It Always Rains in November

by Richard Hoffman

  “He came over to see you so we told him that you were in the toilet – I think he went there to look for you.

  He reached his hand out to touch her shoulder, about as tactile as he could be in the middle of the office.

  “Thanks, Jan, you’re a lifesav...oh, shit, he’s a …”

  “Carl, there you are – you know you shouldn’t get these ladies to lie. They don’t want to be tarred with ....”

  “I’m 10 minutes late, Martin, that’s all.”

  “My office – now!”

  As a prostitute follows her pimp, Carl followed Martin to his office. The desk was free from paperwork and the high spec laptop was not turned on. Even if Martin had been the best bloke in the world, Carl would have had an issue with him. Martin was six years his junior, but his boss. Public school educated Martin was a qualified Certified Accountant, and, at thirty two, was Crouts Financial Controller. Carl, schooled at the local comp, never finished his exams once he’d met Marie, and Carly came along.

  Martin sat down behind his desk, whilst Carl sat on one of the two cheap hard plastic chairs that Martin had to offer visitors. A very poor man’s Director’s office. Carl imagined that he was back at school, being summoned to the Headmaster. The difference being that he was now expected to perform the Head’s work.

  “Carl, look, you cannot turn up late like this on a regular basis. You’re the second in command here – you’re supposed to set an example, not get the girls to lie for you.”

  Carl’s eyes fixed on Martin, as he felt his face contort like a rabbit stuck in a microwave. He wanted to tell Martin to fuckoff, but instead he replied, “I’m sorry, Martin, it’s Carly, she’s a teenager, it’s difficult on my own…”

  “Carl, I thought Marie left you years ago, about time you moved on.”

  Carl sat forward in the uncomfortable chair. His index finger pointed at Martin, as he strove to respond, without shouting back at his boss.

  “That isn’t...”

  “If you want someone to sort you out you could do worse than Janice. She’s happy enough to lie for you on a daily basis.”

  “Janice! But she’s… I…”

  Carl stopped spluttering, shook his head, muttered under his breath and raised his eyes to the celing. None of this was Miller’s business. Up until now Martin had been handing out unwanted advice. Seeing Carl’s response he decided to stop being supportive.

  “Look I’m not interested in your love life or lack of it. I need the six months forecast on my desk by end of play today. OK?”

  Carl wanted to hit him. What right did this dickhead have to bang on about his personal life and then shut him up? Not much he could say back, though. Seething, he was about to meekly agree and leave Martin’s office, but his boss had a final nasal show to provide. Carl looked at Martin with expectant vomit as he watched his boss’s fingers approach his nose. Carl turned away, mumbling a promise to prepare the work, and left Martin’s office. Although, desperate to tell his boss where to stick his job, by the time he returned to his desk, he was working out how to complete the forecast data.

  “How did it go with Martin? You looked fed up in there.”

  Carl smiled ruefully at Janice.

  “Went OK – only got slightly humiliated and didn’t quite say what was on my mind. Oh yeah, and he did the nose picking thing. Makes me want to puke every time I see it.”

  Janice laughed.

  “I hate that. And I’m sure he eats them as well.”

  “I have to look away once I see his finger moving northwards. One day he’ll flick it at me and I won’t be quick enough to move away.”

  “You shouldn’t be so squeamish. You have to keep your eye on his finger till it’s gone. What if he wanted to shake your hand?”

  “Fortunately won’t happen, Jan. He’s always too busy having a pop at me.”

  “Just you? I thought I heard my name mentioned in there. Did he say something about me?”

  Carl looked straight at Janice. The banter was so easy with her, sometimes he wished he had the nerve to...but he didn’t.

  “He pointed out that you had tried to cover for me. Said I should be grateful to you. And I am, honestly. Thanks for that.”

  At which point both Carl and Janice blushed and looked away.

  Chapter 2

  Monday November 1st – The Richardsons

  Janice Richardson surveyed her living room. She was proud of her little house. Might not be a mansion, and the neighbours on both sides occasionally drove her mad, but it was hers, and she took good care of it. Yesterday, she had hoovered in both bedrooms, including under Nathan’s bed, and the front room, and cleaned the kitchen floor. She had even lifted up the new settee in the front room, and found 63p in the process.

  Twenty four hours later, it looked like the Russians had decided that her pristine palace needed some peacekeeping and sent the tanks in to her house. Her only son Nathan’s entertaining consisted of imbibing copious quantities of drink and crisps and chucking the empties on the floor, leaving Janice to clear up the mess. She looked at the stain in the arm of the settee and feared what it might be.

  She heard Nathan coming downstairs with his best mate, Michael. Michael was a nice kid, polite and friendly, nice parents, nice family, whereas her Nathan was…well, if Janice knew how to arrange it, Nathan would have long since been sent to brat camp.

  “Nathan, place looks like a bomb has hit it...”

  “So...annoying...I’ve just got up...Go away...Please.”

  “Don’t talk to me like that, Nathan. I cleaned this place yesterday. It’s....

  “Michael, we’ll eat out. I can’t take this so early. Proper jarring me.”

  “I know you’re never going to clear this up but could you at least tell me what this stain is on the arm of the settee?”

  Nathan walked over and sniffed the stain. “Dunno, Mum, might be when Michael was gettin’ too excited watchin’ porn.”

  For a moment Janice recoiled in horror but seeing both boys laughing, shook her head.

  “He’s joking, Janice,” Michael said. “It was blue WKD, wasn’t me though, honest.”

  “No, I knew it wasn’t you, love...”

  “What, like, he’s a fuckin’ angel and everything bad is down to me? Fuck off Mum.”

  “I didn’t mean or say that, Nathan, did I? Anyway it was you. And don’t use the F word to me please.”

  “Yeah whatever, Mum…laters.” He grinned at Michael. “Enjoy your cleaning.”

  “Bye, Janice, thanks for having me.” That was Michael.

  Janice didn’t answer. She glared at the front door. Then the phone rang. It was the dentist – had she remembered her appointment? “Great,” she thought to herself, “abused by her son and about to be abused by the tooth monster.” As she picked up her coat she knocked over a bowl of crisps that the boys had left lying around. Her swearing as she left the house would have done Nathan proud.

  * * *

  Janice, like most people, hated the dentist. She could not understand why someone with above average intelligence would choose to spend 35 hours a week looking in peoples’ mouths. Unless all dentists had some kind of weird oral fetish. Yeah, that must be it. Couldn’t be any other reason. The dentist had a modern and plush surgery replete with modern furnishings and upmarket magazines less than two years old. No NHS patients here. She was about two minutes late but the receptionist glowered at her as if she had murdered her grandmother.

  “Mrs Richardson, yes the dental technician is waiting for you. You’re lucky that we had a cancellation right after you. Go straight in.”

  A jolly, middle aged woman greeted Janice.

  “Hello, lovely day, isn’t it?”

  What did she mean – a lovely day – for torture? It was an English November, hardly the Caribbean. A spot of sun and this woman is delirious. Janice wished she could be that easily pleased.

  As the torture chair became horiz
ontal and she was asked to lie comfortably, Janice grimaced – the thought of the next 15 minutes was nauseating. As the scraping and picking and spraying got underway, Janice fists took on a boxer’s stance. Clenched so hard that her nails left crescent marks on her hands. The radio was on and the Four Tops ‘Do what you gotta do’ began playing. Janice listened and although she would have preferred ‘Bernadette’ or ‘Standing in the Shadows of Love’, she was temporarily soothed despite the increasing agony.

  Then the technician hit a nerve. Janice felt a tear in her eye. Was it the tooth massacre, being moved by music or the feeling that her life with her ungrateful teenage son was a bloody nightmare? Whatever, as the dental nurse continued, oblivious to Janice’s pain, she decided there and then that she was going to change her life.

  * * *

  Nathan and Michael were chilling round the streets of Waddon, an area east of Croydon. Nathan was comfortable around Waddon, having lived there with his mum since his dad had walked out on them when Nathan was a year old. He liked the parks where he’d spent years kicking a football about and he knew most of the kids on the local estates. Waddon wasn’t great and there’d been a knife attack there a few months ago, but it was Nathan’s patch.

  The boys walked semi aimlessly down Nathan’s road, eyeing a couple of dumped cars.

  “Those motors, geez who dumped them keeps having beef with the feds. Bet he...”

  “You don’t know about his beefs, Nath. Don’t make the road look too good though.”

  “Not exactly fuckin’ palaces down here, is it bruv? Shit little terraces. Not like your posh gaff in Coulsdon...” He stopped and stiffened and put his left arm across Michael’s body, to stop his mate advancing. “Don’t fancy that much, let’s cross.”

  A lab staff cross was out on its own, walking towards them.

  “Nath, you scared of dogs? Looks alright, like my dog, Truster. Just a bit old. You’re a pussy hole.”

  “Fuckoff, bruv, I’ve seen that dog around. It’s gone for people.” Nathan didn’t want to admit to a fear of dogs.

  “You got too much time, Nath, watching the local hounds. Bet you get bored – you don’t go to school, don’t go to work. Innit a bit shit after a time?”

  “Nah, I get up, doss about, see my chick. Who needs GCSEs? Anyway, you go to school but what have you learnt? You’re as dumb as me.”

  “Nah, mate. We ain’t dumb, we’re streetwise. Off with the bros, dahn with the hos. It’s all sweet.”

  The smell of fish from the local chippie reached Nathan.

  “Mike you got any cash for chips? I’m starvin’.”

  “No probs, blood. Let’s get munch.”

  “So good havin’ a rich best bro’.”

  “Not just more money than you, but more sex than you, mate.”

  “OK, that does piss me off. That ain’t fair. All the girls I’ve been with and you go out with one girl and …”

  “Mate, that’s coz I don’t try to mash and dash with every girl I meet. Me ‘n’ Char is the real thing. I love her and she loves me. It’s forever and that’s why our relationship is what it is. One day, mate, you’ll get there, maybe with Faye.”

  “I ain’t soft like you, Mickey, but I’m six months older than you and gaggin’ for it. I’m gonna have Faye one of these days. Just need my Mum out the house and give Faye the bullshit that you give Char.”

  “Ain’t bullshit when I give it, Nath. That’s the difference between you ‘n’ me.”

  “Fuckin’ hell, mate. I’m 16 years old. I can’t be in love with girls at my age. It’s OK for you, but I couldn’t do it.”

  They had carried the conversation on as they queued for chips but, back on the street again, the subject changed.

  “You proper hype it with your Mum, Nath, she gets bare mad.”

  “She pisses me off. Always moanin’. She needs to leave me the fuck alone.”

  Michael’s phone rang – it was Charlotte – love of his life. “Yeah, I’m with Nath…I’ll see you later…Love you too.”

  “She wants to see you?”

  “No she’s with Hannah, let’s go see the others.” They began walking down the main road. It started to rain.

  “Fuckin’ weather. It always fuckin’ rains in November.”

  Michael was peering ahead, frowning.

  “Don’t worry about the weather, Nath, d’you reckon they’re OK.”

  A gang of lads approached them. Michael and Nathan had been walking the streets of Croydon for several years. They’d been approached by boys with knives and once, a gun, but apart from being mugged for a handful of mobiles, they had been reasonably trouble free. Plus, they could both run fast.

  The lads that approached were from a known crew, subtly known as “The motherfuckers.” One of the motherfuckers gave a reassuring greeting;

  “Hey, you, Slack and Clumsey. Safe, bros.”

  Always reassuring when one of an opposing crew is a mate. The main “motherfucker” was a school mate from Penge, a place that – according to him – made Croydon look like Disneyworld. Penge guy continued – “Saw your grafs on the Lidl wall. Yours is greasy, Clumsey. Slack’s a bit moist though, blood. Need some lessons.”

  “No, you’re right. Nath...Clumsey’s proper mint, mine’s a bit shit.”

  “He’s the next Van Gogh, innit? Just watch for bros tooled up.”

  The motherfuckers gone, Nathan and Michael looked at each other.

  “Was that a threat at the end? Slicing off my ear?”

  “What you on....?”

  “You’re the one at school, Mickey. Van Gogh. Ear. He cut it off.”

  “Must have been bunkin’ that day. Don’t think it was a threat, Nath. Couldn’t really tell, though. Would he have have known who Van Gogh was?”

  Both boys pondered this for a moment and Michael continued. “He’s right about you being talented. We’ve been graffing for four years now and your stuff is well good.”

  Graffiti was possibly the one subject both boys might have earned a GCSE in. However, Nathan hadn’t been to school for 6 months and had so far managed to hide all the letters that had been sent by the school/council. Because his Mum worked and he was at home, this allowed him to become fictitious Uncle John on the phone, and to avoid any comeback for the constant truancy. Nathan knew that his Mum would eventually be in trouble for his slacking from school but he would deal with it, and her, when the time came.

  Chapter 3

  Monday November 1st – Marie

  Marie O’Brien was waiting in the coffee shop. It was brand new and she liked the bright red plasticky chairs that were garish, but really comfortable. The wall to ceiling mirrors were similarly tacky, but it meant she could adjust her lippy. Looking around, she thought she was probably the youngest person in the place, although she’d soon be second youngest, because Louis, her assistant, was late.

  It was weird having someone working for her that she would have happily shagged at a moment’s notice, if she was unattached and free of children. In spite of the fact that she was about 10 years older than him and told him what to do every day, she would have accepted domination by him in bed. She’d seen him looking at her tits and arse on a number of occasions. Looking at her reflection, she decided that she wasn’t bad for someone over thirty, and a good figure considering she’d had two kids. Louis was quite fit too, round faced and balding but with gorgeous deep blue eyes, like a snooker ball she wanted to pocket. Apart from that, their personalities gelled and he could even make her laugh. She gave Louis none of that rapport when he arrived.

  “You’re 10 minutes late. Come on, my car’s outside.”

  Her BMW 5 series was parked outside – a set of wheels she had worked bloody hard far. Marie was beginning to have serious doubts about her ability to sustain committed and monogamous relationships, but her BMW was gorgeous, faithful and loyal. As they drove to the client, Marie gave out some words of experience - “Louis, some advice
for you – don’t get married.”

  “I wasn’t planning to, Marie. Not for a long time. I might have no hair but I’m only 25 and there’s no way I’m gonna get hitched until I’m at least 30.”

  “You know I’ve told you before that my first marriage was a disaster. I blamed Carl and crucified myself with guilt over leaving my daughter Carly with him.”

  “Anyway, I’m not going out with anyone now...”

  Louis looked over at his driver. Marie did not reciprocate. Her eyes were fixed on the road ahead.

  “She was much better off with him than me. But now I’m on my second marriage and this is making the first one appear idyllic. I’m going to have to knock it on the head.”

  “What, you’re getting divorced... again.”

  “This time I won’t be leaving my daughter behind. Gary’s a crap husband and father anyway, so Gemma will be leaving with me.”

  “Better at your job than the personal stuff, aren’t you?”

  Now, Marie took her eyes off the road to look at Louis. For a moment she thought about using her status to have a go at him for that crack. He caught sight of her and put his hand to his mouth.

  “OK, sorry, just came out. I shouldn’t have said that...”

  “Too right, you...”

  “OK, why tell me all this when we have this presentation? You know I’m always interested in your love life, Marie, but I didn’t get up at 7.30 on a Monday morning to listen to this. Unless you’re setting me up to be husband number 3.”

  Marie was no longer annoyed. Well, he was right, and he was cute.

  “You might be bright and creative and at least you have a six pack. But you would need to be 10 years older and be my boss. I don’t do toyboys or staff.”

  “If I was 10 years older, I’d be doing women my age now – not that you’re not an attractive woman, but...”

  Marie laughed.

  “We’re both digging ourselves a hole here... Oh, shit, I’ve missed the turning. This is it. Looks more like a big house than an office, doesn’t it?”

  Marie and Louis were recovery auditors, and she was a highly successful one as well – working as a freelance and employed at client premises, helping them recover money from their suppliers by analysing business deals, accounting data and agreements. Her job involved moving money from one set of rich bastards to another.