It Always Rains on Sundays

  Don’t worry I stopped him right there – what about my side of things?

  Nobody listens – he’d got it all wrong. So then I said ‘Ask anybody you like, we were an ideal family before that home-wrecker came onto the scene of things. Everybody said that. They’d come up to us in the park, complete strangers I’m meaning, “What beautiful children!” they’d say – one lady especially, “May I take your photograph? I hope you don’t mind, it’s for my husband. He doesn’t even believe some folks can be so happy and contented, not even in the whole wide world,” she’d say.’

  ‘Wow. How about that, it sounds idyllic.’ You could tell he was impressed.

  ‘Complete strangers I’m meaning. Hard to believe I know. Cynthia used to like going over to the park – me too. “Fancy a stroll?” I’d say. Ask anybody you like.’

  ‘Hey, that’s really nice.’

  ‘It’s a true story. May flowers never prosper on my mother’s grave.’

  Next thing you know, then he’s telling me my times up: ‘Listen brother’ he says ‘could you put on a bit of a spurt. Sorry, otherwise I’ll have to start the meter. It’s how I make my living.’

  Bastards – they’re all the same. I hung up.

  Everything had gone really quiet. Then when I look everybody in the whole bar is staring at me. I wiped my eyes with my coat-sleeve.

  ‘What …?’ I said.

  Next thing Asian Kenny, then he piped up ‘Don’t worry, I cried too – When Alisha divorced me I cried for a whole year… Okay, maybe it was Sayeeda …’

  Everyone laughed, this started everybody, jabbering away at once. Vinny next to me nodded, ‘Let’s face it, women always win no matter what, it’s a well-known fact.’ Harry the butcher agreed ‘Not in a fucking hundred. Take my word – even my own lawyer, he did more for my wife than me. I swear to God. Not in a fucking hundred’ he repeated. ‘Haw, haw. Haw, haw’ they all went.

  After that it all got rather silly. Big Oggy right behind me guffawed loudly into my ear, ‘Haw, haw. Haw, haw – you can have my wife, anytime you like’ he yelled, everybody laughed. Others further down the bar fully agreed. ‘Me too’ Me too!’ ‘That goes for me too.’

  After that it all ended up rather jolly. It just shows.

  ***

  Wednesday 5th November.

  Please to remember the fifth of November.

  Stoney Bank Street. (Post-nil).

  6:00pm. Stupendously dull day at work, the only thing that’s kept me going is the Poetry Society meeting scheduled for tonight. Only to find it’s been cancelled, yet again right at the last minute. Gabriel B.T. who else. He sent his so-called garden-lad round with a note. Instead it turns out he’s having a big bonfire party up at the Grange – not that yours truly got an invite anyway. No doubt he still thinks it was me who called out the fire-department last year I’ll bet. Mind you, he won’t be saying that, not if the wind changes and ends up burning down his house. No, they’ll all be calling me a hero then I expect.

  More bad news, the Mondeo’s playing-up again. That’s all I need – she’s making a v.perculiar noise, kind’ve (wuckle-wuckle, wuckle-wuckle) – it’s hard to explain.

  That’s all I need.

  However, some good news at least – about my new job I’m meaning. It turns out the reconvened meeting with H&H, over at County Hall must’ve gone better than I thought. It just shows. Frankly, in my view at least, I was as gormless as a billy-goat. Old Docket stopped by to confirm it personally – according to him they were both highly impressed, so he said. So, there you go, what mighty embellishments he’d chucked in we’ll never know. I start in the New Year. At lunchtime Thelma went out to buy a special cake and a bottle of champagne to celebrate – which was lovely in a way. Somehow or other it’s all been a bit of an anti-climax (she’s right, no doubt I should be over the proverbial moon). I mean I do try. Nobody understands, all these mood-swings I’m meaning – it isn’t something you can just switch on and off willy-nilly.

  This is what I keep trying to tell her.

  What happened, she’d spotted me, sitting on the parapet wall of the old Three-arched drovers bridge on her way home, in the bus headlights (‘Looking disconsolately down into the black swirling waters below’) – her words not mine. She phoned me up the minute she got home. Thelma was very worried – it’s all very flattering I’m sure (‘in a kind of trance’ she said). I’ve already told her, I’m no longer a suicide risk, not as far as I’m aware.

  What’s the point, truth told, there’s only six inches of mucky beck-water, that’s at the most. Knowing my luck, chances are I’d only get myself entangled in somebody’s cast off super-market trolley, badly bruised (either that or an embarrassing groin injury more like) where’s the dignity in that. That’s all I need – no thank you very much. However, on a lighter note, I’ve invited Thelma out to the theatre. Waiting for Godot by old Samuel Becket. It’s on at the Grand over in Leeds – I do hope I’ve done the right thing. Too late, it was out before I knew it, what with the euphoria about landing my new job and what have you (I wouldn’t mind I really detest the fellow) – it must’ve gone to my head a bit I expect.

  What happened is old Docket had a few complimentary tickets going spare – perks of the job I suppose. It’s something I’m going to have to get used to I expect. It goes with the territory – it’s a bit like having your own personal designated parking slot, away from the trees in the executive car-park. Out of the bird-shit I’m meaning.

  He shoved a couple into my top-pocket ‘Give these a good home’ he says. He touched the side of his nose with his forefinger, then winked conspiratorially ‘That’s just for starters’ he said in a whisper. All the same, gift-horses and all that, speaking of which I’ve been waiting for a good opportunity asking him if he’ll be leaving his pool-table. There again, you don’t want to be pushing your luck too far do you.

  Mind you, in all fairness we were given the choice, either that or instead we could’ve had the option of centre-stall seats to go see Oklahoma over at Cleckheaton Congregational Chapel, performed by the renowned Underhill Pageant Players. However, I’d like to think I’m pretty much savoir faire with most dramaturgy right across the board, basically I suppose I’m a knife and fork, middle of the road kind of theatre-goer. Arthur Miller, maybe Streetcar or Virgina Monologues say – something you can get your teeth into.

  What really started it all off, I’d over-heard Gabriel B.T. spouting on about it a couple of times over at the pub. ‘You must come along one evening’ he bellowed down the bar. He was in raptures, (mind you he’d go gaga over Popeye the Sailor if somebody told him it was art). Don’t you worry, once was enough for me – not that I’d fit in with his goofy sycophant cronies anyway. Sat up in his private box, everybody guzzling champagne, chucking soft-centres at each other – laughing at his feeble jokes. No thanks chummy I thought.

  Surprisingly enough Thelma hedged a bit right at first – well, more than that, it was a resounding no. Indeed, we ended up having a rather big debate, (quite a brouhaha in fact). More, it would appear we were hard up against the knotty problem, what to do about Eric’s supper it seems. No wonder I stared.

  What did I think? (I declined to answer). What had I started – I was beginning to wish I hadn’t even bothered I’ll tell you. Problem indeed, in short would Eric compromise? For my sins, I suggested making do with Brown Windsor soup in a flask with a Co-op bread-cake (which incidentally I personally thought was a spiffing idea). Not to mention it’d’ve saved Thelma the laborious task having to cart everything up to the top shed in the pitch dark.

  Thelma shook her head doubtfully.

  Somebody had to say something. Finally I said ‘Look here, you’re doing him no favours, dancing to his tune every time – it’ll only make the lazy sod even worse.’

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

  What finally settled the matter, she hit on the brainwave idea of simply putting his dinner inbetween two plates, under a low ligh
t.

  F it I thought, no doubt you’ll please yourself anyway.

  ‘Good idea’ I said, by this time I’d’ve agreed to anything. She can put his stupid head between two plates for all I care.

  All that, then on closer inspection, now it turns out my so-called ‘free tickets’ are in fact only valid for the less-abled (I’m stymied at every turn). Now I’m worried about getting a decent seat. This is the trouble Thelma’s a Virgo, she’d never even dream of making out she’s got a gammy leg, putting on a bit of a limp – it’s more than her life’s worth.

  Personally speaking I’m past caring. Either way it’s next Tuesday – so now it’s up to her.

  ***

  Friday 7th November.

  There’s no place like home.

  (Song).

  Stoney Bank Street. (Post-nil).

  6:00pm. Home early. I’ve arranged to take the kids bowling. (I’ve left Thelma holding the fort at work.) Not that she looked overly pleased – it doesn’t seem a lot to ask. She’s only to turf out the local vagrants, lock-up, and fasten the chain across the car-park! Mind you, it’s nice to know you can depend on somebody at least.

  Fatty Aussie Bland I’m meaning, I just happened to bump into him at lunchtime. Luckily for him he was on the other side of the street. You should’ve seen him, slimy toad, he was soon sliding off, trying to hide between a line of parked cars (he looked like the class snitch), how pathetic is that. Guilt-ridden to the hilt I expect. Say what you like, if there was any justice left in the world he’d be back in his office right now, thumbing through law books – he’d be working for me. Instead, there he is middle of the afternoon, swanning around, window-shopping. Stuffing his fat freaky face into a Timothy Bishop’s prize-winning pork pie, as if he hadn’t a care in the whole world.

  I waved both arms to attract his attention:

  ‘I ONLY HOPE YOU’RE SATISFIED FATTY’ I yelled out.

  You’d laugh, next thing he got waylaid by a big gang of kids (belatedly collecting contributions for Guy Fawkes). They grouped around him in a rather threatening semi-circle – you could tell he’d got a bit flustered. He began slapping wildly at his pockets, searching for loose-change. Somebody pinched his pie – serves the bastard right I thought. I cupped my mouth with both hands. ‘G’wan, give them a note you tight-arsed sod’ I yelled at the top of my voice.

  ***

  11:00pm. (BLACK FRIDAY). Don’t ask – I’ve just got back from dropping off the kids over at DeLacey Street. They were having a big party to celebrate re-modelling the house I expect. One thing for sure they both know how to spend money. That’s something else nobody mentioned is the swimming pool. (I just stood there amazed.) It’s Cyn I’m worried about, rows of noughts on bank statements, dancing zeroes printed in red I’m meaning. Don’t say I didn’t warn her that’s all. Just as we arrived they had this big fireworks display. Both kids were really excited, they’re dying to show me everything. The first thing that hits you is this huge flood-lit, green and white striped marquee. They’d made this big patio in front of the house linked by this kind’ve long pagoda, the whole thing centred around this steaming hot-tub under a conical-shaped thatched roof. All you could hear is this loud twangy-music.

  No signs of Cynthia, knowing her no doubt she’d still be stuck in front of a mirror, getting herself all titivated up ready to make her grand entrance I expect. You feel really stupid – I’m surrounded by total strangers, everybody having a good time, having drinks, (laughing v.loudly), going by accents quite a few were over from the States (friends of you know who is my guess) hard to tell, more Stetson hats than a Calgary parade. Cyn’s line-dancing crowd mostly I expect.

  However I did happen to know one face in the crowd at least – old Fe-Fo, the red-giant. Let’s face it he’d be pretty hard to miss, I’d know that big mop of Day-Glo hair a mile off. He’s surrounded by quite a crowd. You should’ve seen him – he’d rigged-up a hoop over the garage lobbing long-shots (HE NEVER MISSES) – this is from about ninety-feet, the guys a freak. Boy, what a preener, right – showing off for all his worth.

  Everyone clapped (including my own son), they’re yelling like morons. That’s something else that worries me too, you never hardly ever see him without a ball. Either he’s throwing it, patting it or spinning it between his fingers – he bounces like most people talk. Oh wait, tell a lie. Odd times, all of a sudden, without any warning he’ll make a ridiculously hard shot, aimed directly right at my sons head. ‘Haw, haw. Haw, haw’ he goes, he thinks it’s really funny. Mind you Jamie’s as bad, he just stands there like a dope. They’re both doubled in two, killing themselves. What a hoot kind’ve.

  This is what I’m up against.

  Don’t try telling me that’s normal.

  All Cynthia can do is shake her head, gazing at him in that ‘my guyish’ way she always does. Maybe it’s me, say what you like, the man is a bad influence. Something else too (they think I don’t know), according to Lucy, now the latest is, they’ve all started doing these exceptionally long bicycle rides. Deep into the forest I’m meaning through impenetrable wood trails – (no doubt be crossing main roads), LOUD TRAFFIC I’M MEANING. Wind, rain – you name it. Every waking hour I’m halfway expecting the phone to ring, telling me something tragic has happened. Its Lucy I’m worried about, take my word she is the worst balancing-act in the whole world – stabilizers till she’s thirty-five years old I’m saying, that’s at least (vinegar and brown paper – accidents I’m meaning). Lucy is very small for her age, she’s really puny, she has an inverted chest almost – she’s very vulnerable. I only hope I’m wrong.

  This is what I can’t understand, Cynthia I’m meaning – everything’s changed, normally she really hates the cold weather intensely, or wetness in any shape or form. Even a bad forecast – I’ve known it frizz her hair for a whole week.

  Don’t worry I didn’t plan on hanging around.

  Then, just when I’m leaving somebodies wet hand grabbed hold of my foot, then when I looked, there’s Avril, (TOPLESS?) she’s alongside the pool. We both looked as surprised as each other (she just kind’ve appeared like a mermaid). Let’s face it, women-folk locally aren’t all that famous for displaying their chest all that much, not socially – not in my experience at least.

  ‘HIIIIIIII. HOW – ARE – YOOOOOO, great party!’

  More for something to say, I said ‘We’ve been to the bowling-alley. I’ve been dropping off the kids’ I told her. Next thing we were joined by husband Clyde, doggie-paddling furiously in her wake. He made a grab for the side, gasping for air. No wonder he looked worried – me too, he was wearing enough gold to sink a Spanish galleon. He didn’t know me from Adam you could tell. ‘Hey, how y’all doing?’ he spluttered, he patted his moustache as if checking to see if it was still there.

  We both stared, ‘the dope that used to live here’, maybe I should’ve said. Finally Avril came to his rescue ‘You know Colin surely – Cyn’s husband?’

  ‘Hell yes’ he exploded.

  He grinned widely, displaying a single gold tooth, he patted his moustache for the third time. ‘How y’all doing – good to see you.’ Everybody laughed, nodding to each other. They charged off, making wild yells, racing each other, amid a flurry of frantic splashing in the direction of the hot-tub. This is when Cynthia finally decided to show up, she was over the other side of the pool. She looked amazing, wearing a slinky red gown that showed off her tan. People crowded around her, (she loved to be the centre of attention you could tell). She tilted her head and laughed. I waved (not that she noticed me). I tried keeping the pain out of my smile. I sighed – this is the part that kills, her looking so radiantly happy, without me I’m meaning.

  Trust drunky Avril to say something really stupid, ‘Cyn, Cyn, look who’s here’ she yelped, bubbling over with excitement from the far end of the pool. ‘Look who’s here! Colin’s come to your party – isn’t that wonderful?’ she exlaimed.

  Cyn glared, she threw daggers with her eyes. Sh
e had a frown you could sit on. ‘Um. How wonderful’ she called out in a flat voice, turning it into a ‘that’s all I need’ tight smile.

  Too late I was already here. I waved ‘Hi – I’ve just been dropping off the kids’ I offered. I waited for her to come over.

  Taking her own sweet time as usual, every step of the way she’s hugging and kissing everybody in sight. You’d’ve thought she was some kind of royalty. Nobody knows that many people, not even the damned Queen I’ll bet. That’s something else too, she has this fake persona she always puts on (putting on airs I’m meaning). Her voice goes higher too, next thing her head goes over to one side, making out she’s really interested – kind’ve.

  How corny is that?

  We shook hands awkwardly. She gave me a lukewarm smile, I leaned over to kiss her cheek (I ended up kissing her ear). Then more for something to say, I said ‘Great party.’ She practically ignored me. Instead somebody else grabbed her attention – (why didn’t I just go). Too late, all of a sudden you could hear this distant thumping noise, and getting closer by the second. Eeek! Oh no – Lookout, here comes the red-giant, bouncing his stupid ball. You can hear him coming a mile off, b, dum, b, dum, b, dum. BE-DUM BE-DUM. That’s all I need – there’s no escape.

  Next thing he’s giving me high-fives (you’d think we were long lost brothers or something). Even worse, he’s making me shake hands. Trying to push a big Bacardi into my damned hand.