It Always Rains on Sundays

  ‘Aw, that’s terrible. I’m stunned. I wish you hadn’t told me.’

  ‘Don’t worry, we know now to cover up the windows before the new moon.’

  ‘Good move, try turning the mirrors – loonies really hate that.’

  ‘You think? Good idea – I’m just about at my wits-end.’

  ‘Do it – don’t forget to hide the scissors.’

  ‘Maybe I will, thank you. You’re a star in no mistake’

  ‘Listen. I’ve a better idea, why not shoot the bastard in the head and have done with it, heh, heh, heh, heh – ‘

  -‘Heh, heh – I wish. You’re a bold one in no mistake. Thanks all the same.’

  ‘De nada.’

  ‘Sorry? Pardon me?’

  ‘Don’t mention it, it’s Spanish – or, so I’m informed at least.’

  ‘Oh right. How lovely – nice one.’

  ‘Listen. It’s been really nice talking to you in a civilised manner for a change.’

  ‘Uh huh – I’ll say. Me too, times a hundred – DE NADA.’

  ‘Sorry? Pardon me? Oh right. Listen, odd times I still drive around the old neighbourhood. Thought I’d tell you.’

  ‘Uh huh, yes I know. Sometimes I see you, kind’ve cruising around past the house – usually it’s pretty late, right. Two am. Four am, then around six, have I got that right? I could set my watch.’

  ‘It all depends – it kind’ve varies.’

  ‘Next time I’ll remember to give you a wave.’

  ‘Cheers – nice one. Listen, don’t always count on the four am, okay. Sometimes I change my routine. What happens is sometimes I get really hungry. I call in at the all night McDonalds over at the services. Most times I usually end up having a Big Mac and mozzarella cheese with a side order of double French-fries. Like I said it all depends.’

  ‘Heh, heh. You and you mozzarella cheese – you’re a positive menace.’

  ‘I drink lots of black coffee, it helps keep me awake.’

  ‘Nights can get pretty cold, be sure to wrap up, you hear?’

  ‘Don’t worry I will.’

  ‘You’re a decent fellow, I realise that now.’

  ‘Gosh, really? Hey thanks. Look, is it …? Cyn, I’ve been meaning to ask – is it? Is there still hope for us?’

  ‘Good question – who knows. However, sometimes in my deepest despair, don’t think my eyes haven’t lingered on the phone, I have to admit.’

  ‘Wow. Really?’

  ‘Uh huh. Why would I lie. Two beeps, I’d’ve been a goner for sure.’

  ‘Jeepers, so close eh … (God you’re attractive, I only hope that you are truly appreciated that’s all). Remember Cynthia, “Where lives love lives – ”’

  ‘Hold it. Hold it a sec! Kevvy’s yelling for a channel change on TV, the lazy dog. QUIET YOU REDHEADED MORON – I’m on the friggin phone, okay. Anyway, you were saying – sorry about that.’

  ‘… Cynthia, there’s still time. We are as one, you and I, together. Orpheus and Eurydice, forever … “Till all the seas gang dry m’dear and rocks melt with the sun.” ‘

  ‘Gang? Sorry, you lost me – what’s a gang?’

  ‘Somehow, I can’t accept that it’s all over between us – not after all this time. It has to mean something.’

  ‘Believe me, I’m doing you a favour – one day you’ll thank me.’

  ‘Cynthia, it’s never too late. Oh God, you mean we’ll never ever, ever “Gather lilac in the spring again?” Not ever? Or “Walk together down an English lane”?’

  ‘Everything’s changed – things are different now. The world needs more poets, it’d be a happier place. You’re teetering on the brink of fame and fortune – doors will start to open all over Europe. Even the American’s, who knows.’

  ‘Pah – who cares. What’s poetry anyway?’

  ‘You’d do that for me – give it up you mean?’

  ‘Um, sure … I think so. Do I have to?’

  ‘Let’s face it, I’m a trueborn nagger. So was my mother, it’s in the blood. There was talk in the village of stringing her up – here’s your chance. I’d start running if I was you. One thing for sure. I turned away a fine, good man, and that’s the truth.’

  ‘Listen, we could make a fresh start – together we could do anything … hand in hand, “Climb every mountain. Ford every stream” – why not for Pete’s sake?’

  ‘Oh, you old romancer you.’

  ‘What’s to stop us? Look towards the future. Fold up our tents – upsticks simple as that, out little family united at last.’

  ‘Simple he says, heh, heh, heh, heh – ‘

  ‘You little fool – why not? Where’s the problem?’

  ‘No problem he says – what about schools for one thing. Not to mention spending good money on school uniforms and whatnot.’

  ‘It’s me, my heart rules my head – you’re right.’

  ‘Moving schools is a pretty big thing, for one thing it’d shoot down all the rotas to hell – you want the whole list. What about Lucy, she’s just starting to fit in – mixing is really important to kids.’

  ‘Um – it’s a real toughy. Maybe you’re right.’

  ‘However, I can report some good news at least. Lucy has finally made a friend, at long last. Helen Troy. I thought I’d told you, the red-haired girl with the leg-brace I’m meaning.’

  ‘Wow. I know how she worries, I’m thrilled to hear that.’

  ‘Uh huh. Me too, they’re inseparable. Helen Troy’s a bit quiet too. Nobody speaks to her either, poor kid. Okay, maybe she is a bit geeky – so what. Mind you, that limp doesn’t help any. Unfortunately, she suffers from spasmodic asthma attacks too, that’s another thing they have in common. They make a good team I think.’

  ‘Good for Helen Troy I say.’

  ‘Uh huh. Hey, and hear this father, they were both over-heard doing syllables together out in the corridor, how about that?’

  ‘How about that, syllables eh – well, I’ll be.’

  ‘Who knows, next thing you know she’ll be outside in the playground, without an armband, playing with the other kids.’

  ‘Wonderful, that’s really amazing.’

  ‘Maybe you can see the hot potato you’ve handed me. Nothing’s that simple. That’s not counting my promotion at work.’

  ‘Promotion? Jumping Jupiter, what next – you too eh.’

  ‘Uh huh. Section Manager, that’s what I’m hoping. This time I think it’s serious – put it this way. Three days in a row the liftman actually waited for me until I got inside the lift – they know everything. He even admired my shoes. Well, hopefully – I can hardly wait.’

  ‘Wow – finally huh.’

  ‘Uh huh. All the signs are there for sure. All of a sudden my immediate boss, ‘Stoker the groper,’ he’s stopped sliding his hands over my hips every chance he gets. That’s what we call him – remember, I told you about him. So, what does that tell you?’

  ‘Fingers crossed, eh. Maybe you heard about me too I expect?’

  ‘Uh huh. You mean about landing the top job – well, I did hear a whisper.’

  ‘Dam, I’ve been trying not to spread it around.’

  ‘It’s the talk of the whole town just about.’

  ‘Really? Gosh, you heard about that? That’s secrets I guess.’

  ‘Kevin’s jealous as hell – he’s thumping the walls just about.’

  ‘There you go – what more can I say.’

  ‘He’s as green as an Irish old penny.’

  ‘At last, my own office with a view over the whole park.’

  ‘Why not, you’ve always been a good and faithful servant.’

  ‘That’s true – hard to imagine, my own personal toilet too.’

  ‘Knowing you, you’ll appreciate the extra space I daresay.’

  ‘It beats pissing in rows that’s for sure.’

  ‘Heh, heh. What a card, listen. It goes without saying, it’s been really nice talking to you.’

  ‘Me too, ti
mes a hundred – it’s been really wonderful.’

  ‘Well, goodnight – sleep tight princess.’

  ‘You know what, nobodies called me princess in quite a while.’

  ‘Really? You do surprise me … (sings) …” go-old-en slumbers kiss your eyes, smiles caress you when you rise. Sleep pretty maid-en – ‘

  ‘Oh, you character you. Look, I have to go, okay. Like I said, it’s been nice talking to you. Call me again, anytime you like – I’m at your dispersal (get it) – heh, heh, heh.’

  ‘No prob – don’t worry I will. Meantime, I sincerely hope you both hit it off.’

  ‘Don’t count on it – his stupid head more like. One thing for sure. I’m not wearing plaits, not for him or anybody else for that matter, and that’s a fact.’

  ‘Cyn? Cynthia, hold on a sec. (God you’re attractive, I only hope that you are truly appreciated that’s all). Cyn, are you still there? … God you’re attractive, I only hope that you are truly appreciated that’s all. Cyn. CYN ARE YOU STILL THERE?’

  Too late she’d hung up.

  ***

  Sunday 9th November.

  Emily Dickinson 1830-1836.

  I am nobody! Who are you?

  What a night – I’ve hardly slept a wink. Then, on top of everything I’ve just had Cynthia on the phone, ranting on – wanting to know how come I haven’t been over to pick up the kids. I must’ve over-slept.

  Trust my poor old mother to pick up the phone, poor soul (shouting distance of being an octogenarian!) She caught the whole tirade. Her face was ashen, she handed me the phone. I just caught the back-end, ‘Tell him he needn’t bother. Knowing him, he’ll still be sleeping off a skinful after an all-night session over at the bloody pub I expect’ I heard her say sarkily.

  She hung up the phone.

  Things just go from bad to worse.

  Earlier on she’d had little Julia Roberts, the three year old from next door, helping her to bake ginger-bread men (not that I hold much with giving kids all this film-star treatment anyway). Onetime our wheelie-bin man, he went by the illustrious name of Winston Churchill – it didn’t do a whole lot for him that’s for sure. After Cyn’s yelly phone-call (that put me in a sour mood for a start) – who could blame me. Next thing, I drove off in a bit of a temper. Unfortunately I accidentally ran over little Julia’s baby-dolls head, squashing it flat with my nearside wheel. She yowling the house down.

  Sometimes I panic for no reason: ‘Back off kid!’ I yelled.

  Next thing, half the streets out. Everybody shouting at once, its pandemonium (word must’ve got out already). You should’ve heard them. They really hate me you can tell, it’s getting pretty scary I’ll tell you.

  Luckily this is when my mother showed up, just in the nick of time. Rightaway she scooped her up into her arms, she fetched her indoors, jiggling her about, trying to pacify her. Mother tutted, shaking her head. She’s blaming me for everything. Little Julia agreed, tears streaming down her cheeks. She looked at me with her round, solemn brown eyes:

  ‘Bad man, bad man’ she lisped.

  Nobody understands (you feel really awful). ‘Look, I’ll buy her a new one’ I offered. (That went down like a lead balloon), it made her even worse. Finally, I was sent out of the room in disgrace. I went up to my room to get changed.

  Then when I came down my mother’s standing in the doorway, wearing her uniform ready to go to the morning service round at the Salvation Army hut – she was waiting for me. It reminded me, in a v.weak moment I’d kind’ve half-promised I’d go with her. Her mouth stayed in a straight line ‘What if Jesus had changed his mind just because he’d over-slept?’ she said bitterly.

  After that, I shot over to DeLacey Street. Too late, they were already piling into the car. Nobody gives you a chance to explain. ‘Sorry I’m a bit late’ I said. Cynthia was driving – (very wise I thought). She gave me a cold look. She swung her legs up into the chrome-laden pickup truck, completely ignoring me. Instead she stared right ahead, giving her make-up a final check in the rear-view mirror. Red-top nodded, then laughed for no reason. I kind’ve half nodded.

  Finally, she turned. ‘We were planning on having a nice quiet bistro lunch over at the Marco Polo brassiere with some friends’ she jabbed in icily. Anything to get at me. She opened her hand-bag. ‘Anyway’ she continued loftily ‘rather than disappoint the children entirely we’re reverting to plan B.’ She turned, ‘Hey guys, how about us all going to the Stock-car racing?’ she suggested. Bulls-eye. Natch, both kids were highly delighted (yippee!) They both cheered.

  I stared glumly – I wouldn’t mind it was the first sunny Sunday we’d had in yonks.

  Mind you, who’d want to go with boring old Dad anyway. One thing for sure, it made my five mile nature ramble along the canal towpath look a bit yucky. She broke off mouthing her cherry-red lipstick, then said brightly ‘Who knows where we’ll end up. Maybe we’ll all end up at McDonalds – who’s for McDonalds?’ Another big cheer went up.

  She looked at me smugly, then turned the key, the engine responded with a loud throaty roar. Everybody waved like morons. They shot off down the driveway, honking the horn, squeezing into the busy Sunday afternoon traffic.

  What a bitch – then you wonder why I hate her.

  This is what she’s like, anything to make me look dull and stupid. All I know is when somebody takes your kids off for the day you don’t expect to see them head-lined on the local TV six o’clock news, right. What happened, some idiot must’ve got this stupid idea they’d all abseil down this highly dangerous rock-face over-looking the beach. Next thing you know they all end up being cut off by the tide – how bright is that? Finally they have to call out the emergency services – sea rescue, police-helicopter, the lot.

  Don’t you worry, rightaway I’m on the phone in hot-blood. Cyn just laughs. Nobody sees the danger, this is what I said, ‘What next I wonder – a little fire-walking maybe? How about chainsaw juggling, or maybe bungee-jumping?’ I suggested. ‘Hey, good idea’ Cynthia gurgled. What a hoot kind’ve, nothings ever serious. Everything is just one huge joke to these kind of people (I tried to think of something smart). ‘Over my dead-body’ I said. ‘Hey, good idea’ she tittered. Everybody laughed, you could hear them in back, laughing like a bunch of hyenas.

  Then, after a pause, Cyn said ‘You know what, why don’t you get a life Colin?’ then added sarcastically ‘why don’t you go and polish your stupid car or something?’ Don’t worry I fired it straight back ‘Maybe I will – at least it’s better than some kind of death-wish’ then added, ‘Don’t be surprised to get a call from Social Services’ I warned her.

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

  ***

  Tuesday 11th November.

  Elizabeth Barrett Browning

  1806-1861.

  How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.

  Stoney Bank Street. (Post-nil).

  6:00pm. Cold, miserable wet day. Raining all day (given the choice I’d’ve stayed in bed) – the only thing that’s kept my spirits up is looking forward to going to the theatre with Thelma.

  12:30am. ‘Waiting for Godot’ well, okay I suppose – at least Thelma enjoyed it. Mind you, my guess is she was as much taken up just to be out as much as anything else. In fact she was pretty much enthralled by the whole thing. Why be surprised, it turns out it’s six years since Eric took her out (call it that), Blackpool Illuminations on a free rail pass. Though, if I’m being truthful, what really spoilt it as much as anything is spotting Gabriel B.T. and party directly across, up in his private box (trust him to come on the same night). That’s all I need, pompous oaf, there he is like some minor royalty, ladling out glasses of champagne, guffawing like idiots.

  Trust Thelma, she’s as bad, ‘Oh, look who’s over there?’ she exclaimed over-loudly. I slouched down into my seat, staring at my program, hoping he hadn’t seen me. Then, just as the lights went down I thought I’d risk taking a quick look. Too late, he�
�d already seen me. I nodded. He nodded across, he raised his glass, giving me one of his stupid lop-sided grins he always does.

  You watch we won’t ever hear the last of it I’ll bet.

  However, about the play. It’s only fair to say, it isn’t my favourite – indeed no, not by a thespian mile. This is the trouble I’d already seen it a couple of times before. Somehow or other it’d lost that vital element of the dramaturgy so to speak – not that there are any. Let’s face it, two guys waiting for somebody to turn-up is v.boring to say the least. Then it turns out he might not even have set off – sorry. In my notebook I’ve put: ‘Good Godo! NOT ENOUGH ACTION (more cloth than pudding).’ Maybe it’s me, it lacked something. After the first ten minutes I’m almost asleep – I’m counting the chandeliers. Who cares?

  Either A, it needed another act, e.g. (in turn giving the guy more time to arrive) – in turn running the risk of an empty auditorium, or B, it had one act too many. Or, finally C, instead maybe we should’ve gone over to see Oklahoma at Cleckheaton Congregational Chapel, with the added kudos of having centre front row seats in the stalls.

  Trust Thelma, wanting to stay right to the very end.

  Somehow or other she must’ve sensed my discomfort. Finally she said ‘Colin, there’s no point just sitting there making loud tut-tutting noises – it won’t just jump out at you’ she lectured me at the interval. I stared. She shook her head, ‘You’ve to fathom it out’ she added, scooping into her second (v.expensive) tub of strawberry flavoured ice-cream.

  However, as things turned out there was more than enough drama going on back at Stoney Bank Street if you ask me. What happened, just to kind’ve round off the night I’d invited Thelma back for a night-cap (a large glass of Port actually). All of a sudden there’s this loud knocking, strange I thought (I thought I’d heard a bit of a commotion earlier on) there it goes again. Mind you, it was a terrible night, really windy, you could hear the rain driving against the windows. I went to the door, I looked through the letter-box – all I can make out is two pairs of glasses, staring right back at me. Good God, (much to my surprise) there’s my mother and Auntie Agnes, rain-mates plastered to their heads, both wet through to the skin.