It Always Rains on Sundays (22 page)

She nudged me ‘Colin?' I sighed inwardly (I pretended to snore) ‘Colin …?' this time louder. Not asleep, not awake, saliva coming from the corner of my mouth – I sucked in quickly. I cleared my throat, ‘My head is normal. Go to sleep.' Some hopes ‘You have a very tiny head – I never noticed it before.' I stared at the wall-paper. She'd set me thinking – curiously enough
right up until then I'd always considered my head-size to be pretty normal.

I pulled myself up onto one elbow. Cyn stared, I said ‘Look, you don't ask, it comes with the set. You take what they give you, okay' I was determined to settle it once and for all. I sank back into my pillow. It went quiet. She always has to have the final word. ‘Well, you got the last in the whole bunch that's for sure' she sniggered, then adding ‘very tiny indeed, yes sir' I heard her say.

I turned, her arms were around her knees. She was really trying my patience. ‘Listen, one last time – then we go to sleep, okay. It's not Pick N Mix, right. You've to take what's on the shelf, one nine-pounder please. Next customer please – you've to move down the line.'

‘They gave you short-weight and that's a fact.'

‘You're Miss Perfect I suppose?'

Cyn tittered ‘Least they didn't roll mine down an alley.'

‘How many more times – you don't ask. It's God's will, okay. “One head please – oh thanks.” You like it or lump it.'

‘Good word – on your head be it.'

‘Goodnight.'

‘Goodnight.'

Finally (some hopes). Too good to last, also Cyn's “goodnight” wasn't a bit like my “goodnight.” Somehow or other hers lacked warmth and sincerity you could tell. I turned to face the wall – I must've dozed off. Not long after that, distantly her voice insisted on chiming into my unconscious thoughts (‘Fine old time I'll bet – women all over the place'). I was just about to drift off to sleep.

B, dong (warning bells). I blinked at the wall-paper. What now I thought? I tried to marshall my thoughts (
women, that's plural
) what women? Where's that come from?

So, this is what it's all about is it – I SNORED LOUDLY.

My mind raced. Earlier on, Cynthia gossiping over the garden gate with old Mrs. Heap from over the road. Maybe she saw Alison's taxi-cab leaving the house? Nah, no-chance. Don't you worry Cynthia would've brought that up before now, that's for sure.

We fell into an uneasy silence. Cynthia plumped up her pillows.

Too quiet – unbeknownst to me she was already priming her big bomb.

All of a sudden her voice came loud and clear, her eyes glinted in the semi-gloom. ‘So, how are things at work these days. You and little round-glasses Thelma Clegg I'm meaning.'

God, where's that come from I thought, still half asleep.

No wonder I stared. Is she serious? ‘Thelma at work you mean?'

‘Yes, I thought that might ring a bell – you and her. That little mousy woman, her with the sloping shoulders and flat chest – cosy picnics together up on the Library roof so I've been hearing' she told me smugly.

This is what she's like. She just wanted to argue you could tell.

Best nip it in the bud I thought – this had gone far enough.

‘Give-over' I said. ‘Anyway, Thelma hasn't got sloping shoulders, not that I've noticed anyway.'

‘You've never seen her with a shoulder-bag – it'd slip right off.'

How ridiculous is that? ‘As for her chest. Well, I can't vouch for that can I? You want to be careful. Thelma's a happily married woman' I said.

She laughed coldly. ‘We'll just have to take your word about that, won't we?'

God, the things she comes out with. Again, she starts thumping her pillows (four pillows?) No wonder she gets her bad heads. ‘That's another thing too' she continued ‘You, bringing your floozies into my house.' Her voice got louder ‘Don't you worry, I know a lot more than you think Colin Quirke – I have witnesses.'

Hah, now were getting somewhere.

Looks as if I'm right. That nosey old cow, Mrs. Heap (her from over the road no doubt). This is the thanks you get. Next time her husband can trundle his stupid wheel-barrow all the way to bloody Blackpool for all I care.

Hold on a sec I thought. What exactly are we trying to hide anyway – an odd cup of tea with a work colleague, and a pat of her dog. Big deal, not exactly a hanging offence is it. This is what I said, ‘Anyway, what's all this, these spies of yours have supposed to have witnessed?' I waited. ‘Come on, you started it?'

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

‘Okay' I said ‘so, Thelma – quite inadvertently I might add. She just happened to call in one odd time' (she looked). ‘Oh, big deal, she had her dog with her for godsake.'

‘Dogs make it okay I suppose? Chaperoned by a dog, that's novel at least.'

‘These so-called witnesses of yours, what exactly have they supposed to have seen?' I repeated. Knowing her this could go on all night.

Right then, even the Put-U-up bed downstairs, out in the conservatory seemed far more alluring than this. ‘Her and you' she broke in ‘together, making sheep-eyes. Little mousey, round-glasses, quiet Thelma, your little friend at work who likes you to think she wouldn't say boo to a goose I'm meaning, that's who.'

‘Hold on a sec' I said ‘a minute ago she was a mouse, then she's a sheep, next thing she's a friggin goose. She can't be everything surely to God?'

She made a short mirthless laugh.

‘Don't you worry, I'm not the only one – Avril for one.' Trust her to get into the act – I'd all on not to laugh. ‘Avril? – don't make me laugh. Thelma's a happily married lady – you want to be careful' I repeated. She laughed a snorty kind of laugh, a ‘pull the other one' kind of laugh. ‘Oh sure' she scoffed contemptuously.

After that we drifted into an uneasy silence, like a couple of strangers who just happened to be sharing the same bed. Still as dead men, taking care not to touch. I stared at the wall, I could hear the bed-side clock tick-tocking away – getting louder and louder.

Don't you worry, I'd already decided – I'd had enough. Next thing my legs are swinging out of bed. Cyn's light came on. She stared, I shrugged into my dressing-gown. I told her the obvious. ‘I'm going
downstairs, it's the only way I'm going to get some sleep around here.' I stopped over by the door. ‘Right then' (was I expecting her to call me back?) We exchanged looks. Finally I said ‘You never used to be like this.'

‘Like what?' She smiled thinly, just this side of a smirk.

She clasped her hands behind her head, her eyes held that look, as if she'd won something, kind've triumphant. ‘Like what?' she repeated.

Somebody had to say something. ‘Always wanting to argue, smirky I'm meaning.' We both kind've looked at each other.

This time definitely a smirk ‘Maybe we need a break.'

After her long vacation I'd hoped things might've improved. I stood by the door, I said ‘You've changed, I hope you know that.'

She shrugged ‘This is the trouble, you haven't – that's obvious.'

I needed somebody to blame.‘We were fine before she came to live next door.'

Cyn did her “What's the point look?” then rolled her eyes. ‘If you mean Avril – at least she's made me open my eyes.'

Stalemate, what more was there to say?

Then just when I'm leaving she called me back. ‘Colin …?' (a question?) No, more of a statement as things turned out. This is when she dropped the bombshell about splitting up, her needing her own space – ‘a trial separation' she called it.

How long did she have in mind, a couple of weeks, a
month or what? (don't holidays count?) I started pacing the floor – I'm all mixed-up. Who knows, maybe she's right. This is what it's all been leading up to.

You're never ready are you. It'd really knocked me for a six I'll tell you. I needed more time to think. Our eyes kind've bumped. ‘All we ever do is argue' she said quietly.

Fair comment – even so. ‘That's what married people do isn't it?' She stared, ‘Throwing furniture – that's normal?' I stopped pacing, ‘Like when for Godsake?' ‘That time with the chair, it went right through the window.' (why does she always have to fetch that up, one tiny incident in thirteen years) Luckily the window was open. ‘One lousy chair does not a marriage break.'

Her voice went really tiny ‘you tried to strangle me onetime too. I still have dreams – I should've called the police. What stopped me I don't know.'

‘People don't try to strangle people, they just do it.'

I just had a sudden thought, I said ‘What about the kids? You've forgot about that I expect, what do we tell them?' She shrugged, ‘Don't worry I've already explained everything – well, some at least.' Amazing (
even the children know
), I can hardly believe my own ears. ‘Oh wonderful. About what exactly?' ‘About us dopey, about giving us both some space. Don't worry, nothing too serious.'

Unbelievable, our whole marriage heading for big rocks. What's more serious than that. What I can't get over is her telling Lucy. ‘You've even told Lucy, she's five years old.'

‘Nooooo – only the gist. Lucy is six by the way, going on seven.'

It was too much to take in – I resumed my pacing.

She sank back into her pillows, one arm out-stretched in a languorous pose, eyes smudged with last night's mascara. She reminded me of one of those old time silent movie stars. Cleopatra sending me to the lions. ‘I can't help it – I'm overwhelmed' Cynthia said.

I stared. ‘I'm not even whelmed. I'm really angry.'

I could feel myself getting angrier by the second. For once she kept silent, a wise move, my quick temper is legendary. I'm a bit inclined to kick out at things of low value at times. Something made me look back, I turned over by the door. If I'm truthful I'd've been a lot happier with a bit more of a display of emotion under the circumstances – come to think maybe a few tears might've been nice. She must've been reading my mind. All of a sudden, next thing she burst into tears (boo-hoo, boo-hoo) well, some at least. Don't you worry it didn't last long I'll tell you.

I'd just had a sudden thought. Where was I planning to live? (temporary or not I needed a place to stay). I must've said it. ‘Why not go to the pub – you practically live there anyway' Cyn suggested unhelpfully. I gave her a look. I opened the door ‘Maybe you're right – a couple of weeks, right?'

She dabbed her eyes with a tissue. ‘Just a short break. Give us both some space – it's the best thing for both of us' she sniffed. We both nodded, she gave me a tight smile. I nodded. ‘Um. Maybe you're right' I repeated. I closed the door softly so's not to wake the children.

*
*
*

10:30am. I've hardly slept. God, what a night – I'm missing DeLacey Street already (I've barely been away more than a few hours). Cynthia's right. Who knows, maybe a short break away from each other will do us both good. We've both agreed – two weeks, that's at the most. Even for such a short time, it's surprising how much you need. Luckily Cynthia helped me pack – just as well. Somehow I'd got a bit involved, working my way through Grandmother Clough's old mahogany chest of drawers (two bin-liners already). I've only got three drawers down!

Mind you, it's all well and good Cyn telling me she needs her own space, it's me who's had all the upset of having to move out – WHY ME? What did worry me is a place to stay. Cyn's right Tony's Tavern seemed the most likely option I have to admit (I've always wanted to live above a pub). No problem. It turns out Tony has (quote) ‘a lovely ensuite-room, with a charming sunny bay-window.' ‘I'd be more than happy to accommodate you old boy' he said with a broad wink. I said I'd think about it. What put me off more than anything else I suppose is
everyone saying I'm gay – silly I know. Not that I am I hasten to add.

Then, the other option of course is staying at my mother's. Trust Cynthia to come up with that ludicrous idea (as if). I hardly think so I said. Imagine that, thirty-nine years of age, a man in my position – a senior librarian no less. ‘Oh, he's back home, living with his old mother' they'll all be saying. No way.

Mind you, one thing for sure my mother would never refuse me a roof over my head. In fact the more I think about it – seeing it's only v.temporary. That said, I'm starting to have second thoughts already. She's doing my head in (it's more a question of how long I can stick it out). We've just had a twenty-five minute discourse over the phone, how I want my friggin egg!

One thing for sure, times like this you find out your true friends, (even the weathers against me), clear blue sky, it's a glorious sunny day, birds are singing their heads off. Maybe it's me, personally speaking I'd've liked to have seen a bit more doom and gloom. You should've seen them, smiles galore. They can't wait to see the back of me you can tell – it's terrible. Even little Lucy, the sensitive one (her before anybody) she let me down too. All I got from my little princess is a quizzical look – how come I'm scrabbling around on the floor picking up loose change when she's trying to watch Tele-tubbies on TV.

So, okay, Jamie, he's older, young guys, it's a macho thing I suppose, they keep everything hidden inside. Who knows, maybe that would come later, weeping copiously
into his pillow when he's all alone, unbeknownst kind of thing.