At home with Derek Acorah: Reunion

 
Last month, friend of Big Balls Derek Acorah made some bold claims to the press about the current whereabouts of missing child Madeleine McCann. The subsequent media backlash was severe, and Derek immediately went into hiding. The evening after The Sun broke the McCann story, I received a largely incoherent voicemail from longtime Acorah confidant Bruce Jones. Whilst the majority of Bruce's 47 minute message consisted of weeping and sexual threats to my person, he did manage to articulate one salient home-truth:
"Derek needs you." 

The next morning I packed my bags and boarded the first coach to Southport. I was a bag of nerves for the duration of the five hour journey. Mine and Derek's relationship had soured since we had last met, with Derek taking great offense at my unflinching depiction of his on tour antics.

When I arrived I was given a cool reception by Mrs Gwen Acorah “You’ve got some cheek showing your face around here, You broke his bloody heart!" I smiled weakly and went to embrace her, but she turned away, tears welling in her eyes "He’s out back, resting by the pool.” When I passed in to the garden I was greeted by the trademark Acorah glare.

A silence heavy with emotion settled between us. Eager to break the ice and stimulate some conversation I casually remarked: “Nice pool Derek, mind if I take a dip?” He instantly perked up, unable to hide his pride at owning a new pool. Derek was about to respond when I inadvisably continued my train of thought “But what’s with the netting and Koi carp?” The smile disappeared from his face: “Still a sarcy little cunt I see.” He then took small photo of Michael Barrymore from his wallet, whispered into my ear “remember this guy?” and walked back into his home.

After our stand-off by the pool we entered the kitchen and Acorah seemed to calm down slightly. He asked Gwen to make us all a pot of tea, turning to me and winking “Gwen makes a cracking cuppa”. This was clearly an allusion to a past indiscretion between me, himself and Gwen. If this chummy remark was meant to put me at ease, it didn’t work. I was still concerned about the strange atmosphere within Acorah’s home, but felt I had no choice but to stay. I was here to make peace, and knew that a hot drink and a couple of bourbons would help break the ice.

As I entered the living room Derek spun suddenly and pounced across the room, he was aiming flying forearm straight to my temple! I stuntrolled to my left, evading his initial attack and Derek was sent sprawling into a mahogany display cabinet, scattering Gwen's collection of glass animal figurines across the carpet. Within seconds I had him in an arm-lock, the like of which he had never seen. Derek duly tapped out and the old power-balance was restored (this is a trick I picked up from Louis Theroux, who once choked out Al Sharpton whilst filming a particularly fractious episode of ‘Weird Weekends’)

After Acorah had been fully subdued I released him from my grasp and we retired to the cream leatherette 3-piece. We sat in near silence, the only sounds coming from the occasional wet crunches that accompanied Gwen’s breathless annihilation of the bourbon biscuits.

I was now enjoying the most awkward cup of tea since Unilever broke it to the PG Tips monkeys they were being sold off for medical testing. Just as I was beginning to make my excuses the doorbell rang. Acorah bounded to the front door, it was his best friend and notorious pornographer ‘Angry’ Dave Dirt (Star of UK Gonzo mega-hit ‘Life-changing injuries with Angry Dave’).

I was aware that since I had left Acorah’s world, Dave had assumed my role as chief wing-man. This was bad news. Dave was the kind of character who would relish bringing out Acorah’s potent dark side. Both men possessed a bullish, uncompromising sexuality that was unconfined by social norms. The pair were soon trading war stories, all of which were too blue to detail here. Let’s just say that when these two stags hit the town, police, ambulance and victim support counsellor sirens are not far behind.

Despite his unsavoury tendencies I felt that Dave probably did have Derek's best interests at heart. Like me, he was here during the wacky psychic's hour of need. Dave placed a substantial arm around Derek's shoulder "You've got a gig tonight. Skegness." Acorah flinched, "I can't face it Dave, these cunts want my guts for garters" Dave roared with laughter "Let them try! They're gonna have to get through Angry Dave first! HAHAHAHAHAHA!" And that was that. The 3 musketeers were going to Skegness.

The first half hour at the venue passed without incident, and Derek seemed relaxed as he mingled and posed for photos with his fans. Me and Dave left him to it and chatted amongst ourselves, admiring Derek as he worked the theatre lobby like a pro.

A member of the group congregating around Derek soon caught my eye. There was a young, medium-attractive woman hanging on his every word. Well dressed, fragrant and with no obvious eating disorders, she seemed out of place. Out of curiosity I moved towards the group. I soon noticed why she stood out from the crowd, I was helpless as she pulled a dictaphone from her purse: "Mr Acorah, will Maddy be making an appearance tonight?"

Me and Dave bundled Derek into his dressing room, but the eager journo followed closely behind. She thrust her dictaphone back into Derek's face "Gerry and Kate McCann have branded your claims distasteful and insensitive. They say you are nothing more than a self publicist. Do you have any comments?" Derek turned to me and Dave. No words were spoken, but we all knew what he had to do to end this. He turned back to the journalist "Alright, I'll give you what you want."

After a 20 minute interview, Derek decided to write his official press release by hand. Already on his third pack of Silk Cuts that evening, he clearly resented retracting his claim that Maddie was now in the spirit world; protesting until the bitter end that "Sam saw her, she's right as rain!" Acorah picked his pen up with a heavy heart "I need to be alone". 

It had been nearly half an hour and I had not heard a peep from Derek, so I decided to check on his progress. When I entered the dressing room I was immediately unsettled by his haunched, quivering frame. All was not well. He turned his head, a hideous, inhuman grin etched on to his face. I picked the notepad from the table and recoiled in horror. The pad was now filled with a scrawled, childlike font that had began to tear through the pages. Sentences upon sentences had been layered on top of each other, rendering the text barely legible. All I could make out were 3 words. “She’s fucking GONE” again and again and again. Acorah slowly turned to face me, his eyes glazed. “SHE’S FUCKING GONE”