The Everlasting Sunday

by Robert Lukins

  It took three trips to the bar spaced judiciously over fifteen minutes for Snuffy to equip each at the table with a pint. By joint decree the first had to remain untouched until the arrival of the last, and with the ceremony of a bitten thumb they began. It seemed an instant memory and erased all of the tedium of their last journeys in the snow. Cass was gone and that was to be celebrated. They brought their jugs together, cheering and spilling foam into the unvarnished table and so this occasion joined the woodwork with all those of the past. Radford wondered if this might be euphoria. He drank, he hugged West and he hugged Rich. He tried for Brass but the boy slithered out of reach.

  The night tumbled on giving no suggestion of its end. With various excuses they had crept away as soon as tea was done, and their absence could not go undetected for long. The noise of Gall’s Humber would surely have been heard. None of them spoke of this, of what trouble would await them or might already be unfolding.

  Radford’s neck was loose by the finish of the first pint. Several later and he was floating high as conversation became all whoops and hollering. Lewis and Rich spent what seemed a full hour at some game that involved thumping fists on the table, the calling out of ones or twos, occasionally turning fists into pointed scissors, and even more occasionally one or the other claiming victory and downing their beers. Brass’s mood was the brightest and most surprising. He was giggling so furiously from one of Rich’s impromptu poems that tears ran from his eyes and mucus gushed at his nostrils. Cries went up at this. Later Rich returned from the lavatory with a broken lamp in his hands, swearing he had no idea how it had come about and that, anyway, no-one had seen.

  Snuffy had gone another way, the worst of them. As payment for his risk he had taxed an amount equal to a pint for each round he brought from the bar. So he sank two for each of their singles and by the time of Rich’s confession Snuffy had descended into belligerence. He had engaged in a monologue of aggression over Victoria and her leaving. He stormed at Cass, at Teddy, at himself. The table absorbed the torrent and offered consolation but he raged on and turned all the fury back on Victoria. Even through his insobriety Radford cringed at all these awful, untrue words: that she was a deserter, the maker of empty pacts; that she wasn’t worth following.

  The first they knew of the clash was a loud business from the front bar. Despite Snuffy’s maudlin turn the boys had continued into a blissful party and none noticed him slip away. This shouting was no Friday ribaldry. It was of a pitch and character that silenced the table as one and Brass led their run in. In the now busy front room Snuffy was writhing like a worm as one man held back his arms and another delivered a punch hard to his eye. He took the blow like it never was.

  The landlady, Dawn, moaned from behind the bar, ‘Get it outside,’ and threw a rag that wilted by the brawl’s side.

  Just as the boys arrived other men joined and the lot of them fell into a tussle. A man sported a bloodied nose, holding a dripping hand to his face while lashing into Snuffy’s side with his boot. Arms pulled torsos apart while Dawn continued her song of outside. More aimless blows and the boys took Snuffy by the legs into the street. Brass and Lewis attempted to placate the angry faces, imploring for it to be over. As farewell a man spat a bloody pellet into Snuffy’s hair and the door closed.

  Lewis was furious, stalking back and forth as Snuffy found his feet and began to lurch back inside. They pushed him away and he fell awkwardly into the snow. After a minute’s failed protestation he stayed down, his breathing becoming an ugly, liquid sound. Somewhere in their escape Radford had collected a thump to his neck and his Adam’s apple stung. He looked for West and the two of them stared wide and frightened.

  They gathered around Snuffy, who had brought ice up to his blood-streaked mouth.

  ‘Better take it back to the house.’

  ‘No,’ Snuffy said as he was helped up, his face unpleasant and sore.

  ‘All of us,’ Brass said. ‘Come on, get you back, Snuff. Sleep it off.’

  ‘I said no.’ He ran at Brass and struck him on the chin, and kept running, past the windows of the pub, the neighbouring shopfronts, before turning down the next unlit street. They called to him, Rich and Lewis chasing, but after several minutes they returned: he was lost.

  ‘To the car, home then,’ Brass said.

  West became weak. ‘We can’t leave him.’

  They searched for an hour. Having followed each near street to its full and hopeless darkness they conceded that Snuffy wasn’t going to be stumbled upon. There was a suggestion to ask for help back at the pub but it was agreed this could only further stir trouble. They would go back to the Manor. Some thought Teddy should be alerted immediately. Others thought Snuffy more than capable, even in his state, of taking care of himself for the night. Radford could come to no decision. They began home.

  West had Radford come with him to Teddy’s door and the man answered in full dress, the clock showing three in the morning. He took the news with no sign of surprise and moved at once into action. Manny was woken and asked to ready while the boys were to gather in the dining room and see to its fire. He asked them to fix some food but Lillian arrived and insisted on seeing to the warming of mash and sausages. There was no word of reckoning.

  Radford was ill. From the rough business, from the booze. He and the others tended to their meal without discussion while Lillian sat with them, needlessly reminding them to finish their supper. Just as Manny and Teddy were gathering to leave, the telephone could be heard ringing upstairs. Lewis dashed to answer it. There was only quiet for a time, then he came down.

  ‘Teddy, they want to speak with you,’ he said in the room’s doorway.

  By next morning all the house knew. The murmurings could be heard from the Long East Room, where Radford and the night boys had been quarantined since Teddy returned from the phone call. A policeman was coming to the house. Teddy had relayed this without raising his voice or looking any of them in the eye. They were to remain with Manny in the room and not one word was to be spoken.

  The officer was not what Radford had expected. He was old, older than Teddy, and seemed for the most part bored by the scenario, with no hint of menace or interest in scaring anyone straight from any crooked path. Teddy spoke with him for twenty minutes before bringing him down. Others had to be shouted away as they stood by the door in the hopes of catching on.

  ‘The inspector will ask you questions,’ Teddy said. ‘Answer him truthfully and without delay.’

  Snuffy had found his way over the fence of a house. He had made his way into a bedroom through a closed but unlocked window. The father and son had woken. Snuffy was being transferred to a city hospital.

  The boys could offer little news in return. They told the inspector times and movements, of the alley and the pub and the fruitless search. Of coming home. The officer closed his notepad, nodding to Teddy as he went into the hall and left by the front door, replacing his cap as he went.

  Teddy sat for a time. He was restraining no foul emotion; he only waited. ‘It has been a long night,’ he said at last. ‘Go about your days. Sleep in the afternoon. Eat.’

  It was a gruesome morning with light coming in through the parted curtain and illustrating their greasy faces. Radford saw the knuckles of his hands were burnt.

  West was standing by the window, the sunshine catching the dust in the air around him. ‘Is Snuffy …? I mean, will he be okay?’

  ‘Of course not,’ Teddy said.

  Footsteps multiplied in the hall and the door handle shook, Radford imagining a straining ear by the keyhole.

  ‘No word leaves this room,’ Teddy spoke in a whisper. ‘No confirmations or denials. They will hear soon enough but it will not be from any of you. You will do that for me.’ They nodded. ‘We have let him down.’

  *

  Some days later Teddy came to the dining room dressed as a new man. He wore a suit, well
cut and of a colour that hinted at purple, but he had kept his top shirt buttons undone and his shoes showed an obvious heel. In keeping with this mix of dishevelment and high style, his face was unshaven while his hair was teased into something like a wave. He was smiling in a mischievous, foreboding way. Radford got a thump to the knee from West.

  ‘Cherubs.’ Teddy pushed his palms together and waited. ‘I have been worrying. This house takes from the village while returning nothing. You’ll agree? I have let this condition develop, I admit, but now, while the land is feeling such hardship, we are to make small amends. We go to the village for food, for our deliveries and comforts, yet of late we have returned only strife.’

  Applause.

  ‘You celebrate too soon, young brutes. You will be putting on a show.’ Teddy blazed as this sentence moved through the room. ‘That is right, an entertainment. In this time of hardship we will repay the village with light feeling. This is where my former self joins us at the frontline. The younger version of the man you know as Teddy. He is many things – an actor, a treasure, a man of all performance. He will be whipping you into fit shape for his sins.’ He joined heels and saluted. ‘The show will be tomorrow evening. At six.’

  There was general disbelief and particular anger.

  ‘Six it is,’ Teddy agreed. ‘We have the hall beside the church. Vicar will let us in at first light. Fine room it is, fine enough for you lot. We will be inviting all the village, all willing. And what shape will the show take? The likes of which the audience has never encountered. Humour, music, sword-fighting, flights of rhetoric and abandon. A proper stew. I will stoke you, because fire lies unnourished in all your centres.’

  Around him boys began to moan but Radford remained quiet in his confusion. Was this some joke or punishment?

  ‘Sleep on that thought,’ Teddy finished. ‘Eat, dear Lil has slaved. You’ll be attending?’

  She stood at the hall entryway. ‘To see my enfants tread the stage? Keep me from there, I dare you to try. You put on a show for me, my ducklings. See that you do.’

  The adults vanished behind conversation. Meanwhile the room hummed with fearful promise.

  After pudding Teddy had them draw up advertisements.

  The Good Boys of Goodwin Manorpresent an apology in the form of …

  WINTER FROLICS

  Laughter

  Drama

  Knees-up

  FREE TO ALL

  Manny rigged a long trailer to Gall’s car and by nine next morning each last member of the household was delivered to the church. As the boys came along the gutter of the high street looking as if salvaged from battle, villagers in equal number scattered and gathered. At the hall they unfolded wooden chairs into rows, and the vicar departed after receiving repeated assurances that any and all damages would be paid for by the evening’s end. Teddy had shaken the holy hand, insisting that he return at six for the show. The vicar had nodded vigorously and agreed to nothing.

  Teddy stood over the edge of the small stage at the hall’s end and cupped his hands. ‘Gentlemen! Do keep your enthusiasms in check. Retain a little vim for the performance.’

  He jumped off with not quite enough sprightliness and was only just saved by Lewis in a dexterous panic. The old man straightened and walked on, collecting Manny and Lillian and taking them to the door.

  ‘Morning tea,’ Lillian said, checking her collar. ‘Scones with clotted cream if they have any.’ She and Manny became silhouettes as they walked into the day’s paleness.

  When the chairs were done Teddy sat on the lip of the stage and waved them in. ‘Come, come, come. Fellows. Can I ask you – what do you know of me as a young man?’ All was quiet outside of some skittish murmuring. He pulled on his lapels. ‘What do you imagine?’

  Only Brass seemed ready to respond and Teddy cut this short before it left the boy’s mouth. ‘Before conscience and schooling had the better of me – before succumbing to the wretched bore you see in front of you – can you believe I had another life?’ He began pacing the stage and held his palm to his heart. ‘I am offended. You do not recognise me? For you see, I – I was an actor. All truth. I was an employee of the arts. I tell no lie. I pretended, in plays and whatnot, for cash money.

  ‘I want to tell you a secret. May I trust that it goes no further? Thank you, boys. I do not know much, but there is a notion I have stumbled upon that I can verify as fact.’ He lowered to a whisper. ‘The acting never ends!’ He spun in place. ‘One simply becomes so well rehearsed the whole trick seems real. It never ends!’

  He turned about, adopting increasingly ridiculous poses to increasingly rapturous applause. Radford wondered where the real Teddy had gone to, and what he intended by all this. He knew better of the man to think it all merely a distraction. A lesson, then? Teddy insisted this was never his impulse. So again, that question – to fall in or rebel? Perhaps the lesson was in how little it mattered either way.

  They were split into a half-dozen huddles, given a folder of scripts, and each was presented with his part. It was during the examination of their piece that a scuffle flared from Radford’s group. He had seen Foster break away from his assigned partners and come across the hall with unclear intent. It seemed to be no challenge, with the boy loitering benignly, but Brass demanded to know what he was doing in their company. Foster gave no reply and in return Brass charged at him.

  They had each other by the cuffs. The great difference between the two came true, Foster twice the size. Others, now between them, had put hands to Foster’s chest and compelled retreat while West started a defence that was consumed by protest. This was the opportunity for a display of courage, for a genuine correction: Radford could extend himself, to the attempt of a fix. He made not one movement and watched the boy remove himself.

  Foster stood apart from them, with his arms wide. ‘What can I do? Hey? What would you have me do?’

  Brass drew a finger across his throat and Foster just watched this, his eyes dulled.

  ‘All finished,’ he said. ‘I’m done.’

  He lit a cigarette and crossed the room, strolling without further signal out the door. He seemed an angel and Radford was truly without character.

  Having missed all this but for its noise, Teddy had come to them, now indicating calm and attempting a stained grin. ‘I hope you’re ready for something special,’ he said. ‘First though, two questions. Who’s heard of George Formby? And who’s going to wear the dress?’

  They had been assigned a song, ‘When I’m Cleaning Windows’. Radford had some memory of it: the story of a cleaner and all that he saw on his rounds. The boys would be acting out the tale. Formby played a ukulele or a banjo, Teddy couldn’t be sure, but regardless they would have to make do with the hall’s piano. Radford would have to make do. He again argued his inability but Teddy had already accepted the notion. West announced that he would assist, went to the instrument, and with a few stray lashings revealed his talent.

  ‘I’m a quite excellent player,’ he said and let loose a precise ascent of notes. ‘I hate to play, but I’m quite excellent.’

  ‘A-ha!’ Teddy punched the air.

  Lewis, it turned out, was the one to wear the dress.

  Appeals came for dinner, for a break.

  ‘Break?’ Teddy ran between them, amazed. ‘But there is so much that is still less than it could be. Less true. Desire will push you on. Keep the lion hungry, boys! Keep the lion hungry.’

  *

  Six o’clock came, with all the house cramped and crouched at the back of the stage. Radford was sicker than he would have believed bearable and his eardrums swelled to breaking with the chatter and whispered foretellings.

  How quickly show time had come and with what pitiless momentum. After Teddy announced one minute something like terror possessed their souls. West was visibly expanding and contracting. Brass, even Brass, had a rivulet
of sweat leading from his shining temple to his damp collar. Rich bobbed up from under the curtain.

  ‘You should see it.’ He scampered through, following a hail of shushes. ‘They’re all here.’

  A platoon had been sent out to drum up an audience. They had been made to neaten their hair, told to keep civil tongues in their mouths and to knock on each last door of the village. Radford had heard the reports of unenthused townsfolk and convinced himself that none would attend.

  ‘Time, lions,’ Teddy said.

  He looked back at his actors as if seeking assurance and, receiving none, did the button of his jacket, launched a mayoral smile and strode ahead. The curtain went up: Rich had lied not an inch; the hall was brimming. The village met Teddy’s entrance with polite applause but kept stony looks, their coats and scarves not yet removed.

  ‘Blessed ladies, devoted gentlemen,’ he cried, advancing such that he seemed almost to levitate past the edge of the stage. ‘We come to you, humbled. We, lowly mice of the Manor, offer ourselves. We are without talent, we are without moral exception, we have not learnt our lines, but we are yours. Tonight, if you will have us, we are yours.’

  Radford felt as if he were rising into the roof beams, yet was aware of the warmth of West’s body through his shirt sleeves and of the near breath of anxious cattle. He saw the audience, the women and men, the dust, the church ghosts. He was lost, joyously.

  The sporty boys were the first to go forward, arms linked, oscillating in time with a tune, scripts of diabolical vaudeville poorly secreted behind their backs. A group performed a scene from Look Back in Anger, a play that Teddy insisted would be adored by the village. It transpired that it was perhaps a little modern in style. The first great cheer arose during the juggling and magic, two acts combined at the eleventh hour. A billiard ball was lost towards the audience and plucked from flight by a round man in the second row. He kept it aloft and turned to the back of the hall, bowing to the applause before lobbing the red orb back at the stage, where it sent the magician and his bowler hat to the floor in one thrilling motion.