It Always Rains on Sundays (12 page)

*
*
*

8:00pm. (CONSERVATORY). STILL NO NEWS! –
My hopes are just about dashed. I've had my head jammed next to the radio at work all day (it's looking pretty bad.) Hurricane Hugger-mugger it's battering the whole Florida coast. Headlined in every newspaper. ‘FLORIDA HUGGER-MUGGER NIGHTMARE!' ‘150 M.P.H. WINDS ARE MERCILESS' ‘HAVOC EVERYWHERE-30.000 BRITS FLEE TERROR!' it says. ‘Mercy pleas, night vigils!' it says. Alas, it's getting worse by the hour!

Somehow I can't take it all in – it's too awful to think about. They're blasting-out bulletins on the hour (‘20 ft waves, trees up-rooted like matchsticks – scores injured') Even now people are praying by candle-light – throwing themselves onto the mercy of complete strangers – bottled water at premium rates (
premium rates!
It says). Oh, the villains – BASTARDS.

Why us? Why Florida? We're simple folk, east coast, raincoats and wellies, buckets and spades and burgers. Scarborough – we're winkle people, what's wrong with good old Cayton Bay I cry?

Horrible, horrible. Oh Cynthia. My love, my love … why did you leave me all alone? Oh, that we might've parted on sweeter terms … Friends at least, rather than profanity, e.g. yelling ‘FUCK YOU TOO.'

Oh God – my poor children too, my kith and kin, gone, lost forever – Jamie, my first born, my know-all, sulky son – my buddy (I'm deluged with incriminations). All those unclimbed trees, fishing-trips we never did … football games. I've just had a sudden thought. I've never taken him, not even to one lousy rotten game, not ever –
not even in his whole short life! Little Lucy too, my light, my pearl, my little princess … It's too much to bear. All my nearest and dearest, scattered like chaff before the cruel elements of nature at its devilish worst. Even ditzy Avril, her too,
basically I really liked her
– well, okay, some maybe.

Harken, will this house never again ring out with children's merry laughter I wonder? Lonely I stride the cold empty rooms, riddled with guilt, reminders everywhere I look. I'm mocked by every shelf, wall-stickers, goofy-slippers – toys leap out at me, dolls with staring eyes. Even the cat arched his back when I came galloping down the stairs. He knows! He knows!

As a last resort I've even tried contacting the British Embassy in London. They're inundated, I'm hardly surprised – they put me on hold, listening to Handel's Chorus. Finally I hung up – still, it was worth a try I suppose.

Please God (if there be a God that is). GIVE ME A SIGN O LORD.

*
*
*

8:00pm. (CONSERVATORY). THEY'RE ALIVE! Hallelujah, praise the good Lord – finally my prayers are answered. Good news at last – hurrah, hurrah I cry. Postcard
from Cyn & Co (even so it's a lifeline), that's all that matters. Wonderful – picture of flying dolphins on the front.

Everything hunky-dory, kids also, weather fine. HOT SUN (very, you'd hate it!) Expect us when you see us. DON'T FORGET TO FEED BRIAN.

At lunchtime it was such a nice day we went out onto the roof. Thelma's birthday it turns out (she's thirty-nine – I had wondered). She'd gone to the trouble of baking a special cake, also a bottle of wine. So that made it a double celebration. ‘They're staying on a bit longer' I said. ‘It's to make up for Hurricane Hugger-mugger I expect.' We clinked glasses.

We both ended up rather jolly. She showed me one of her own poems. There's a first I thought, it's something she wrote when she was younger. Mind you, you have to smile – like most people. Somehow or other they will always insist on explaining it all first (all of the signs of an amateur I'm afraid). It's all about this guy who lived on the same street, (he's a bit of a character by all accounts), he collects odd bits of string.

She walked away to look out at the view while I read it:

STRINGER METCALF

There's something great with string and band,

Specially long bits without knots in –

I've got red and green and white and blue

And even some with spots in.

From first daylight I'm on the rounds,

I'm working like a donkey.

Back in my yard, so loaded up

My barra wheels are wonky.

Sometimes I'll knot it all one length,

It stretches down the pavement.

Then, like as not they'll stamp one end,

Which calls for great amusement.

They call me names down our street end

Calling names, they're in their element.

‘Gormless Stringer – still skiving string!?

They split their sides with merriment.

So mind your own you mardy lot,

What harm am I to bring?

You've mindless wars and atom bombs,

I'm happy with my string.

In point of fact I was pleasantly surprised. I handed it back ‘Well done Thelma – wryly amusing I'm sure' I told her. I quite liked it. She seemed rather pleased I'd taken such an interest I think. As I tried to explain, even I myself, it's been quite a hard struggle at times – years in fact, it takes a lot of hard work and determination. This is what I said, ‘Don't you worry I've had my fair share of disappointments. That's until Torchlight Publications just happened to take an interest in me' (one doesn't like to blow one's own trumpet
too
loudly). ‘It won't come
overnight' I said. (Not before time either if you ask me.) ‘Hopefully from now on that's all in the past' I added.

One good thing at least – well, it is in a way. Finally I've managed to have a face to face meeting with Fat Frank (about my squeak I'm meaning). What happened, just on the off-chance I called in at Fox's Garage on my way home from work. Trust me to call in just when they're in the middle of their stupid tea-break. ‘How goes it Wally?' he says, spitting out bits of bread all over me. Typical I thought – this guy didn't even know me from Adam you could tell (hard to believe less than a month back we were both on first names), the dope with the squeaky car I almost said. This is what I said. He chewed thoughtfully, his small piggy-eyes glinted behind his newspaper, ‘Wasn't he the one with the beard?' (a joke?) His grin spread slowly, he looked surprised at his own wit.

There was a long rumbling laugh, ending in a squeak. Next thing his brother Lolly appeared out of the back (he's big too VERY), fierce looking with red beetroot juice round his mouth. Both brothers are famed locally for their bizarre T-shirts. Frank's choice was short and sweet, ‘FUCK OFF I'M HAVING A BAD DAY.' Whereas, his even larger, younger brother, his was more subtle. His had a big picture of Monika Lewinsky spreading over his ample chest, white on black, showing some kind of whitish fluid spilling from her mouth, it said simply ‘I HATE MILK.' They both sniggered.

Finally I had to remind him. ‘Colin. Colin Quirke, as in berk – I'm your best customer' I said. They swapped
looks. ‘It's about my mint con, almost brand new Mondeo. “Car of the month!” right?' Frank nodded, watching me carefully. So then we all turned to stare out of the window at my mud-splattered car, looking sad and forlorn outside on the oily puddled forecourt. Maybe the idea is if we all stare hard enough the problem would solve itself. I told him about my squeak – how it was driving me mad. ‘Car of the month, right?' I said again. Lolly swiped his mouth with his shirt-sleeve, then leered, breaking into a giggle. He looked over at his elder and presumably wiser brother.

Time for my ace card, ‘Still under warranty, right?' I look at them each in turn.

Frank nodded, then cleared his throat ‘Give her a chance – she needs running in' he declared. He screwed-up his food-wrapper into a ball, tossing it into the air in a high arc into the waste-bin. Lolly did the same, missing by a mile. Not surprisingly he fully agreed ‘She needs running in a bit dunt it Frank?' he echoed sullenly, unzipping a banana.

Some showdown I'm thinking – total waste of time.

They followed me out. Finally, (somewhat bizarrely) all three of us solemnly shook hands. Lolly kicked wildly at a stone, it clanged against my off-side wheel. Frank glared. I stared, I climbed into my car. I drove off, one ear cocked waiting for my squeak – I was not disappointed.

*
*
*

8:00pm. (CONSERVATORY). MONDEO – she's still squeaking, worse if anything. Only now, on top of everything else she's over-heating again – I'm having to carry a container everywhere in case of an emergency. It's a real pain in the arse I'll tell you.

Don't you worry, they haven't heard the last of it, not by any means. In fact I wouldn't be at all surprised if it didn't end up in the County Court. Though, if I'm truthful I first got the idea from Nathan Skippy who works at the Town Hall (interesting fellow). Sometimes we share the odd lager or two over a light lunch at Betty's café in the High Street – in point of fact he thinks I've got an air-tight case. So, then it turns out, the man he has in mind is a real killer. He's the same chap that looked after his own mother that time over some ducks that'd stopped laying, after they'd had the road up that time. He said I'd win hands down – cost the gas company loads according to him. Food for thought at least. Meantime it looks as if I'll just have to plod on regardless, stuffing up my lug-holes with loo-roll I expect.

*
*
*

Another long (v.long) v.boring day at work. Librayish in other words. At least I can rely on Thelma, that's
something I suppose – I've noticed big changes already. Those junior girls I'm meaning. Not before time either (they run rings around me) – glum faces galore. (white blouses indeed). What else do they expect down in the basement. ‘Don't come running to me, get yourself some khaki smocks – it's a place of work' I said.

Mind you I've been a bit spoilt for choice, hot-air ballooning over the pyramids, that or white-water rafting down the Colorado river. I've also turned down the chance to go over Niagra falls in a herring-barrel. What with that, and then loads of gorgeous women on the phone, pestering me for sex – I wish.

Apart from that – zilch, nothing. De-nada.

Tell a lie, old Docket stopped by to have a word this morning. What now I thought – I braced myself. You always expect the worst. Since Cyn's been away everything's gone to pot, I've been late more times than I care to admit. As thing's turned out he surprised me by talking about something else entirely.

He gestured me over, then leaned in closer ‘Colin a word' he hissed wetly, his mouth close to my ear, his voice went down to a whisper ‘About me going at Christmas?' I nodded. He paused. No doubt he'd be meaning his impending retirement I expect (so, it was Christmas after all) not before time either. That's if he lasts that long – he looked a bit peaky if you ask me.

Let's face it he'd been in the Library-service a hundred years at least.

He crooked his finger, then leaned in closer (I could smell peppermints). ‘A little bird tells me, any promotions
– it will come from
in house
' he whispered conspiringly, he gave me a broad wink. I nodded. He gave me a watery half-smile ‘And, that's definite' he confided. He turned away, then changed his mind, ‘By the by' he added, he tapped the side of his nose with his forefinger. ‘You haven't heard that from me think on, okay – it's bloody hush-hush is that' he said secretively.

He stared, as if waiting for my reaction. I nodded slowly. ‘That's come from above' he said gravely. He pointed a shaky finger upwards (GOD I wondered?) He nodded, then gave me another broad wink, before turning on his heel. He strode off purposely, leaving his P.A. Evaline Walker (always a few paces behind) having to break into a skippy, gawky-like trot in order to catch up.

I watched him go – don't fall for that one I thought.

No doubt he's already said that to just about everybody I'll bet. Even Dec Tasker the caretaker, he told me over a month ago, at least – he got it from the window-cleaner.

He just does that to keep you on your toes.

Oh wait – this is news (well, it is in a way). Only now, the latest is Gabriel Biggar-Titte's been treating himself to a brand new car. (Something else for him to brag about I expect.) I wouldn't mind, he's only had the silver Porsche a couple of months, that's at most. This one's a bright, cherry-red Jaguar sports-car (a soft-top, just like him, heh heh). You have to smile – does he know it's England or what, when's he planning to have the top down – three days top I'll bet, that's at the most. Mind you, it's a terrific gas-guzzler you can bet – not that he's
the type to worry himself too much about the ozone hole I expect.

Though what really got me, he's just reversing his flashy new car out of my personal slot in the Library car-park (cheeky sod!) – is nothing sacred, unlike us lesser mortals it saves him the trouble of finding himself a parking-meter I expect.

What stopped me I don't know. I'd all on not to say something I'll tell you.

We both nodded. No doubt he'd be expecting me to go into raptures about his new car, only I didn't, all I said is ‘New jam-jar I see – very nice.' I left it at that.

He slid down the window, (mine jammed the swine) I ended up having to hold it open using my foot. He did that lop-sided smile he always does ‘You've been having a bit of good news by all accounts?' says he.