It Always Rains on Sundays

  Don’t say I’ve forgot Lucy’s birthday too?

  I tried to think of an answer (Wacky Warehouse you can bet – slide probably). That’s what kids do isn’t it? ‘That’s what kids do isn’t it?’ I said.

  Cynthia thought so too. ‘When they’re with you, you mean?’

  Anything to start an argument – this is what she’s like.

  ‘You just let them run wild and amok. Out of sight, out of mind, that’s your trouble.’ Next, it’s Jamie’s trainers ‘The soles almost come right off one of them’ she complained in a whiny voice.

  Don’t worry, this comes up quite a few times. What Cyn spends on trainers, you could feed a family for a whole year in some countries. In my day you could buy them off the local market out of mantelpiece change. ‘Don’t talk to me about kids shoes’ I said. All of a sudden her voice softened (it’s different when she wants something). It turns out she’d just thought of something else. ‘Oh yes, I was going to ask you. About next weekend Colin? What it is, it’s the quarter-finals of the North West line-dancing competition.’

  I waited. ‘Oh yes?’ No doubt she’d be wanting me to miss out on my turn for the kids.

  I was right. ‘We were thinking of staying over in Blackpool, okay with you?’

  Something else too, it’s always ‘we’ – I hear it quite a lot. Then, something Lucy said earlier in the car on our way back. About Uncle Kevin I’m meaning (not the first time I’d heard it) he was a great laugh by all accounts, also he’d fixed her skate-board that time too. Then another time they’d all been to see this fantastic film all about Dalmatians. Lucy said he makes her laugh – ‘All the time!’ No wonder (he barked the whole way home in the car), I’m not surprised. He sounds quite a turn, it got me thinking.

  Something’s going on I can tell.

  No wonder I can’t sleep. Then later in bed, my mind’s all over the place – all these mental pictures. One by one, faces I’d seen. Cyn’s so-called ‘in crowd,’ her new jet-set friends I’m meaning, the whole merry gang (where to start) – a favourite Uncle that barks? Okay, let’s do it. First off there’s Clyde the Wallet. Nah, we’ve already met (him and his moustache). No-way, besides he’s more than enough on his plate already, being married to ditzy Avril, that’s for sure.

  Also, I ruled out anybody I thought might be too old. Take my word Cyn’s toy-boy material I’ll tell you that now. Then, there’s the fat guy from the pub who yodels whilst juggling a bowl of mixed fruit at the same time – uh uh. Next in line, then comes the Tampa twins, Clyde’s business associates from over in the States (adult twins – weird right?) Imagine that, grown-ups dressing exactly the same? Gays I dismissed rightaway, platonic friendships are out – who needs time-wasters. These ladies are on the make, amen.

  So far I hadn’t come up with anybody.

  Finally, then there’s this other man, this taller guy, him with this big mop of bright red hair. Rightaway, I crossed him off the list too. Ask anybody you like. Cyn really hates red hair. So, okay, maybe in a certain light some people might’ve described the fellow as ruggedly handsome I suppose. That dimpled chin had me a bit worried too I have to admit. Without the hair who knows, he could’ve been a definite maybe. This is the trouble where women are concerned – you never know.

  One thing for sure he certainly lost points for not wearing a hat.

  Then, all the way driving home in the car my mind raced – I can’t help thinking about it. Finally I said ‘Who’s this Uncle Kevin by the way? (had I said it or thought it?) … Thought it thank God.

  My mind raced – I was getting paranoid. I tried to push it out of my mind. Then later, on our way back I thought maybe we’d call in at Stoney Bank Street on a surprise visit, say a quick hello to their grandmother. ‘Oh noooooo!’ they both moaned loudly in unison. You’d’ve thought she was Cruella (I blame Cynthia, she poisons their minds). I glared, ‘Is that a problem?’ I asked in a gravelly voice.

  We all trooped in to surprise her (just in case I’d made them rehearse before we went in). She woke with a start. ‘Hi nan. HOW ARE-YOU. WELL I HOPE?’ She almost fell out of her chair, she’d been having a quiet nap without her teeth in – she rushed off upstairs, one hand clamped to her mouth.

  Both kids giggled.

  Mother returned quickly, out of breath, displaying her new dentures, over-laughing as usual, fussing the kids, patting heads, then handing out humbugs out of a Bronte-tin. Meantime the TV blared loudly to itself over in the corner, barking like a bored dog – I turned it down. Not a lot to say we all sat in a row on the sofa, staring at Peter the budgie out of its cage, everyone calling out inane comments. (‘Say Peter, say Peter’ – ‘Who’s a pretty boy then?’ ‘Say Peter’).

  That’s when it came up again.

  Then I heard Lucy say in a lull, ‘They’re from America, they all talk really funny’ Jamie picked it up ‘They’re a great laugh, Kevin especially. He’s living next door – well sort’ve. Clyde’s okay too.’ They both turned to watch the advert on TV.

  Mother’s eyes narrowed (she never misses a thing). You could tell we were both thinking the same thing, her voice dropped into a mouthy whisper ‘She’s not got herself a fancy-man, surely to God?’

  I shrugged. ‘News to me – you tell me?’

  Everything went quiet, you could hear the clock ticking on the side-board.

  Mother dropped her tea-cup, her face was aghast ‘Nay, never in this world’ she muttered.

  That’s how it got left.

  Poem: (I’m still hoping I’m wrong.)

  BY AND BYE

  By and bye you’ll think of me,

  Time will choose the moment.

  Of the times that used to be,

  And what our love once meant.

  By and bye you’ll look for me,

  Still knowing I’m not there.

  Fingers fondly touching

  The things we used to share.

  By and bye you’ll hear my voice,

  Sometimes when you’re alone.

  Become aware your eyes are moist,

  Eyes resting on the phone.

  By and bye we’ll each forget,

  Times passing all things die.

  That we once loved holds no regret,

  Each will remember by and bye.

  Times like this poetry is my only salvation. I’m going over to DeLacey Street rightaway to drop it off.

  ***

  Friday 26th September.

  (Black Friday).

  Rudyard Kipling 1865-1936.

  For the female of the species is more deadly than the male.

  Stoney Bank Street. (Post-nil).

  8:00pm. Cynthia phoned me up at work, just to confirm about next Sunday (right at first I thought it might’ve been a favourable response regarding the poem I’d sent her). However, that gave me a good excuse to confront her about you know what. So, anyway, then I said ‘Look, I keep hearing this name, y’know. About this Uncle Kevin character.’ No answer, ‘Maybe it’s me – only I’ve heard it quite a few times.’

  There was a pause. ‘Kevin?’ her voice went into a high arc. ‘Oh, you mean Kev-vin? He’s just a guy I know, one of the crowd’ (bit too pat I thought) then she added. ‘He’s just a friend – why, don’t you have friends too?’

  I stared at the phone. ‘Sure, lots’ I said. ‘It’s just, I keep hearing this name, that’s all.’

  She tried making light of it. ‘Well, there you go. There isn’t a problem in that case, is there?’ After that she got onto something else, small-talk about next weekend.

  That’s how it got left.

  5:30am. Oh God – I’ve had a terrible night. It’s worse than I thought. Cynthia’s got herself a fancy-man. I was right all along. I’m cuckold! What’s become of me? I think I’m still in shock. Sleep is out of the question – I am forsaken. All this interminable long night, just thinking, gazing up at the cold, starlit sky, waiting for dawn stealing slowly over Haworth Moor, faced with the daunting prospect of having to face anot
her day… … without her I’m meaning… … MY HEART IS FULL.

  Mother’s distraught you can tell. You can hear everything (she tries to put on a brave face). Odd times I can hear her loud laments through the floor-boards. ‘Hussy!’ ‘Trollop!’ ‘Oh, those poor bairns – what’s to become of them?’ she wails. Then, she’s outside the bedroom door ‘Let her go son, she isn’t worth a tin-shilling’ she cries.

  I’ve had to barricade the door with a chest of drawers.

  Poor woman, she’s beside herself. Then, trying to tempt me with my favourite dishes (corn-beef on rye, with beetroot) – I sent her away with a flea in her ear. How can you eat at a time like this? She’s tried everything. God she’s wily, she’s just been to the door with hot porridge, trying to tempt me with extra treacle. ‘Go away mother’ I cried.

  ‘You must have something to eat Sonny-Jim!!!’

  Poem:

  (Oh) God above who smiles on some

  Oh, aren’t I the unlucky one.

  All is lost ….. SHE WAS MY SUN.

  8:00pm. I’ve been in bed all day. Who knows, maybe I’ll stay in bed forever. Not that I’ve slept much. Mother I’m meaning – wanting to know everything (every morbid detail). Nothing happened I tell her – I’m in denial I suppose (not for a mothers ears at least). As far as I’m concerned the book is now closed forever.

  Meantime I’ve had more time to think. I’ve been going over the whole thing. Cynthia and Avril, they planned the whole thing. Don’t worry I’ve had my suspicions all along, it’s as if all of a sudden everything clicked into place. That’s it with us Quirke’s, we like to mull things over – then we pounce.

  Next thing you know I’m in the car, I’m heading straight over to DeLacey Street, foot down to the damned floor.

  I’m determined to have it out with her once and for all.

  Late or not, every light in the whole place is lit up. Music blasting. Lots of cars, you could hardly move. I can’t even park on my own driveway. Looks as if there having some kind of a party I thought to myself.

  Foolishly, I tried the door-key. I stabbed the door-buzzer (that didn’t work either), you’re away a couple of weeks, the house barely functions. Typical I thought. I could see shadows on the blind, people dancing. Cyn with all her goofy jet-set new friends, having a good time I expect.

  I knocked on the door – no answer.

  I could feel my temper rising by the second. I knocked again, only harder. I looked at my watch, ten after one. So what, that’s early for these kind of people. I could just imagine them, all nice and cosy. Everybody having a good time, having a good laugh I’ll bet – at my expense no doubt. (‘Ignore the dope. Let him knock, maybe he’ll go away’). Finally, I’m pounding at the door with both fists. ‘Yeah, well this time he won’t go away, right. GOT THAT?’ I hollered.

  Nobody comes trip trapping over my fucking bridge, right.

  ‘Open up the fucking door, or else’ I yelled.

  All of a sudden I can see someone through the frosted glass, a man – with red hair. That’s him – how do I know? Good question, after all, people don’t usually go around with a big sign around their neck. ‘I AM A HOME-WRECKER,’ right.

  Somehow I just know, I had this gut-feeling.

  Okay, so how come I keep seeing him driving around town, preening away for all his worth in the brand new fancy pickup truck – WITH MY WIFE? – in broad daylight,’ he added.

  Well I know what I think.

  Finally, next thing the door opens. I braced myself – finally, the man with red hair. We just kind’ve looked at each other. He’s right there in front of me – at long last (I’m about to face my adversary). Okay, I’m about to describe him. Let’s face it, this character, he could change my whole life. Firstly I’d say we’re about similar age, maybe he’s just that weeny bit younger. Also, now I come to think he could be a shade taller too (I am up a step after all). However, one thing we do have in common is we’re both of the same athletic build. Oh, and red hair – extremely bright. This is what threw me. If I’m truthful when I first saw him right at first I thought he was wearing a party-hat. Freckles too, did I mention that – close-up his eye-lashes are pure white.

  This is what I can’t understand, Cyn positively hates red hair.

  Don’t get me wrong he’s friendly enough. Rightaway he grinned his slow, amiable grin. ‘Hiiiiiii there!’ he goes. Nor, indeed have I any dispute on that particular score (there again charmers usually are). Needless to say, in turn I was civil enough too, of course.

  However, I played it very cool at first.

  ‘Good evening’ I said ‘I have called to see my wife. That’s if she’s available?’

  ‘Hey, Co-len, right?’ he drawled (he pronounced it, Col-len). American, southern accent, his smile broadened, showing an array of strong white teeth. He was expecting me to smile back you could tell – only I didn’t. Instead I just kind’ve nodded. Then, in a cool calm voice ‘I am Mr. Quirke. Cynthia’s HUSBAND, most certainly’ I said.

  Next thing, all of a sudden he shoved out his big hairy-backed hand, he’s squeezing my hand to smithereens (I can feel my fingers breaking-up like a box of crackers), he’s pumping my arm for all his worth.

  ‘Haw, haw. Haw, haw’ he goes. ‘Kevin Ranker, how y’all doing?’ he yells loudly over the music.

  ‘I’m very well thank you’ I told him.

  Some confrontation, right, so now I’m shaking hands with the home-wrecker.

  He showed me into the hallway.

  One thing for sure, me just calling in unannounced, it was already causing all kinds of havoc inside the house you could tell. ‘Hey, pipe down the music, huh’ somebody called out. Next thing the music goes off. Then another voice piped up, this is a woman, ‘Cynthia’s husband I think – he’s right out there out in the hallway I tell ya’ she squealed. I could hear whispering in the back, then ‘No-way, you’re kidding – really?’ ‘Jesus Christ’ somebody else exclaimed.

  Kevin the red-head nodded then smiled his slow grin.

  Somebody went to find Cynthia. Then it turns out she’s upstairs, talking to somebody on the phone. Then followed an awkward silence. Kevin the Red nodded his head like a donkey. He shrugged, then pointed his thumb towards the ceiling for the third time. ‘She’s up stai-yas ah geese.’

  This is when Avril appeared onto the scene of things, she hurried in – she stared, she seemed surprised to see me (no, I mean really surprised) – not that she had much option I suppose. She’d just got back from having her eye-brows lifted, most of her forehead was criss-crossed with white sticking-plaster, also something with her chin.

  Not surprisingly she was finding it a bit hard to speak.

  It looked pretty painful if you ask me. ‘Moa-moa Mowin. Ta-pies, ta-pies’ she gasped out. (‘Hello Colin. Surprise, surprise’) as far as I can make out. Dead right I thought. You bet, pretty soon they’ll be a few more “Taprises” too, you can bet your sweet life on that sweetheart I thought to myself.

  Kevin the Red spoke first. ‘He wants Cynthia’ he pointed upstairs ‘Ah already told him, she’s up-stai-yas ah geese’ then nodded. I nodded. Avril also nodded, then winced. Meantime Kevin hit on the idea, maybe he’d test all the light-switches. Each in turn he flicked one on, then off, followed by another. Then looked surprised by his own achievement. Nerves I expect.

  You could feel the tension.

  He saw me looking, he turned, he grinned his slow grin. He pointed ‘She won’t be long’ he said softly – ‘she’s up-stai-yas’ he repeated in a drawly voice. Again I nodded.

  All this waiting around, it was starting to get to everybody. Same with Avril, she was nervous too you could tell. Meantime her long painted fingernail worked furiously on the same spot on the wallpaper, finally making a hole. She stopped, then giggled. She hitched up her skirt, then tugged it down for the third time. I nodded. She managed a painful, lop-sided smile (I only hope it was worth it). She tried speaking a little. ‘Olin. Who. O-hay?’ (“Colin, are yo
u okay?”) Then when I looked, Kevin had started opening drawers in the bureau – then had trouble getting it back in. he shrugged ‘Drawers kinda stuck.’ I nodded. ‘Drawers stuck,’ Avril confirmed, then nodded.

  Thankfully, this is when Cyn showed up – or part of her at least (finally I thought). She leaned over the banister-rail ‘Who is it?’ she yells. Everybody crowded into the hallway, all calling out at once. Red-top cupped his mouth using both hands. ‘Col-len, for you honey’ he bellows. Avril’s cornflower blue doll-like eyes looked frozen solid. ‘Tin (Cyn) TITS TO-WIN!’ she croaked out painfully.

  Rightaway, Cyn’s legs come fast and furious, galloping down the stairs towards me. She stopped dead. ‘Oh – Colin, it’s you’ she exclaimed.

  She looked surprised too, and that’s without sticking-plaster.

  There was no place to hide. ‘What a pleasant surprise’ she lied in a flat voice, staring at Avril. She cleared her throat. We both looked at Kevin, by this time her slow-talking new boyfriend had three drawers spread out on the floor, ‘Have, er – Have you met Kevin?’ she said in a soprano-like voice. I nodded once (I sensed her discomfort). An embarrassing situation all round in fact.

  Don’t you worry I didn’t plan on making things any easier that’s for sure.

  Meantime, all Cyn and Avril can do is swap scary looks. Avril looked really worried you could tell, her look said, ‘Well, don’t look at me – all this is your stupid idea. He’s your stupid husband, not mine.’ Cyn’s was different, more subtle, more scheming knowing her no doubt she was already working on a plan. Hers said, something on the lines, ‘Wait, I know. Look, I’ll hit him with the hat-stand. You go fetch a shovel – we’ll bury him out in the back-yard when it gets dark, okay?’

  We needed someplace more private where we could talk. One thing for sure, the way I felt right now our marriage was just about dead in the water – all we needed now is the reading of the will.