  I couldn’t wait to get home but strangely that voluble driver didn’t make any mention at all that he had collected us from a gay pub.

When we did get home Richard asked the car to wait and walked with me to the door.

“Take this“ he said offering me a small folded piece of paper.  It’s my personal mobile number – very few people have it and I always answer, I never switch it off.  You can call me any time.”

“Thanks.”

“Don’t forget to go back and pick up the car.”

“I won’t.”

“Thank you for today.”

“Thank you and thank you for the car.”

We were both hesitating, neither wanting to leave the other’s company.  Eventually Richard threw his arms about me and looked into my eyes.  Our mouths met and we kissed.

“Call me.”

“I will.”

“Promise ?”

“Let’s meet up afterwards,”  I said, “then we can celebrate your victory.”

“Or commiserate when we lose.”

“Be positive,”  I laughed.  “Come round after and I’ll cook us a special meal.”

One of the very first things I did that Saturday was to tune every TV in the electrical department to the station that would carry live the vital cup tie. The supervisor in charge of the area asked me what I was up to and I don’t really remember what reasoning I gave her but threatened dire consequences if so much as one set was retuned.

The store ran like clockwork all morning and through the busy lunch period into the early afternoon but just ten minutes into the game the pa system called out its words:  Call thirty-three for the Duty Manager.  Duty Manager thirty-three please !

SHIT !  Call thirty-three meant a shoplifter had been apprehended by security and I would have to be present when the police arrived.

Four minutes before half time I dashed back to the electrical department.

“What’s the score ?”  I demanded of some poor assistant.

“Two nil.”

“To who ?”

“City.”

“Who scored ?”

“Dickie Williams, both of them.”

A warm glow invaded my whole body and I wiped away a faint tear.

“Duty Manager to Customer Services please.”

SOD THAT PA !

This time it was a customer with a faulty rewritable DVD.

“Just replace it,”  I snapped.

“But we don’t sell this brand,” the confused assistant tried to explain.  “Tesco had these on offer last week, it must be one of theirs.”

“Replace it,”  I said again.

“But –“

“Just watch my lips will you. REPLACE it.”

I turned on my heels and strode back to a television screen.  I arrived just in time to see Richard’s picture fill the camera before zooming back and listen to the voice describing what was happening.

“That’s a long ball,”  the commentator said calmly.  Then with an air of mild excitement, “and it finds Williams.  He’s on his own – watch this – could it be a third for Williams ?  He’s on his own, yards ahead of anyone marking him, this man is utterly brilliant.  He’s on a run, could this be his third ?  He’s in a good position, no he‘s in a perfect position.  He’s past one defender, a second and he shoots.  It’s there !  A goal.  A third goal for City and a third goal for the truly brilliant Dickie Williams.  Is it any wonder he is the  king  of  the Premier League ?  A hat trix for Dickie Williams.”

The camera cut away to show Sven, the England Coach, sitting in the crowd and smiling contentedly.

I was totally, totally choked with emotion.

“I love you Dickie Williams,”  I said softly to myself.  “I guess millions of your fans love you as well but I know that you also love me.”

Richard turned to face the camera as he trotted back to his position for play to restart.  He winked an eye to camera and I knew that it was me he was winking at.  I cried.  I was totally, totally overwhelmed with emotion.  As play continued nearer and nearer the final whistle my flesh tingled with so much excitement.  Then the referee blew and City were through.  I watched the scenes of jubilation, the crowd was cheering Dickie’s name with enthusiasm and vigour. I was so proud. But it wasn’t over yet.

From out of nowhere Richard was handed a  microphone while loud speakers all round the stadium boomed out the introduction bars of his last hit, that Cliff Richard oldie On The Beach.  The atmosphere rose to a new height of celebration as Dickie entertained all with a free concert.  

He sang all those silly party songs we all knew when we were kids.  The like of Agadoo and Simon Says.  Tens of thousands of fans delighted in waving their arms to copy actions to the words.  A camera cut away showing England Coach Sven-Goran Eriksson partying with everyone else.  His face displayed a broad grin and undoubtedly he was having a ball.  Dickie was already secure in the England Squad and had played many times for his country and I began to wonder if the captaincy was still safe with Beckham or if my Dickie was not the heir apparent.

A small group of shoppers had gathered round the televisions in the electrical department and were enjoying the show.

“He’s good isn’t he ?” One said.

“Makes you want to reach out and kiss him.”

I had kissed him and would be kissing him again in just a few short hours time.

Dickie was drawing things to a close with that old disco hit Hey Ho Silver Lining.  He took a bow and prepared to return to the dressing room but the crowd frantically called for more.

“What’s the matter ?”  Dickie said.  “Don’t you have homes to go to ?”

More – more – encore…………..

“OK then just one more time then I really have to go.  I’ve got a date and some special celebrations waiting for me.”

Again he sang Hey Ho Silver Lining.

His own celebrations to go to Dickie Williams had said that to the world and he meant me – I could contain myself no longer.  I went to my office, closed the door and sat alone. I cried tears of pure happiness.

While I can cook I am by no extent a chef.  All I normally do is to prepare simple meals for myself but this had to be special.  I raced home and began the preparation.  Things were going well when the entry phone announced he was there.  My heart beat with the heavy thunder of a giant bass drum and my body quivered in excited anticipation.

"Come on up."  

Very soon Dickie was dancing on my door step and singing away to himself.  He had a large bottle of champagne in each hand and was waving them about before flinging his arms about me allowing the bottles to chink together behind my head.

“Well done,”  I said.  “You were brilliant.”

“I know,” he giggled.  “But not half as brilliant as I intend to be over the next few hours with you !”

I may not have been an international football star and I did not have a string of number one hits to my name, neither would any manufacturer ever consider asking me to endorse so much as a patent mouse trap but I loved Dickie Williams with a passion nobody else could ever match.

“Welcome to my home,”  I said a little embarrassed at its modest composition.  “I’m afraid it is not much.”

Richard smiled.  “Do you know where I live ?”

I didn’t.

“As far as the paparazzi and the fans are concerned I have a suite in a city hotel but I seldom ever stay there.  In truth I live with my mother.  Twenty-four years old and yet to fly the nest !  She looks after me, I still need looking after, and I like her cooking.  Talking of cooking there is a delicious smell in here.”

“It won’t be long.”

“Fantastic.”

“You got a couple of glasses ?”

I produced two and Richard popped the cork of the first bottle before catching the foaming champagne.

“Cheers !”

“Cheers !”

It was superb, sparkling, sweet and tasted very expensive.

“Mr Eriksson gave it to me,” Dickie explained.  “He brought it down to the dressing room himself.”

“Really ?”

“The guys wanted me to open the bottles but I told them I had somewhere special to go and someone very special to share it with.”

I looked into his deep blue eyes and tried to use a sixth sense to tell him how much I cared for him.  I am sure it worked for I myself felt a sensation where I knew so very well what was in his heart.

The meal turned out better than I had ever dared to hope. After some home made broccoli and stilton soup I had prepared duck in an orange and brandy sauce, very ambitious considering my usual microwave efforts, then topped all off with a fruit trifle. We took out time eating and ranged our conversation over many different topics.  It became clear that Dickie was a highly intelligent and clever man.  So much talent concentrated into one individual.

I had never before been with a man, never had gay sex and to this day maintain I never have.  What Richard and I experienced together that night was not sex it was love.  Love of the purest, deepest and most precious kind.

We lay naked together on crisp new sheets I had bought specially.  Our warm bodies contoured and nestled together the perfect way destiny had planned since the start of time. Although we were both virgins there was no uncertainty or fumbling about, no clumsy movement or awkwardness, just sheer poetry of perfect blending.  Everything was just to right.

Afterwards we lay in one another’s arms and whispered our conversation.

“Why Richard, when you could have anyone did you chose me ?  I mean a guy like you could have someone like David Beckham if you wanted.”

“I think Victoria would have something to say about that.”

“Do you know the Beckhams ?”

“Yes, a bit.  I’ve been to a party at their home.”

“What are they like ?”

“Kind but very quiet.  David is not much of a conversationalist.”

“Do you know any other famous people ?”

“A few but not many of them well.”

“Who ?”  I was curious.  This was a world I had only previously read about.

“Cliff Richard.”

“My grandmother listens to his music,”  I giggled.

“He’s a bit like a father to me,”  Dickie started to explain.  “My own father passed away when I was a child. He and Dad were friends and he has always looked out for me.”

My own father had also died some years previously and I told Dickie about him then went back to asking about Cliff Richard.

“I've always known him.  Dad was in the music business and Cliff has been about all of my life. I covered one of his songs and since then I’ve used more of his material.  As I've got older I’ve got to know him quite well and he’s been very good to me.  I can talk to him.”

“Really ?”

“Of course his name isn’t Cliff Richard at all, his real name is Harry Webb.”

“I didn’t know that.”

“I call him Cliff though.  I chatted a while back with him about my sexuality and he was so supportive and understanding.”

“That’s good.”

“He’s not gay himself even though he’s never married but he does understand me.  I phoned him yesterday and we talked for a couple of hours.”

“What about ?”

“You.”

“Me ?”

“Yes.”

“What did you say ?”

He didn't answer for a while then said, “I told him I thought I had found the person I wanted to spend the rest of my life with.”

“Is that true ?”

“True that I told him or true that I want always to be with you ?”

I started to tickle him.  "Tell me !" I demanded.

“With me,”  he said.  “That is if you want the same.”

I did !  I did !  I did !

That second time our making love was even more special than the first, now we were consummating a vow which would see us grow old together.

“Good morning lover.”

“Good morning lover,”  I replied.  “Ready for breakfast ?”

“Let me cook it for you please, you cooked last night. And remember I promised to do the washing up”

“But I’ll need to pop out and pick up a few things from the corner shop, eggs, bread and we’re almost out of milk.”

“I’ll go.”

He was out of bed and dressing.  “Which way is the shop ?“

I told him.

A warm smile crept over me as I though of old Mrs Patel having Dickie Williams dropping a wire basket of groceries on her counter first thing on a Sunday morning and asking if she took MasterCard.  She and her husband I knew were both great City fans and she would have palpitations at the sight of her customer. I would have just loved to have been a fly on the wall.

“I got a razor and some soapy stuff,”  Richard said when he got back.  Do these clothes look alright ?  I mean I wore them yesterday.”

“They look great.  How was Mrs Patel ?”

“She gave me a kiss.  Nice old girl.”

“Did she !  I am jealous !”

I wanted to show my new boyfriend off and wished I had gone with him to the shop. I wanted to show him off to someone. While he was busy in the kitchen I decided exactly who I would show him off to later in the day and made a quick phone call.

My big sister Annie and I have always been close, as a kid she always looked out for me and then as I grew up she was the one who guided me through some quite difficult times.  My father had died when I was still fairly small and Annie as older sister had taken on some of the paternal support he would have given me had he been there.  We agreed to meet up later in the day.

Dickie and I drove to a local park and picnic area.  He stayed in the car while I went first to meet and chat with Annie.

“So you are finally out,”  she smiled when I told her I was gay.  “As if I hadn’t known for years. You can‘t keep a secret from me.”

I’d hardly known myself so how did Annie figure my sexuality out ?

“But I now have a boyfriend,”  I explained.  “I would like you to meet him.”

“Yes,”  I said proudly.  “Yes we are.”

“That’s true but I really care for your brother,”  Richard added.  “Time does not matter when you are in love.”

Annie threw a few questions at us as she tried to take in our revelation and we tried our best to answer them all.  Away to our right a group of three lads were kicking a football to one another.  A missed kick from one sent it bouncing in our direction.  Dickie got up, trapped the ball with his foot, flicked it up into the air bounced it on his knee then headed it back to the boys.

“Wow,”  I heard one of them say.  Then all three stood as still as statues when they saw who it was who had returned their ball.

“Can I have your autograph please ?” One said.

“Of course you can,”  Dickie replied jogging to join them, “but first you have to give me a quick game.”

The boys could not believe what was happening to them as Dickie kicked about joining in their game while Annie and I sat talking.  I was so, so happy.

On leaving Annie and three lads, who would have a story to tell their mates they would never believe, we drove to the other side of the city where Dickie introduced me to his mother.  She was lovely and I felt so comfortable in her company.  She knew that Dickie preferred men and was happy he had found someone he wanted to be with.

“Does that mean you will be moving out Dear ?”

Dickie looked at me and I knew exactly what he was thinking.  I looked back saying:  I would just love it so much if you wanted to move in with me.  And with that all was decided.  We loaded the Porsche up with as much as we could cram in and my home became our home.

Dickie's father had been an executive with a major record company until he died of cancer at the young age of thirty-four.  He had been very successful and Mrs Williams lived in a large detached house in one of the most affluent parts of town.  Dickie was worried about leaving her alone but she would hear none of it and gave him every encouragement to move in with me.
   
Those next few days were truly, truly magical – quite out of this world.  Each morning a car would arrive to take Dickie off to his work: training, meetings and everything associated with being a full-time megastar.  I would get into the Porsche and head off to the store.  The drudgery of every day work now lightened knowing he would be home waiting for me in the evening.  And how fantastic those evenings were.  During the time we were apart our minds constantly thought of the other and built up a special adrenalin for when we were together again.  Not since Romeo and Juliet have two people been so very much in love.

Everything, yes everything, was so, so perfect.  That was until early on the Thursday morning.  I was only half awake when I heard the snap of the letter box in the hall, the postman was early.  I glanced bleary-eyed at the alarm clock on Dickie’s side of the bed.  It was early – very early !  A long, loud and shrill ring on the door bell fully aroused me from the last pretences of sleep.  Again it called demanding and urgent.  Nobody should be out there, the entry phone hadn't rung and I hadn't pressed the button to unlock the downstairs main door.

Putting on a white bath robe I headed for the door picking up the newspaper from where it had fallen face down on the floor.  We didn’t have a newspaper delivered and if we did neither of us would have selected this particular tabloid.

The ringing of the door bell stopped me from looking at the paper, instead I folded in along its length and held it in my left hand as I flipped the latch with my right.  Who could it be outside ?  I was met with a million flashes and the deafening sound of motorised cameras winding film and shuttering their lenses.

What the ……………….. ?

The small landing was packed with reporters.  I slammed the door shut and tried to think.   What ever was going on ?  The press must have found out Dickie’s new address but why would the world’s paparazzi be camped outside ?  What was the story ?  What were they after ?  And then I unfolded the paper and saw the front page.

DICKIE WILLIAM’S SECRET GAY LOVER - So ran the banner headline.

“Dickie !” I screamed racing into the bedroom.  “Dickie wake up !”  I thrust the paper at him.  “Look at that.  There are hundreds of reporters outside. What are we going to do ?”

Dickie looked at the paper and then to me.  “Sorry,” he said.  “I knew the story would break but didn’t expect it to be like this.  I am so sorry.”

The three of us jammed away playing all kinds of things for hours.  My spirits lifted and Dickie was smiling again, smiling so wide and that made me happy.

“Can you sing ?”   Cliff asked.

I used to think I could but would never have admitted it in front of such celebrated company.  I shook my head. “No.”

“Come here,”  Cliff said placing an arm about my shoulder.  “Sing one of my songs with me.  We’ll do it together.  Which one would you like ?”

What could I say ?  I mean Cliff Richard was hardly my era of music and I only knew a few of his hits by name.  My mind fumbled then blurted out the first thing that came into my head.  “Summer Holiday.”  I’d seen the film as a kid on television one Christmas.

Cliff sorted out a CD and placed it into a karaoke machine, music started to play and the words came up on a television screen in front of us.  I sang softly at first but sensing Cliff next to me and my beloved Dickie watching I changed and threw my heart and soul into it.  I felt I wasn’t doing at all bad,  At the end Cliff and Dickie applauded, “Well done you !  Well done.”

It was two in the morning when the three of us collapsed  exhausted into deep armchairs and Cliff served us coffee and micro-waved pizzas.  “Sorry about the food,” he said, “but it’s a bit late to call the housekeeper.”

“Won’t the noise of the music have woken her ?”  I said concerned that we may have disturbed her.

“She lives in a cottage in the grounds,”  Cliff explained.

Thank goodness for that.

“Feeling better now ?”  Cliff asked Dickie.

“Much thanks.  Harry ?”

“Yes.”

“I think I want to give up football.”

“Do you ?”

“My contract is up to be renewed at the end of the season and I think I want to quit.  I’ve talked it over with Nigel and we still need to talk some more of course but I don’t want to play any more.”

“You are a better musician than you are a footballer,”  Cliff said.  “Brilliant at both of course but music is your number one I think.”

“Do you think I could make a living at it ?”

Cliff laughed.  “Boy you already make a fortune every time you release a song !”

“Do you think Nigel and I could make a duo ?    Say like the Everley Brothers from your time ?”

“Cheeky !  Phil and Don Everley were even before my time,”  he giggled.  “But hey you may have something there.  What do you think Nigel ?”

Me a pop singer ?   This was going too far, perhaps everything that had happened over the last two weeks had been but a dream  I would wake up soon to the reality of working in my local branch of Woolworth’s and the world I was sharing with Dickie would be gone.

“I’d back you with my production company,”   Cliff said.  “I think you could do it.”

This wasn’t a dream was it ?  No it wasn’t.

“Can I ask you something else Harry ? Dickie said.”

He smiled.  “When ever you call me Harry and not Cliff I know you are about to say something profound.  What is it ?”

“Do you believe in gay marriage ?   I  mean  you  are a Christian so what do you think about it ?”

His answer came quickly, he did not have to think about it.  “Love is given by God and it isn’t up to man to debate who he gives it to and why he gives it or in what form he gives it.”

Dickie looked at me and his eyes silently asked the question.

With tears joy in my own I gave him my answer.

“You can use my home in Barbados,”  Cliff said.  “Take a holiday there and have a special ceremony to mark your love.”

This man was fantastic, it was impossible not to like him and oh easy to see why Dickie respected him so much.

We ate and chatted.  Dickie would retire from football at the end of the season.  Cliff would start a programme of coaching for me and turn us into a pop duo.  His promotion company would assure our success.  We would get married that summer in Cliff’s Caribbean home and life was going to be so, so wonderful.

“Let’s go for a walk,”  Dickie suggested.

“You two go,”  Cliff said and come back when you are ready.  “I’ll organise some breakfast.”

We walked down the long drive from Cliff’s home, down the quiet lane and into the small town.  It was a bright morning. We were both so full of life and our hearts overflowing with joy.  We skipped along the footpath like a couple of kids let out of school.  Dickie was dancing backwards,  facing  me  laughing and  singing      We’re all going on a summer holiday ……….

Then everything went into slow motion.  I saw those nimble feet which were the envy of football clubs the world over trip, I saw him stumble back into the road and I saw the car coming.  There was nothing I could do but stop and watch in horror.  My hands instinctively covered my mouth as I screamed out “NO !“ The sound of Dickie falling against the oncoming car was sickening.  He hit it, rolled over the bonnet and fell to the floor motionless.

I went to his side but was overtaken by others who appeared as if out of no where.  Somebody must have dialed 999, a paramedic on a motor cycle was soon on the scene followed very quickly by the police and then an ambulance.

“Don’t die Dickie,”  I cried.  “Don’t die.”

A police office was at my side and asking me questions I did not hear.

The ambulance arrived and parked up.  Then the police began clearing the road, backing cars up and an air ambulance landed.  It was not a good sign that the pilot shut town the rota blades.

“Don’t die Dickie,”  I cried.  “Don’t die.”

I stood there in a daze and watched as the helicopter noisily ascend, taking my beloved Dickie away from me.  The downdraft of the rota blades rippled the shirt on my back and tore the hair about my head.  I had lost all sense of time and could not have told you even what day of the week it was.  Tears flowed down my face in rivers, I had lost the most important thing in my life.

Someone was speaking to me but their voice was an echo in a distant canyon far away.  Whoever it was repeated themselves and laid a firm hand on my shoulder.  That hand tried to steer me away from the spot where I stood transfixed.  I can not tell you how long it was before I started to respond, how long before I made any sense of what was going on about me.

“He’s in shock,”  I heard a voice say and the next I knew I too was in an ambulance on my way to hospital.

There were various words of reassurance which passed me by until one short phrase jolted me back to reality.  “Dickie is going to need you so we had better get you fixed up.”

DICKIE IS GOING TO NEED YOU !

Was I dreaming ?  NO surely not !

Was it possible ?

Could it be ?

Was Dickie still alive ?

Croaking the words with the greatest of effort to speak them over my emotions, I asked the question.

“He is seriously injured,”  was the reply, “but yes he is still alive.”

I broke down and sobbed like a small child.

“Will he live ?”  I managed to ask.

“We must hope and we must pray. He is very poorly but we must never give up.”

By the time I reached the hospital I had worked hard to regain some form of composure.  The press was there waiting, how they found out and mobilised themselves so quickly I could not comprehend  but police officers were keeping all outside the building.  I had to be strong, I would be no use at all to my dear friend as a wreck of a man and I was damned if any photographer was going to snap am picture of me looking like that !

Of course everyone at the hospital knew who I was, Dickie and I had dominated the press all week.  I was taken to a small waiting room and offered coffee which I declined.  All I wanted to know was how my adored Dickie was.

“He is in theatre, it may be a long while but as soon as anybody knows anything we will tell you.”  A very young and kind nurse offered to sit with me and I accepted her company with gratitude.  Without her I don’t know how I could have coped with the next few hours.  She was truly a precious and wonderful young woman.

“What’s you name ?”  I asked.

“Anne, Anne Barber.”

Eventually we were joined by a third person, the surgeon who had headed the team operating on Dickie.  He was smiling.  My heart rose ever so slightly.

“Is he - ?”

“He’s alright,” was the answer, “but he is very poorly.”

“Will he - ?”

“He’ll pull through, but there is something.”

“What ?”  I demanded.

“His sight.  The blow to his head caused a blood vessel to burst and damage some brain tissue.  It was near the part which receives messages from the eyes.  I am afraid that Dickie will be left blind.”

“But - ?”

“He’ll not be able to play football any more.”

“He doesn’t want to,”  it was a pathetic response. “It doesn’t matter.“ My emotions were tumbling in every direction all at once.

“He is in intensive care, it will be a slow but certain recovery.  Do you want to see him ?”

Did want to see him ?  I wanted to see him more than anything else I had ever wanted in my life.

“I’ll take you to him, he’s asleep of course and we’ll keep him sedated until tomorrow.  His mother is on her way over together with another friend, a Mr  Web, but you can see him first.”

I didn’t ask how they had contacted them, how they had found their phone numbers. All I could think about was that Dickie was alive.

He looked so lovely in spite of the tubes, wires, bandaged head and bleeping machinery.  He was alive and that was all that mattered.  My lover was alive !  I reached out my hand and placed it gently on top of his and know that he was instantly aware of my presence.  Others may not have been able to see it or noticed any change in his face but I saw him smile.

As the doctor had said, two days later he returned to consciousness and although he could no longer see it was the most precious gift on Earth to have him back.  How I loved Dickie and oh how wonderfully grateful beyond measure I was to have him back with me. The press kept a vigil outside in the hospital car park and urged the nation to pray for his recovery.  Their prayers were answered.

“I love you,”  I said.  “I don’t know what I would have done without you.  I could not have gone on living.”

“I don’t give up that easy,”  he smiled.

My lover accepted his blindness with a bravery worthy of a medal and showed a true depth of character which was far beyond his years.  “At least I won’t be able to read all those terrible tabloids any more,” he giggled.

Those terrible tabloids and even the serious broadsheets continued to be filled day after day with news of Dickie’s road to recovery.  The get well cards arrived by the sack-load and there were enough flowers sent to fill the entire hospital.  Everyone was so kind.  Everyone was saying what a tragic loss to English Football Dickie was.  Little did any realise that he intended to quit at the end of the season when his contract was up for renewal.

The day before he was due to leave hospital and return home Dickie talked to me about the night before his accident and the things we had said that morning.      “Will you still marry me ?”  he asked.

“Try stopping me, I want nothing more,”  I replied wiping away a tear.  “And I want it to happen just as soon as possible.”

Our wedding took place just four weeks later.  We decided to make it a very quiet affair.  Not that we were ashamed of our love for one another or that we were not prepared to share our vows with the entire world and tell all how we would intended to spend the rest of our lives together, but that any ceremony where we invited more than just a few people to witness our love could so easily turn into a rat pack media frenzy.  And so our gathering was small: both of our mothers, my sister and our special friend Harry.

Harry gave us the use of his holiday mansion on the Caribbean island of Barbados for a private ceremony of dedication and insisted we stay on there for as long as we wanted.  “Take a holiday, take time to recover and when you return home we’ll talk about your career in music.”

Sadly our wedding was not recognised in law, all this took place before the advent of civil partnerships, but I know on a higher level it was recorded in the universal register of love.  Harry had found a Barbadian friend who was pleased to officiate and he did a truly beautiful job.  He stood before us in the lush gardens of Harry’s mansion and spoke the words which would bind us together for ever.

“Thank you, thank you -,”  he said.  “I know it is more usual to finish a party with that rather than use it as an opening number but the thing is I was so nearly finished myself – if it had not been for the caring and skilled support of so many people I wouldn’t be here, I would be dead.  Tonight is about those people and raising as much money as we can to help them save the lives of many, many others.  Thank you all for coming along.”

The applause was phenomenal and I guessed that those watching on television at home were clapping too.

Dickie and I then went into a harmony duet, the voice coaching and singing lessons arranged by the promotion company boys certainly paid results.  Then it was my turn to sing solo.  I had chosen a re-write of the Blondie song Denis singing Dickie instead. A few bars into the song it occurred to me that I was probably making the biggest statement ever in support of gay love.  Millions the world over were watching and hearing me declare my love for Dickie.  I could feel huge waves of support form oh so many of them.

Oh Dickie doo be do,
I’m in love with you Dickie doo be do -
I’m in love with you Dickie doo be do -
I’m in love with you.

Dickie, Dickie oh with your eyes so blue,
Dickie, Dickie I’ve got a crush on you,
Dickie, Dickie I’m so in love with you.

Oh when we walk it always feels so nice,
And when we talk its seems like paradise,
Dickie I’m so in love with you………………………………………

I was in a dream, a wonderful beautiful dream.  A cameraman with a video camera balanced on his shoulder knelt down in front of me to take a low level shot, behind his lens the entire world was watching and listening to me singing of my love for Dickie.

The rest of the concert passed that way, song after song - star after star.  Then seated at a grand piano Dickie slowed the tempo with John's Leanon's Imagine telling all that he believed John to be the greatest poet and musician of modern times and Imagine to be the finest song ever written.  So beautiful was Dickie's rendition that many a tear is shed in the audience.  I know that somewhere in that audience John himself was watching and smiling.

A magnificent finale began with Dickie and I fronting an extravaganza of stars to form a choir.  Such a gathering could only come together on the rarest of occasions. Then finally to close Dickie took centre stage for an encore of Hey Ho Silver Lining.  The lights dimmed and as the low sound built a single spot picked my lover out.  Then as the beat punched out laser lights hit the sky pulsing a billion miles into the sky before sweeping back and forth in time to the music.  That crowd of mega stars formed a line behind Dickie clapping and waving.  When it came to the guitar solo in the middle Dickie let rip and the night air filled with the chords. As the laser lights dimmed they were replaced with a spectacular display of fireworks.  Never before had there been a concert like this.

When we eventually got home in the tiny small hours of the morning the last thing I could possibly have done was to sleep.  So for a second night we lay together in bed just hold in each other.  We savored that fantastic evening, made wonderful love to each other and finally dozed in each other’s embrace.  How I loved Dickie and how he loved me.

We awoke to the phone ringing, that special mobile phone Dickie had where only his closest friends, associates and family knew the number.  It never left him and he never turned it off.  I heard it calling faintly in  the distance and awoke properly to hear Dickie talking.

“What time is it ?”  I yawned.

Of course Dickie did not know, how could he see the clock ?  I looked across the bed and saw it was a little short of one o’clock.  One in the afternoon.  I kissed my lover.  ”Who was that ?”

“Harry.”

“Oh.”

“He wants us tome go round to his home tonight.”

“OK.”

“Something special,”  he said.

“What ?”

“Don’t know, he didn’t say.  He was a bit strange and vague but very insistent.”

“Well it will be good to see him, we can thank him properly for last night.”

“Yes, it was good wasn’t it ?”

“Wonderful Dickie, wonderful.”

The rest of the day was one of the laziest I can ever remember, we didn’t even get out of bed until late afternoon, breakfast was at tea time and then it was time to make the drive to Harry’s.

We pulled into that long driveway leading down to Harry’s mansion at five minutes to eight.  The large gates which normally had to be opened electronically from within the house were already wide ajar.  I though that was strange and said so to Dickie.

“Something is going on,”  I said as we neared the house.

“What ?”  Dickie asked.  “What can you see ?”

“There are lights on everywhere,”  I said, “and cars – lots of cars. Everywhere.”

Not only that but there were guys who were clearly security managers hovering discretely yet obviously.  One approached us and opened the car door.

“Good evening Sirs.  If you would care to leave your car here we will look after it.  Come this way, everyone is waiting for you.”

Harry, wonderful Harry – bless him – had arranged a special party in our honour.

“What’s this for ?”  I asked dazed and a little confused.

“Do I need a reason,”  he smiled.  “Because if I do I can think of more than a million.”

And that actually was what the party made.  One thousand guests crammed Harry’s house and garden that evening and every one of them had paid £1,000 to be there as a donation to our charity efforts.

I think we spent most of the time trying to speak with every one of the guests:  film stars, singers, sportsmen, politicians and even a couple of minor royals.  But there were some extra special guests for whom Harry’s had paid himself to give them tickets.  There was the air ambulance crew who had attended Dickie at his accident, there was the surgical team and that lovely, lovely young nurse who had sat so patiently and comforting with me while Dickie had been in theatre.  Dear precious Annie, I was so happy to see her.  The poor thing was so out of her depth among such a gathering, I just took her by the hand and insisted she stay with Dickie and I all evening.

Thanks to Harry’s party our charity fund raising made a magnificent two and a half million pounds. We did not want to burden ourselves with administrations, trust funds and grants so we simply divided the money into three giving equal shares to the hospital, the ambulance service and the Royal Institute for the Blind.  We fully intended to raise more money a lot more money and made plans.  We also managed another number one hit and began work on an album.  A property agent sent us some details of houses on the market in Barbados and so we were kept very busy indeed.

Time sped past and the weeks turned into months.  The hospital used our cheque to fund its much needed development of a new intensive care ward.  We received a letter from the chief executive which I opened and read to Dickie.

“They want to name the intensive care ward the Dickie Williams Unit.”

“No way !” He said firmly.  “No way !”

It wasn’t a mansion but it was truly lovely and had its own small private beach which we could walk down to when ever we wanted.  Most people visiting Barbados tend to stay on the Caribbean side of the island where the water is calm and deep azure blue.  Our home was on the other side facing the Atlantic where the sea was just as vivid in colour but roaring with surf and breakers as it rushed to the beach over a coral reef.

The descent to the beach was down a rough path between a small glade of trees.  The walk was not easy for me and I had to watch my step with care, for Dickie who could not see it was quite tortuous.  He was so independent and refused my help, insisting he could walk unaided.  I knew we would have to get a contractor in to build us some proper steps and I mentally made a note that it was a priority.

After breakfast earlier today we left the house to spend the morning on the sand and soak up some more sun.  We were near the top of the path when Dickie stumbled, missed his footing and fell.  He tumbled all the way to the very bottom as I watched in horror.  I snatched to grab him and save him but was momentarily too late.   I cried out after him “Dickie !!!!!!”

I ran as fast as I could after him.   I just knew he was going to be badly hurt.  Not again !  Oh Dickie no !  Please no !!

“Dickie !!!!”

When I reached his side he rolled and turned to face me.

“Are you hurt ?”  I asked begging that he was alright.

“I’m fine, don’t think that I have broken anything but I guess I’ll have some bruises.”

His face was cut and so were both of his arms.

“Let’s get you back up to the house.”

“I’m OK.”

“No,”  I insisted and I got my way although he refuse all my attempts to have him see a doctor.

Dickie complained of a headache, he was lucky his head was not broken, and when I resolutely demanded that he lay down and rest he did agree to that.  I knew then that he had to be hurt some how and prayed that he would feel better after sleeping a while.  I thought I would leave him alone for a few hours then prepare a light mid afternoon snack.  While I was alone I decided to put into action something I had been planning for some time.

I have always loved writing and as our relationship deepened I had this desire to sit down and write a special story for Dickie telling of our life together.  A bit silly in a way because, of course, he could not read it but perhaps I could read it to him.

I got out my laptop computer and began to type but some how it did not feel right committing a work of such importance to a micro chip and so I set it aside in favour of a pen and pad of paper.  I sat at the dining table and began to write.  As I reached the bottom of each page I tore off the used sheet and set it to my side.

I don’t know how long I was writing for, well past the hour I had intended, but when I paused and counted the number of sheets there were fifty-six of them.  If there was an average of 300 words on each sheet that was an amazing 17,000 words.  Wow !  But the writing came so easy, it was a labour of love and I poured the love that existed between us into every stroke of the pen.  This was going to be a very special gift for my lover, I would read it to him in bed that night.

I continued writing for at least another hour when I became aware that Dickie was in the room.  I had not heard him come in, so engrossed was I in  what I was doing, and I do not know how long he had been there.  I turned to look at him and smiled that he was alright.

“What are you doing ?”

I briefly explained.

“Why are you writing by hand and not using the computer ?”

I told him how it did not feel right not to do it by hand.

“Well that’s good then.”

He walked to my side and picked up the papers, shuffled them together and said, “There’s a lot here, you have been busy.”

“It’s nearly finished,”  I said.

“Finish it now,”  he said.  “I’ll just sit here and wait.”

Another thirty minutes I thought would conclude the tale so I returned to my scribbling.

“This is good,”  Dickie said.

“Want me to read it to you ?”

“No you finish writing, I’ll just sit here and read what you have written so far.”

“Ok.”

I wasn’t listening properly, so keen I was to finish that I did not see what Dickie was doing and the content of his words passed me by.”

“I like the opening bit,”  he said.

“Thanks.”

Then he began to read the words I had written earlier, to read them aloud.

I am not sure if I heard it first or if I felt it.  The impact was certainly violent as I was thrust forward with so much force it made the restraining seat belt punch my chest with the force of a boxing world champion.

I stopped.  How did he know what the words were ?  He could not read them, he could not see !  A shiver ran through me and I dropped the pen, stood up and faced him.

Dickie continued to read before tears just flowed from his eyes.

“Do you believe in miracles ?”  he said.  “I do Nigel, I do.  I can see !  I can see again !  It must have happened when I fell earlier, god alone knows how or why but I can see !”

He may have been able to see but I could not for tears of sheer, absolute joy were filling my own eyes.  “Thank you God,”  I called aloud, directing my word to who ever it was that controls the destiny of the universe.  “Thank you, thank you, thank you !!!!!!!!”

We held each other and sobbed, daring not to question the miracle that had restored Dickie his sight.

“I love you,”  he said.  “I can’t say how much I love you.”

“But I know how much you love me,”  I cried.  “Because that’s just the same way I love you.”

“I know. I can not tell you just how much I know.”