It Always Rains on Sundays

by It Always Rains on Sundays (epub)

  What’s really upset him, I suppose, it’s because I got pulled over by the police, driving that ratty old rust-bucket of a van he loaned me that time. He’s only got himself to blame. If he thinks I’m driving around in a clapped-out old bread-van with ‘MR CRUSTY’ and two giant-sized loaves of bread on the sides he’s another think coming I’ll tell you. I have a certain position to maintain in this town.

  Meantime I’m cadging a lift with Dec Tasker the caretaker. Talk about a Job’s-comforter, I’ll say. Fords are known for it, according to him it might even be her BIG-ENDS (he should know he’s had eleven so he said). Mind you I’m taking that with a pinch of salt as they say. Lest we forget, he’s the guy that nearly blew-up half the neighbourhood filling his fuel-tank with liquid fertiliser that time. Say little I thought, there again you don’t feel inclined to disagree – not when he’s doing you a favour going ten miles out of his way do you.

  ***

  Letters (postcard): From Cyn & Co in Orlando. Confirming their arrival (bent, and with alligators on the front, showing lots of spikey teeth!) ‘Home Fri/Sat probably v.early.’

  Yikes! More bad news, Bramwell Bronte’s Lost Brother Ben, that’s back yet again – pity I had high hopes with that one too. Returned from St Bede’s priory over in Bradford, via their new editor Cordelia Heathcote. Fool that I am, I’d been rather hoping she might’ve just squeezed it in her latest Myths and Legends of Olde Yorkshire. Alas, no it seems (new broom editor and all that). ‘Highly unlikely,’ comes the dour reply. Not a sausage, how about ‘startling originality’ or maybe ‘stratospheric flights of imagination.’ Mind you, you can’t please some people no matter what.

  ***

  Thursday 4th September.

  Emily Dickinson 1830-1866.

  My life has stood a – Loaded Gun.

  DeLacey Street. (Post-one).

  1:30pm. (CONSERVATORY). OH FUCK. That’s all I need. Lucy’s pet rabbit, Ben has died (I just happened to call in). Brian brought me the news. I followed him round to the back of the house. Somehow, it’s as if he already knew, he stopped in front of the rabbit-hutch, then kind’ve pointed. Cat’s intuition I expect. Don’t worry, he’s as pissed off as me you can tell. WHAT NOW?

  Good question – more to the point who’s going to tell Lucy. I buried him in the pet’s cemetery behind the garage next to Henrietta the hen who died the year before – come to think of it, they were away that time too. FEED BRIAN.

  Oh God, it’s just hit me, what about telling Cynthia? (I’m a dead man for sure). No wonder I’m a bag of nerves. I’ve just caught a look of myself in the mirror, yellow eyes. What does that tell you. Flu’ probably, also I’m feeling v.lethargic, all the signs are there for sure – I’d a job on, yanking a hanky out of the box. That’s all I need. AND I’VE GOT A COLD SPOT.

  Letters (one) VILE POST. Blind Bertha’s Black-bitch, that’s come back – I’m assailed from every side. Returned from Corner House Book Society, you watch, next thing they’ll be asking me to take out a annual subscription for their crummy, rotten poetry anthology. No-way baby, the answer to that one is a v.resounding N-O. If my work isn’t good enough to go in it, therefore answer = SOD OFF. Just wait till they see my new stuff that’s all. Jeepers they’ll all exclaim in a voice (whispers of astonishment). ‘And, to think we turned him down they’ll all shout.’

  I’m having an early night.

  Somebody was at the door (I must’ve dozed off) – I heard a knock. Then when I looked there’s this note from Everlasting Sunlight.

  ‘Re. (storm damage?) to you conservatory roof. To be totally honest Mr. Turk I’m a bit puzzled. However, in my considered opinion I think the birds have been having a go with your putty.

  Catch you later, Alec.’

  ***

  Friday 4th September.

  William Shakespeare 1564-1616.

  Shall I compare thee to a summers day?

  DeLacey Street. (Post-nil).

  7:00pm. (CONSERVATORY). Home early, there’s a Poetry Society meeting, by royal command – convened at v.short notice, via message from Gabriel Biggar-Titte. Though, if I’m truthful, what with Cyn & Co, just about due home anytime I was in two minds whether or not to go. Then, on top of that I’ve been rather busy decorating, wall-papering, covering-up the music-hall wall in the living-room. Thelma’s idea, why didn’t I think of it before – great idea. Only, now I’m starting to have second thoughts, it’s called Mid-summer Roses. Somehow or other it looked totally different inside the store, now it’s up on the wall the flowers seem a lot bigger – they put me very much in mind of rows of cabbages.

  One thing for sure Cynthia won’t like it you can bet.

  ***

  11:00pm. About the Poetry Society meeting (I was right I should’ve given it a miss) Gabriel B.T. I’m meaning. The minute I walked in, everything went quiet. You could tell they’d all been talking about me. Everybody turned at once. Gabriel got up on to his feet ‘Hah. Colin – good man’ he says. He came over, he stuck out his hand, then patted my shoulder – his face filled with all this phoney concern ‘Well done pilgrim,’ says he. You’d’ve thought somebody had died.

  I might’ve known – trust him going round telling everybody.

  Why be surprised. Everybody stared, then shook their heads sadly, ‘Here, here. Here, here’ they all murmered.

  He pushed a drink into my hand. ‘No, some of us were just saying’ he started off gravely ‘London I’m meaning, we were all wondering if you’d be coming to the meeting, under the circumstances.’ He grimaced ‘Don’t blame you old chap. Horrid, unsavoury business all round – I know I wouldn’t’ he added.

  Don’t you worry I kept it light. ‘Oh, you mean that bit of business I had down at the Smoke I take it – water under the bridge’ I said with alacrity.

  He stared ‘Smoke?’ he repeated. ‘Ah, London you mean, how quaint. Nobody calls it that these days – well hardly’ he smirked. Twat I thought.

  Smirkers are the pits if you ask me (in my mind I pictured his head trapped between the door and the doorjamb, me slamming the door as hard as I could – only about a hundred times, that’s at least.) He turned to talk to somebody else, then walked away.

  No signs of Alison (I looked for a friendly face). Things didn’t improve much. Next thing young Caroline Sneggs came up to me, (her eyes were brimming already) ‘Well, I think it’s rotten, it’s a rotten thing to do to anybody. That’s what I think anyway.’ She was a bit upset you could tell, she walked off, her lip trembling. Gabriel B.T. must’ve overheard. ‘Jolly unfair – diabolical in my opinion’ he agreed over loudly.

  After that quite a few people came up to me, giving me their various commiserations, saying how sorry they all were. Finally Lizzie Shaw, her fingers brushed my face, she smiled then winked. She squeezed my hand ‘Chin up eh’ she whispered. She was on her way over to the podium to read put her new poem.

  Everybody turned towards the front. Lizzie’s poem was called Resting (rather appropriate I thought seeing as she was in between jobs) at least it was jolly and had a bit of vitality. Not like some I could mention, e.g. Gabriel B.Ts crowd – boring everyone to death I’m meaning. Don’t worry I’m not the only one. Ask anybody you like.

  Frankly I was glad of the distraction I’ll tell you.

  Resting

  I’m just back from town – I’ll have to sit down

  My nerves are a bundle of feathers.

  An actress by profession, sometimes you have to make concessions,

  I do Saturdays in Harrods selling leathers.

  At parties people ask me what my name is – then go on

  To what my game is. Then go ga-ga

  Have they seen me on the box?

  When they hear that I’m not famous, then like your average ignoramus.

  Melt away, that I’m contagious of the pox.

  (etc etc and so-forth).

  Everyone clapped with warm enthusiasm. Mind you old Lizzie’s always popular with just about everybody. Even G
abriel B.T. on this occasion. Rightaway he stood up, enthusiastically, joining in with the applause. He waited for silence. His face went serious, he nodded, his gaze swept around the room. ‘People, people’ he cried.

  He paused, he looked directly at me. (Oh God, what now I thought.) ‘No doubt some of you are already aware, about poor old Colin here, about his unfortunate experience up in the great metropolis I’m meaning?’ Some nodded, shaking their heads, whispering amongst themselves. ‘Our friend Colin, he came after all’ he stated simply. He started a slow handclap, more joined in ‘Well done Colin’ our president said in a grave voice. (‘Hurrah, hurrah’ came a voice from the back of the room). Everyone clapped.

  He waited, his face went serious, he said ‘Let this be a salutary warning to everybody. Be assured, it could quite easily happen to any one of us. We can all be taken in at times’ he exclaimed, his voice rising. ‘OH YES, DEPEND ON IT’ he cried. ‘Here, here’ – the same voice shouted out.

  Trust Gabriel to make a bloody meal of it I thought. He stood directly behind my chair, both hands clamped my shoulders like a vice. ‘OH YES’ he bellowed in my ear ‘we can all be gullible. We all like a bit of flattery to be sure, eh Colin. What say you Colin?’ he cried.

  Colin say, mind your own friggin rotten business I thought.

  You feel really stupid. Meantime poor old, simpleminded Colin said nothing (I could feel myself growing smaller and smaller.) No doubt about it our president’s measured words were really hitting the mark you could tell (I just wished he’d get on with it). Tell them what I already know. What a dope I’ve been, about my ego trip, about my away day vanity trip – what a gullible idiot I’ve been.

  The whole room went silent.

  He went over to the centre table, he refilled his glass from the cut-glass decanter – nor had he finished. He swung round, he looked directly at me ‘Oh yes!’ he cried. He laughed coldly ‘Don’t you worry, there’s always somebody ready to take your money to be sure, fools money more like’ he said in a snarly voice.

  He was really enjoying the whole thing you could tell.

  One consolation at least, I’m glad Alison wasn’t there to witness my humiliation. That’s something I suppose. Earlier on I’d heard a rumour, her and Gabriel had finally split-up (she’d done a runner). OH I JOYOUSLY HOPED SO. No surprises there of course, it’s happened a couple of times. Mind you, that’s rumours for you. What usually happens, all he does is buy her a expensive present, – last time he presented her with a new horse!

  Luckily for me however, just at that juncture of things. This is when Percy Goodlad kindly stepped into the breach (or, fell more like). Mind you he’d had quite a few you could tell. Nor was it his turn. He’d decided it might be a good time to air his latest offering (mildly pornographic as things turned out). It’s just something he does, he can’t help it:

  ‘I had a little nypho, nothing would she wear

  But a smile of innocence – a flower in her hair.

  The Queen of Herpes daughter came to visit me,

  And all for the sake of one night on the spree.’

  That’s about as far as he got. Gabriel shook his head ‘Thank you Percy, no more I think’ our worthy president interjected dourly, then added ‘We’ll see if we can squeeze you in later old chap.’ Everybody laughed.

  Soon after that I called it a night, I made my excuses as they say. ‘I’m having an early night’ I heard myself pipe-up. ‘I’m expecting my family back from Orlando anytime – maybe sooner.’ I went off to find my coat. Not that anybody believed me I expect.

  Think what you like I thought.

  ***

  1:30am. (CONSERVATORY). ALISON’S HERE! Amazing, I know – I can hardly believe it myself. She’s upstairs right now, fast asleep in the great bed. My wife’s due home anytime – maybe even sooner. Knowing my luck they could have a following tail-wind. Am I mad? – she could walk in any minute. Cripes, what have I done.

  What happened, I’d just fed Brian before I turned in – these days I feed him on the hour just about. Who can blame me. All of a sudden I can hear footsteps, click-clack, click-clack (high heels?) They’re getting closer and closer – who do you expect at that time of night … Brian looked at me, we both stared at the door. Somebody knocked.

  Creeping Jesus – then when I look, it’s Alison she’s standing out in the rain, shivering with cold. Rightaway, I fetched her inside the house. I gave her a towel. I offered her a drink ‘Brandy, okay?’ She shook her head, (dope) give her time to come round I thought. She sobbed into my shoulder. Later we sat out in the kitchen, drinking sweet cocoa out of mugs. After that I just let her talk kind’ve. It all came out in a rush ‘Gabriel’s history’ this time she really means it you could tell ‘this time it’s for good’ she told me tearfully. She’d had enough of his womanizing – the final straw she’d found lipstick on the collar of his shirt. I stared (huh?) Also, he’s a swine and a pig and a louse, she added. I nodded.

  Oh, tell me some news I’m thinking.

  She stared right ahead, just going over things. She’d been walking all night, no coat or anything, walking for miles. ‘Where?’ I said (does it matter?) She shrugged. No-where, she’d just walked out. She’d had enough, not even a penny in her pocket. All night, out in the rain. ‘Just walking and thinking.’ Just to take her mind off things, I told her all about what’d happened earlier on at the Poetry Society meeting. Gabriel I’m meaning – all about my humiliating experience. That only made things worse. Next thing she burst into floods of tears, shoulders shaking, big wracking sobs. I felt really sorry for her. She leaned into my chest, gradually her tears subsided – I could smell perfume in her hair, mixed with summer rain. Finally she pulled away from me. Let’s face it you don’t want to end up in some kind of heavy clinch, not when somebodies turned to you for help, right.

  I handed her a Kleenex. She smiled wetly, then blew her nose loudly, startling the cat. Brian leapt off the table in one bound. We both laughed, she dabbed her eyes, trying hard to smile through her runny mascara. She fondled Brian’s ears, she sighed ‘You do seem to attract this kind of situation?’

  She’s right, I nodded. I’d just thought of something – I felt this big wave of panic ‘What about Gabriel, does he know you’re here?’ I hear myself say in a cry-baby voice. Again, the small shake of the head, ‘No’ (thank Christ for that). I poured her a good stiff drink. Her smile faded ‘I’ve just had a thought, when is your wife due back from the States?’ her eyes flick at the ceiling ‘not yet I’m hoping’ We both laugh. ‘You’d have some explaining to do’ she half-joked.

  B, dong. Thanks for reminding me.

  Some things you don’t even joke about, right. It was starting to work me up already. I gulped off my drink in one go (it must’ve shown on my face). Next thing she’s grabbing her coat, making ready to leave. Somehow, I managed to convince her to stay. She rooted inside her bag, looking for a cigarette. Something else for me to worry about (Alison hardly ever smokes – why start now?) Oh God. I watched her light up. This is the kitchen, nobody smokes in the kitchen no matter what. She blew out long avenues of far-reaching acrid smelling blue smoke – I made a mental note where it landed so I’d know where to spray later. One thing for sure Cynthia would smell it at once, she’s a nose like a sodding bloodhound. What’s made it worse she’s packed it in yet again. Ex-smokers are worse than anybody – nowadays the fans go on even if she sees it on TV…

  By now I’m a nervous wreck – and that’s really strange, because next thing I surprised myself – I’m inviting her to stay the night. She looked relieved right away she gave me a big hug, followed by a kiss on both cheeks. I can hear myself lying my head off ‘Stay as long as you like. One thing about Cynthia, she isn’t a small thinker’ I said. By now I’m out of control.

  ‘Maybe I’ll end up telling her myself’ I lied easily.

  She smiled, then squeezed my hand. Are you mad? What if she get’s home earlier than planned? Oh sure – I could just imagine
it, ‘Hi bebe! Wow, love your tan. Oh, by the way there’s a young woman upstairs, she’s fast asleep in your bed – okay with you? Alison? Hey, that’s right – last year, the garden party. Right, same one, she’s lost her top, sky-blue bikini if I remember rightly, uh huh. Pretty? Well. I suppose – well okay, maybe she is pretty in a way, to be truthful I hadn’t really noticed… WHY WHAT’S WRONG WITH MY NOSE?

  She held up the stub of her cigarette, wondering what to do with it. I stared. Good question (me too). Don’t worry it’s something I’d already been working on. I stood over by the sink watching it circling the plughole – this was plan A, plan B was to swallow it. ‘Listen’ I said over the sound of the running tap ‘make yourself at home, okay. Get yourself a good night’s sleep, that’s the main thing.’

  ***

  I was starting to regret it already. Distantly I could hear Alison running a bath – just about to jump into my wife’s bed (I’d even loaned her a nightie). “No blue, try the light blue.” I must be mad, next thing it’ll be panic attacks I expect. Right at the minute I just wanted her to go. Anywhere, just don’t be here come daybreak, okay. Take anything you like, all I have is yours, car-keys, keep the friggin car, it’s yours baby, use my razor, tooth-pick (teeth?) PIN-number – who cares? Just go, back home to horrible Gabriel B.T, serves her right. What she saw in that oafish idiot I’ll never know.

  I must’ve dozed off, just this side of sleep, mingled thoughts started to emerge… … Alison. Oh Alison. Let’s runaway, just the two of us – what’s money compared to true happiness I thought dreamily. Some faraway village, someplace out on the moors. We’ll live frugally above an organic grocery store, up in the attic under the stars, gazing up at the night sky, listening to Vivaldi, eating chocolate figs, collaborating on long meaningful poems all about the ozone hole… … long nights, making love by rose-scented candlelight…