It Always Rains on Sundays

  Her voice, ‘Colin?’ pulling me out of my reverie, back into real life. Then, like a vision Alison appeared, looking stunningly attractive, wearing a canary yellow bathrobe… … (Cynthia’s I reminded myself). My mind shot into overdrive. You could hear blinds shooting up all over the house (p’thump, p’thump, p’thump). So, why was I feeling so guilty? Don’t you worry, I had a list as long as my arm. Hair in combs for one – I reminded myself to check it out. What about perfume? D.N.A, fingerprints? What about body hair? – even Alison (it happens). In my mind I’d worked out a plan just in case. I decided to burn the bed, burn everything – even the house if I had to, WOMEN KNOW.

  She broke off from towelling her hair, then smiled. She gave me a look, it could’ve meant anything – she’d have that drink now, that’s if it was still going (YOU BET). I made two BIG drinks, we clinked glasses. Later I put on some music. We kind’ve smooched around the furniture. I sighed, it’s just how I’d imagined it. Her and me, me and her. ‘I don’t know how to thank you’ she purred into my ear (really?) ‘Don’t mench’ I said. Then, all of a sudden she kisses me full on the lips (we ended up bumping heads) you’re never ready are you? Okay, I mean, fine by me, anytime you like, normally that is. Nerves probably.

  Anyway, that’s how it got left, after that we both must’ve decided to call it a night. I watched her climb the stairs, knowing how much I’d hate myself tomorrow.

  ***

  Outside, it’s just started to get light – I haven’t been to sleep yet.

  What with Cyn & Co due just about anytime, that, and Alison upstairs right above my head – why be surprised, right.

  Though, if I’m truthful I’m just laid here thinking about relationships, her and Gabriel – the way he treats people I’m meaning. What happened is, after Gabriel’s second time around divorce, that’s when everything changed. Right up until Alison coming onto the scene of things, life up at the Grange was just one round of wild parties, girls came and went, usually young blondes, flashy-types who’d be sure to turn heads at the many black-tie functions Gabriel attended – as far as intellect goes, that’s well down the list.

  They’d both met up at the Edinburgh Festival the year before. Everyone liked her right from the start. Alison’s different, she’s from the south. She’s always just herself, nice to have around. What also impressed most people is her interest in literature, especially poetry – even more that she wrote it herself.

  However, what really did it for me is his big 5-0 birthday party that time. What with that and also having won that (v.small) miniscule, poetry-prize over in Ireland that time – this made it a double celebration. Anyway, so then it turns out, Alison (her being the sweet-natured person she is). Also, young and foolish as they say – and no doubt in love I expect. She’d wrote him this love poem especially for his birthday. Something very personal and private, it was meant to be only between them, end of. That’s when he gets this stupid idea into his head reading it out in front of everybody.

  You tell me – this is what he’s like.

  Maybe he’s drunk, my guess is for some perverse reason of his own he just wanted to humiliate her. First anybody knew anything about, he’s up on his feet waving this piece of paper. ‘Alison’s wrote me a lovely poem’ he exclaims. Right at first most people are the same as me, thinking it was just another of his weird games. Nobody’s taking him too seriously. Alison’s aghast, then when she saw how much he really meant it, she’s trying to grab it back. ‘Gabriel, you mustn’t, it’s private’ she protested, flushing with embarrassment.

  Again, she made a grab for it, he laughed, holding her off with one hand ‘Down girl! Down girl!’ he goes. He thinks it’s really funny you can tell, egged on by all his cronies. He held it well out of her reach, kind’ve taunting her. ‘Please don’t’ she’s pleading.

  ‘Time for games’ he announced loudly, reading from the piece of paper.

  You could sense the growing unease.

  Unable to stop him Alison tried to leave, he blocked the heavy oak door with his foot. There was no escape, she flashed him a look of pure hatred. Instead she rushed off between the tables, right to the far end of the room, inside the bay-window, staring out at the garden. Waiting for the worse, covering her ears with both hands. Everything went expectantly quiet.

  Gabriel laughed, it’s as if he was enjoying her discomfort. ‘Time for games’ he repeated. Gabriel cleared his throat, then coughed. He began to read out the poem she’d wrote:

  ‘Don’t ask me why – put it down to the sky,

  So beautiful, a day in late spring.

  He’s been walking his dog. I sat on a log,

  Then the dog fetched a stick I might fling.’

  Here Gabriel paused, he looked over at Alison. He smirked ‘Don’t worry, it gets even better’ says he. People squirmed uneasily in their seats. I felt really sorry for her (I should’ve said something.) She turned away, looking sadly across the garden with what seemed a resigned indifference.

  He laughed coldly, then continued:

  ‘With nothing in view, and as people do

  We got talking of this and of that.

  It’s hard to explain – it’d started to rain,

  I think I said, Time I got back.

  I don’t think he’d heard, with hardly a word

  He kissed me full on the lips.

  His hands sought after mine, I was transported in time,

  A girl again, how my heart skipped.’

  His head shook, he paused. He repeated it slowly “Oh, how my heart skipped” ‘Well, well’ he drawled. He laughed mockingly, a few of his cronies joined in, exchanging knowing looks. ‘Haw, haw. Haw, haw’ they all went.

  Finally Alison had heard enough, this time he’d gone too far. She turned to face him. She strode purposely the whole length of the room, face set, determined to confront him. ‘Bastard’ she cried. She slapped wildly, doing her utmost, trying to retrieve the piece of paper. Again Gabriel laughed, fending her off one-handed with ease. ‘Oh, wait. There’s more’ he giggled. He continued:

  ‘We ran for the trees – I grew weak at the knees,

  Breathless, we threw ourselves onto the bracken.

  He pulled at my skirt (I’d divested his shirt),

  Lingering kisses never to slacken.’

  Alison’s eyes glinted angrily, ‘Bastard!’ she repeated. Somehow she found extra strength, enough to push him aside. She stamped hard on his foot, making him yell and dance about. She stormed out leaving the heavy oak door swinging on its hinges. Gabriel could only gape, he stumbled about drunkenly, still holding his foot. He stared after her ‘How about that gentlemen’ he laughed ‘and what a temper’ he added, looking round the table.

  ‘Haw, haw. Haw, haw’ they all guffawed.

  Mind you, it’s all one big joke to those kind of people.

  Nobody else thought it was funny. However, what is funny is seeing Gabriel sliding slowly down the door, he landed with a bump. He blinked, his eyes were all over the place. ‘Last verse’ he lisped from the floor:

  ‘Sunlight dappled the trees, the soft droning of bees,

  At our feet dog asleep, content not to roam.

  Sauntering away arms about, our love sealed without doubt.

  When we got to the car we drove home.’

  Everything went quiet. He cupped his mouth with both hands, ‘Hey, Alison, come take a bow’ he sang out (nobody laughed). He started a slow hand-clap, then did that jerky laugh of his. ‘Get it?’ He repeated it “When we got to the car we drove home.” Then, just to make sure he underlined it, ‘They were a together folks – get it?’

  We were all thinking the same.

  He tried pulling himself up (nobody tried to help him). Wisely after the third attempt, he decided to stay put. He laughed, he said ‘Well, nobody can say it lacks passion, am I right?’ Nobody answered. Some party, right. After that it killed it stone dead. Already some people were making excuses to leave, looking very unhappy – the whole thing l
eft an unpleasant taste.

  ***

  Saturday 6th September.

  Ernest Dowson 1867-1900.

  They are not long the Days

  of wine and roses …

  DeLacey Street. (Post-two).

  6:00pm. (CONSERVATORY). Rejoice, rejoice! Three cheers I cry – are little family are reunited once again. Home at long last, all are safely returned to the fold and even now are happily gathered around the hearth – praise be! Indeed (a salutary lesson) it just shows how easy it is to take things for granted I suppose.

  Mind you I’ve had a lousy night – I’ve hardly slept a wink. However, as things turned out I needn’t’ve worried – quite farcical in fact. Alison’s taxi-cab passed Cynthia’s on the roundabout on her way out. Fate I suppose. That said I’d fully intended to pick them up at the airport if they’d’ve hung-on a bit – it’s hardly my fault the Mondeo overheated is it.

  One thing for sure, nothing changes. Cynthia I’m meaning, (you’d’ve thought she’d’ve been happy to see me.) Sadly no, she’d hardly been in the house more than five minutes before we were lunging at each other’s throats. She’d a list a mile long – fault finding I call it. First thing she does is sniff her nose inside the fridge (just in case I’d double-checked). She turned ‘Cucumber’ she sneered ‘that’s not a cucumber, it’s a courgette you daft twat.’ Then, almost in the same breath, its Brian’s turn ‘God above, that cats thin. Have you forgotten to feed him too?’ No doubt that was a sly dig at me, of course, alluding to the unfortunate demise of Lucy’s pet rabbit Ben I expect.

  Next thing it’s the new wall-paper, covering up the music-hall wall in the living-room (critical to say the least.) She didn’t like that either, ‘Oh, creeping Jesus’ she exclaimed one hand clamped to her mouth. ‘Well, that buggers coming off for a start.’

  She just wanted to argue you could tell.

  ‘I thought you liked flowers?’ I said. She stared ‘Flowers, yes – it looks more like a seed catalogue if you ask me’ she replied sarkily. ‘Either that goes, or I go I’ll tell you now.’ She flounced out of the living room, slamming the door behind her.

  Some home-coming I thought.

  This is the thanks you get. She walked straight past the flower arrangement I’d bought her. I wouldn’t mind I’d called in purposely over at Fox’s Garage on my way home from work. She was a bit over-tired I expect. I’m putting it down to jet-lag, after all, we can all get a bit fraught at times, especially after a long trip.

  Seeing the kids, it made up for everything – I’ve really missed them I’ll say. Jamie’s fallen deeply in love with a girl he met over in Orlando, her names Lane (her first name I assume). They’ve even exchanged rings by all accounts, both swearing their undying love kind’ve. It’s as if he’s grown-up almost over-night – a month back, ‘fab’ or ‘brill’ seemed to cover just about everything. Now, it’s a whole new vocabulary almost, e.g. ‘hey man’ and ‘get cool’ or ‘chilling out.’ Also, from now on its James (‘Okay?’) I nodded. ‘Holy smoke’ I said. Trust me to say the wrong thing, he must’ve overheard me talking to my mother over the phone (‘A little fat girl full of freckles from Philadelphia’). He grabbed back her picture. I said sorry and offered him a pound coin. He shook his head, then mumbled under his breath – I could hear him barricading his bedroom door.

  Nice to see little Lucy again too – I’ll say. What with her golden tan, her long blonde hair is almost pure white. She looked wonderful, no wonder everyone’s calling her a princess – I’m not surprised. She’s grown a couple of inches, that’s at least. Cyn said no, so maybe that’s just me.

  Too late, the minute she dropped off her goofy-duck back-pack, next thing she’s running round wanting to say hello to her pet rabbit Ben. That’s all I need (I’d been hoping Cynthia might’ve mentioned it). How do you tell a five year old kid her pet rabbit died? Poor kid, next thing she’s bawling her head off – you’d’ve heard her in Timbuktu I’ll bet.

  Nobody even gives you a chance to explain.

  After that they’re all giving me the silent treatment. Let’s not talk to the bad man – all I get is dagger-looks. So, now I’m a rabbit-killer, end of.

  ***

  That’s something else too – odd how you get to know things. Everything’s so damned secretive. What happened, there’s this guy I keep seeing over at Avril’s house. I’ve noticed him a couple of times, kind’ve loitering, jumping up, trying to look into her kitchen window.

  Finally, I went over to have a quiet word with him. ‘Hey, hey’ I said ‘Look here, is there some kind of problem squire?’ It turns out he’s looking for Avril (join the bloody queue I thought). Then when I informed him she wasn’t back as yet from her rather lengthy sojourn over in the States, his face dropped a mile. You could tell he was a bit agitated. ‘What fucking vacation’s this?’ he yelled. He flopped down on the front step. ‘Bitch. No wonder she isn’t answering her bloody rotten phone – I’ve just come to tell her our mortgage has come through’ he whispered dejectedly.

  Blimey I thought – it just shows, you think you know people.

  All of a sudden he aimed a mighty kick at Avril’s newly painted front door. ‘Bitch. I’ve left a good wife and mother of two, and a post-office cum-general for that bloody woman’ he cried. This is when I had to step in to restrain him. ‘Look here’ I said ‘steady on brother.’ He stared, for a moment or two there was pure madness in his eyes. ‘I’m only an informative neighbour – I’m just putting you into the picture that’s all.’

  After a time he calmed down a bit. Then, as a final gesture he tore up the large manila envelope he was carrying into four pieces, he then stuffed it into her letter-box. He nodded. I then escorted him right off the premises. He climbed into a black estate-car, with Britanica Grocery Services on the side. I waved him off. He looked straight ahead. ‘Good luck squire’ I called out. He shot off, narrowly missing an old lady wheeling a push-chair.

  ***

  Cynthia was busy working at the sink, wearing her Marigolds (already?), up to her elbows in soap-suds. She’d got a bit involved, trying to scrub grime off a vase – it stunk to high-heaven.

  Somehow or other I must’ve missed it.

  I waited for a good time. She paused, easing her back, wiping her forehead with the back of her sleeve. Finally I said ‘Guy there looking for Avril.’ No answer, instead she rubbed harder. Again she paused ‘He’ll have a long wait – she’s just got married again’ she informed me in a flat, either way voice.

  ‘Really?’ I said (REALLY?) No wonder I stared.

  Somehow or other I expected her telling me more.

  Don’t you worry Cyn does things in her own sweet time. Instead, she turned back to the job in hand, she scrubbed some more, then paused, staring at bubbles.

  Finally she said ‘Mmmm, nice guy. They met going over on the plane if you must know.’ She gave me a look. I nodded ‘Oh, nice one’ I said.

  She pushed back her hair, then renewed her efforts with the scrubber. She paused ‘Mmm. American gentleman, lovely manners, he’s from the south – mind you, they all have nice manners over there. Well most of them. Very rich I might add’ I nodded ‘Vvvery nice’ I said.

  Trust Avril I thought.

  Somehow or other I couldn’t help thinking about the other poor mutt – him with the cum-general and the mortgage, etc. Avril doesn’t waste much time I thought to myself.

  She seemed to want to talk ‘Nice guy – he’s in real estate.’

  ‘Oh, very nice, very nice’ I said.

  ‘That’s what they call it over there. Over there they call it real estate.’

  ‘So I believe. How nice – very nice. Trust old Avril to come up trumps,’ I thought aloud.

  She let it go. ‘Even though he happens to be mega-rich, he’s just normal,’ she commented.

  ‘Is that right? Oh, nice one.’

  She broke off rinsing the vase. ‘Colin, do me a favour. Stop saying, “Oh, nice one” Okay?’

  ‘
Oh, right’ I said. At least we were speaking, that’s something at least.

  She half-smiled to herself ‘Mm. isn’t it funny how people meet up’ she went on, picking up where she’d left off. ‘They both got acquainted on the plane going out, standing in line waiting for the loo.’

  I nodded. ‘Oh, right. Nice one.’

  She gave me a look. ‘Business-class, of course. They both had adjacent seats, right next to each other. He said he’d been admiring her ankle tattoo.’

  ‘That’s really amazing’ I said.

  Mind you, she’s right. I’ve made lasting friendships on planes myself. I still get cards from an ex-pat dentist in Alberta over in Canada. Unfortunately, we had to break off. Next thing Lucy runs in, she needs me rightaway – it’s urgent. She pulled at my sleeve ‘Now daddy, it’s very important’ Lucy insisted (pity that, we were getting along nicely). Cyn, squeezed her way through ‘Unfortunately Lucy wet herself’ she whispered.

  ***

  Lucy waited outside, she’s wanting to know where ‘poor old Ben’ was buried. We walked hand in hand, I pointed at the fresh mound of earth. We stood in silence. Lucy bit her lip, fighting back tears. ‘Shouldn’t Ben have a cross?’ I nodded. ‘Oh, and a verse …?’

  She’s right – why hadn’t I thought of it.

  Inside the shed I made a rough kind of a cross. Making up an appropriate verse, right off the cuff wasn’t that easy:

  Here lies Ben, fast asleep with the hen

  Up in God’s farmyard, high up in the sky.

  Sadly, no-one knows when –

  At least he didn’t end up in a pie.