It Always Rains on Sundays

by It Always Rains on Sundays (epub)

  Lucy’s head shook. Okay, fine by me (sometimes, just that smidgeon of humour). Last time, when old Henrietta’s untimely demise. Somehow it was a lot easier, e.g. ‘Poor Henrietta – we thought you’d get better’ etc etc. Finally we compromised ‘HERE LIES BEN – FAST ASLEEP WITH THE HEN.’

  Sadly our peaceful little ceremony is rudely interrupted by the arrival of Alec Binns, the guy from Everlasting Sunlight, about our leaky conservatory roof. He had a silly laugh. ‘Hi guys – nice day!’ he cried, then laughed for no reason. He stared at Lucy, then asked her name. ‘My dogs name is Lucy’ he marvelled, rocking her head with a heavy hand, he said ‘Tell you what, you have a very pretty daughter.’

  I nodded. Lucy looked at me, then rolled her eyes.

  Again, he did his weird laugh. ‘Beautiful house. I’ve been looking at the garden. It’s just like something out of a magazine’ he chirped. His face went serious, he went over to the conservatory, proceeding to knock a slow rhythmic knock. He shook his head sadly, then tutted. Cyn opened the door. They both stared (‘What?’) He threw back his head, then did his crazy laugh. ‘My words – you’ve been in the sun. Is it an all-over tan?’ he asked her. Cynthia gave him a cold look, then shut the door in his face. He turned ‘Mr. Turk, I’ve been giving it a great deal of thought.’ He paused. ‘Look, let’s talk about it man to man.’ His hands came up with a whosh ‘How about tearing it down. Everything, the whole caboodle. Why not buy a new one – put lots of value on the house – you’d be really amazed.’

  Don’t worry I’m amazed already I thought.

  Time for my ace-card. I showed him my guarantee, it still had three months to run before it expired. His face crumpled. He drove off laughing his crazy laugh, talking to himself. He’s sending somebody round first thing Monday.

  Cyn was in the utility-room (busy, busy, busy) as usual, sorting her way through a pyramid-size pile of laundry. I heaved myself up onto the counter – I was hoping she’d be in a better mood. I thought maybe we’d’ve picked up where we’d left off. I waited.

  Finally I said, ‘Hey, quite a storm you had I hear?’

  She straightened up slowly, working her fingers into the small of her back. ‘Still got your bad back, eh?’ No answer, plainly I wanted to talk, Cynthia did not.

  She closed her eyes, then rolled her head. You’d’ve thought she’d’ve been full of it – I know I would. ‘Some storm?’ I repeated. ‘Papers over here were full of it, sounded pretty scary. Hurricane Hugger-mugger I’m meaning.’

  Her eyes opened ‘Storm? What storm? Hurricanes are a lot worse than any storm’ then added ‘I should know.’ She stared, ‘That tops wet I hope you know that?’

  I jumped down off the counter. She’s right, my pants are wet through to the skin. What’s it take (now she tells me), anybody else they’d’ve mentioned it rightaway. “Hey, look out, that tops wet” That’s what I’d’ve said, simple as that.

  I stomped off upstairs to get changed.

  Bad timing I expect. Don’t you worry, next time I waited until the kids were in bed, fast asleep after their long exhaustive flight. Cyn was upstairs taking a long relaxing bath, listening to soft music, surrounded by lots of perfumed candles. She’d left the door ajar, I could hear Frank Sinatra singing ‘Strangers in the night.’ While I waited I perched myself on the banister-rail. Through the gap I could see her towelling herself off. Wow I’m thinking – she looked in pretty good shape I’d say. Her hair had gone lighter too, showing off her rich golden tan. Something else I happened to notice too, she had a couple of diamond studs in her naval. That’s new I’m thinking, as was the gold ankle-chain, held in place with a small heart-shaped, jewelled padlock. It looked expensive.

  Her voice startled me ‘Have you seen enough?’ Cyn said icily not using a smile. She covered herself with a towel, clutching it to her throat. She gave me a cold look ‘This your new hobby?’ I stared. She closed the door with a thud, I heard the bolt shoot on. You feel really stupid, I rapped on the door. ‘Just in case you’ve forgotten madam. I am your husband’ I yelled.

  F it I thought – I could feel my temper already. I decided to go to the pub (I spelt it out in hot anger so not to wake up the kids) ‘I’m going to the F-U-C-K-I-N-G P-U-B’ I whispered fiercely through the bathroom door.

  My feet thudded down the stairs two at a time.

  Natch. Cynthia always had to have the last word.

  She stuck her head over the banister-rail ‘Do that’ she screeched ‘and fucking well, S.T.A.Y there for all I care.’

  I slammed out of the house. Some home-coming I’m thinking.

  ***

  Cyn was still up when I got back from the pub (still disappointingly sober I might add). She was in the hallway, talking on the phone with her legs stuck out – she was more like her old self. I nodded. Talking to Avril over in the States would be my guess, one of those girly-type conversations, lilting high on excited yells, mixed with screamy laughter. She even managed a smile for once.

  Don’t worry I’d noticed the empty wine bottle. Whatever it takes, right.

  Things were looking up.

  Later, she came through into the living-room, she’d lit the fire. She made two big drinks, then put on some music – this was nice music. She sat close to me on the sofa (‘So we can be nice and cosy, just the two of us’) she whispered into my ear. I started to relax, new perfume too, kind’ve musky, I really liked it. It just shows, she’s nice when she wants to be – the change in her was pretty remarkable.

  She’s really chatty. We clinked glasses and said ‘cheers.’

  ‘Guess what, Avril’s coming home.’

  I nodded. ‘Oh great. That’s wonderful’ I lied.

  ‘Mm. Tuesday, well hopefully at least.’

  ‘So soon, eh.’

  ‘That’s if everything goes to plan.’

  Soon it gets even better, we danced slowly around the room, next thing I know she’s nuzzling my damned ear – how bad is that, I’ll say. This is the trouble, she knows I’m weak. All I can think of is the great bed upstairs. We kissed (her eyes were closed), this went on for about a week at least. ‘It’s nice to have you back’ I said dreamily.

  ‘Mm, me too…’ Cyn said.

  ***

  2:30am. (CONSERVATORY). Looks as if we’ve come full circle – I’m back downstairs, sleeping in the conservatory. Cynthia, who else. This is what she’s like. People don’t really know her, they all think she’s sweet as pie. Her being nice all of a sudden, it was all a sham – it’s the oldest trick in the book. Trust me to fall for it.

  What happened is we’d just ‘made love’ – call it that, had sex? (a joke). Nothing worked, call it what you like. Dictionary-wise, ‘non-performance’ or ‘lack of success.’ Who knows, it still amounted to the same thing – nerves probably. So, okay – it happens. Mind you Cynthia could make a eunuch nervous I bet. After that I just wanted to turn over and go straight to sleep.

  Cynthia had other ideas. Even though it’s the middle of the night, she still wanted to talk. Though, what made it worse, all she talks about is trivia, things that don’t really matter. All of a sudden, then she said ‘Haven’t you got a small head?’ I tried to ignore her, there was bound to be more than that. She nudged my elbow (I was right). Her voice came out of the semi-gloom, ‘Colin … are you asleep?’

  ‘Go to sleep’ I groaned sleepily.

  This is what happens. Too late, next thing you know my minds alert. Meantime, she’s out like a light – I’m left staring at the ceiling. Again, her voice came hollow and loud. More stupid questions ‘Don’t you think so?’ she persisted – ‘as heads go, it’s a bit on the small side?’ I opened an eye. Cyn’s sat up, bright-eyed, she’s ready to talk all night. I looked at the clock, I can hardly keep my eyes open. ‘My head is just average, okay.’

  She nudged me ‘Colin?’ I sighed inwardly (I pretended to snore) ‘Colin …?’ this time louder. Not asleep, not awake, saliva coming from the corner of my mouth – I sucked in quickly. I c
leared my throat, ‘My head is normal. Go to sleep.’ Some hopes ‘You have a very tiny head – I never noticed it before.’ I stared at the wall-paper. She’d set me thinking – curiously enough right up until then I’d always considered my head-size to be pretty normal.

  I pulled myself up onto one elbow. Cyn stared, I said ‘Look, you don’t ask, it comes with the set. You take what they give you, okay’ I was determined to settle it once and for all. I sank back into my pillow. It went quiet. She always has to have the final word. ‘Well, you got the last in the whole bunch that’s for sure’ she sniggered, then adding ‘very tiny indeed, yes sir’ I heard her say.

  I turned, her arms were around her knees. She was really trying my patience. ‘Listen, one last time – then we go to sleep, okay. It’s not Pick N Mix, right. You’ve to take what’s on the shelf, one nine-pounder please. Next customer please – you’ve to move down the line.’

  ‘They gave you short-weight and that’s a fact.’

  ‘You’re Miss Perfect I suppose?’

  Cyn tittered ‘Least they didn’t roll mine down an alley.’

  ‘How many more times – you don’t ask. It’s God’s will, okay. “One head please – oh thanks.” You like it or lump it.’

  ‘Good word – on your head be it.’

  ‘Goodnight.’

  ‘Goodnight.’

  Finally (some hopes). Too good to last, also Cyn’s “goodnight” wasn’t a bit like my “goodnight.” Somehow or other hers lacked warmth and sincerity you could tell. I turned to face the wall – I must’ve dozed off. Not long after that, distantly her voice insisted on chiming into my unconscious thoughts (‘Fine old time I’ll bet – women all over the place’). I was just about to drift off to sleep.

  B, dong (warning bells). I blinked at the wall-paper. What now I thought? I tried to marshall my thoughts (women, that’s plural) what women? Where’s that come from?

  So, this is what it’s all about is it – I SNORED LOUDLY.

  My mind raced. Earlier on, Cynthia gossiping over the garden gate with old Mrs. Heap from over the road. Maybe she saw Alison’s taxi-cab leaving the house? Nah, no-chance. Don’t you worry Cynthia would’ve brought that up before now, that’s for sure.

  We fell into an uneasy silence. Cynthia plumped up her pillows.

  Too quiet – unbeknownst to me she was already priming her big bomb.

  All of a sudden her voice came loud and clear, her eyes glinted in the semi-gloom. ‘So, how are things at work these days. You and little round-glasses Thelma Clegg I’m meaning.’

  God, where’s that come from I thought, still half asleep.

  No wonder I stared. Is she serious? ‘Thelma at work you mean?’

  ‘Yes, I thought that might ring a bell – you and her. That little mousy woman, her with the sloping shoulders and flat chest – cosy picnics together up on the Library roof so I’ve been hearing’ she told me smugly.

  This is what she’s like. She just wanted to argue you could tell.

  Best nip it in the bud I thought – this had gone far enough.

  ‘Give-over’ I said. ‘Anyway, Thelma hasn’t got sloping shoulders, not that I’ve noticed anyway.’

  ‘You’ve never seen her with a shoulder-bag – it’d slip right off.’

  How ridiculous is that? ‘As for her chest. Well, I can’t vouch for that can I? You want to be careful. Thelma’s a happily married woman’ I said.

  She laughed coldly. ‘We’ll just have to take your word about that, won’t we?’

  God, the things she comes out with. Again, she starts thumping her pillows (four pillows?) No wonder she gets her bad heads. ‘That’s another thing too’ she continued ‘You, bringing your floozies into my house.’ Her voice got louder ‘Don’t you worry, I know a lot more than you think Colin Quirke – I have witnesses.’

  Hah, now were getting somewhere.

  Looks as if I’m right. That nosey old cow, Mrs. Heap (her from over the road no doubt). This is the thanks you get. Next time her husband can trundle his stupid wheel-barrow all the way to bloody Blackpool for all I care.

  Hold on a sec I thought. What exactly are we trying to hide anyway – an odd cup of tea with a work colleague, and a pat of her dog. Big deal, not exactly a hanging offence is it. This is what I said, ‘Anyway, what’s all this, these spies of yours have supposed to have witnessed?’ I waited. ‘Come on, you started it?’

  Just as I thought she’d no answer for that one.

  ‘Okay’ I said ‘so, Thelma – quite inadvertently I might add. She just happened to call in one odd time’ (she looked). ‘Oh, big deal, she had her dog with her for godsake.’

  ‘Dogs make it okay I suppose? Chaperoned by a dog, that’s novel at least.’

  ‘These so-called witnesses of yours, what exactly have they supposed to have seen?’ I repeated. Knowing her this could go on all night.

  Right then, even the Put-U-up bed downstairs, out in the conservatory seemed far more alluring than this. ‘Her and you’ she broke in ‘together, making sheep-eyes. Little mousey, round-glasses, quiet Thelma, your little friend at work who likes you to think she wouldn’t say boo to a goose I’m meaning, that’s who.’

  ‘Hold on a sec’ I said ‘a minute ago she was a mouse, then she’s a sheep, next thing she’s a friggin goose. She can’t be everything surely to God?’

  She made a short mirthless laugh.

  ‘Don’t you worry, I’m not the only one – Avril for one.’ Trust her to get into the act – I’d all on not to laugh. ‘Avril? – don’t make me laugh. Thelma’s a happily married lady – you want to be careful’ I repeated. She laughed a snorty kind of laugh, a ‘pull the other one’ kind of laugh. ‘Oh sure’ she scoffed contemptuously.

  After that we drifted into an uneasy silence, like a couple of strangers who just happened to be sharing the same bed. Still as dead men, taking care not to touch. I stared at the wall, I could hear the bed-side clock tick-tocking away – getting louder and louder.

  Don’t you worry, I’d already decided – I’d had enough. Next thing my legs are swinging out of bed. Cyn’s light came on. She stared, I shrugged into my dressing-gown. I told her the obvious. ‘I’m going downstairs, it’s the only way I’m going to get some sleep around here.’ I stopped over by the door. ‘Right then’ (was I expecting her to call me back?) We exchanged looks. Finally I said ‘You never used to be like this.’

  ‘Like what?’ She smiled thinly, just this side of a smirk.

  She clasped her hands behind her head, her eyes held that look, as if she’d won something, kind’ve triumphant. ‘Like what?’ she repeated.

  Somebody had to say something. ‘Always wanting to argue, smirky I’m meaning.’ We both kind’ve looked at each other.

  This time definitely a smirk ‘Maybe we need a break.’

  After her long vacation I’d hoped things might’ve improved. I stood by the door, I said ‘You’ve changed, I hope you know that.’

  She shrugged ‘This is the trouble, you haven’t – that’s obvious.’

  I needed somebody to blame.‘We were fine before she came to live next door.’

  Cyn did her “What’s the point look?” then rolled her eyes. ‘If you mean Avril – at least she’s made me open my eyes.’

  Stalemate, what more was there to say?

  Then just when I’m leaving she called me back. ‘Colin …?’ (a question?) No, more of a statement as things turned out. This is when she dropped the bombshell about splitting up, her needing her own space – ‘a trial separation’ she called it.

  How long did she have in mind, a couple of weeks, a month or what? (don’t holidays count?) I started pacing the floor – I’m all mixed-up. Who knows, maybe she’s right. This is what it’s all been leading up to.

  You’re never ready are you. It’d really knocked me for a six I’ll tell you. I needed more time to think. Our eyes kind’ve bumped. ‘All we ever do is argue’ she said quietly.

  Fair comment – even so. ‘T
hat’s what married people do isn’t it?’ She stared, ‘Throwing furniture – that’s normal?’ I stopped pacing, ‘Like when for Godsake?’ ‘That time with the chair, it went right through the window.’ (why does she always have to fetch that up, one tiny incident in thirteen years) Luckily the window was open. ‘One lousy chair does not a marriage break.’

  Her voice went really tiny ‘you tried to strangle me onetime too. I still have dreams – I should’ve called the police. What stopped me I don’t know.’

  ‘People don’t try to strangle people, they just do it.’

  I just had a sudden thought, I said ‘What about the kids? You’ve forgot about that I expect, what do we tell them?’ She shrugged, ‘Don’t worry I’ve already explained everything – well, some at least.’ Amazing (even the children know), I can hardly believe my own ears. ‘Oh wonderful. About what exactly?’ ‘About us dopey, about giving us both some space. Don’t worry, nothing too serious.’

  Unbelievable, our whole marriage heading for big rocks. What’s more serious than that. What I can’t get over is her telling Lucy. ‘You’ve even told Lucy, she’s five years old.’

  ‘Nooooo – only the gist. Lucy is six by the way, going on seven.’

  It was too much to take in – I resumed my pacing.

  She sank back into her pillows, one arm out-stretched in a languorous pose, eyes smudged with last night’s mascara. She reminded me of one of those old time silent movie stars. Cleopatra sending me to the lions. ‘I can’t help it – I’m overwhelmed’ Cynthia said.

  I stared. ‘I’m not even whelmed. I’m really angry.’

  I could feel myself getting angrier by the second. For once she kept silent, a wise move, my quick temper is legendary. I’m a bit inclined to kick out at things of low value at times. Something made me look back, I turned over by the door. If I’m truthful I’d’ve been a lot happier with a bit more of a display of emotion under the circumstances – come to think maybe a few tears might’ve been nice. She must’ve been reading my mind. All of a sudden, next thing she burst into tears (boo-hoo, boo-hoo) well, some at least. Don’t you worry it didn’t last long I’ll tell you.