It Always Rains on Sundays (27 page)

I waited (I looked at my watch).

Not that I was looking forward to it all that much anyway. Omens galore for one thing, big thunderstorms I'm meaning, it'd been brewing all afternoon, jagged lightening, dancing along the sky-line. Somehow or other it didn't bode that well for a cosy chat.

Cyn led the way over to the cafeteria, marching ahead, her heels resounding hollowly along the corridors. She looked really great (too smart for work I'd've thought). Maybe that's me, if I'm being truthful her skirt was too short too, also just a weeny touch too heavy on the old make-up, if you ask me.

All of a sudden, the sun comes out, there's this wonderful rainbow, arching right over the whole valley. There's this big explosion of golden light, lighting up the whole corridor. I pointed ‘Rainbow!' I cried. Cyn waited impatiently still holding the door. Somehow I felt better already.

‘You know what, you were always lucky for me.'

Cyn was unimpressed, she shrugged. ‘You make me sound like a fucking elf' she exclaimed.

*
*
*

That time of day the cafeteria was heaving, we'd been lucky finding a seat. You could sense her hostility. Even
the table was wrong (attitude right to the hilt). She pulled a face, she stroked her fingers over the table-top. She turned to the black girl busily clearing up on the next table. ‘Call that clean?' she yells.

She snatched the dishcloth out of her hand.

Everybody stared. My heart sank (all this aggression). She swiped the table a couple of times, then tossed it back – the girl could only gape. ‘What?' Cynthia said. She unloaded the tray, then dragged out a chair, plonking herself down. She tossed a pellet into her carton of coffee, stirring it vigorously. She looked up ‘Five minutes, okay?'

One thing for sure she was making very clear that she didn't want to be here. Finally I said, ‘Look, this can't go on.' She was just about to launch her teeth into a mega-sized chocolate éclair, her eyes fell on my drink carton, ‘What can't go on?' she queried (I think she thought I was having trouble with the lid).

Okay, if that's the way you want to play it, fine by me. ‘Last night I'm meaning – wild parties, for one thing, two a.m.,' I said.

She chewed thoughtfully, then dabbed her mouth. ‘Who told you by the way – only I'm interested' she smirked.

Smirkers, they are the absolute pits if you ask me.

‘Nobody told me anything, as a matter of fact I just happened to be driving past.' Cyn let out a snorty laugh. ‘My God. Two a.m. – oh sure.'

So, then I said ‘Surprisingly enough I happen to have grave concerns for my children's moral welfare – okay with you?'

She shrugged, one eye on her chocolate cream-éclair.
‘They're fine, both fine – next question?' She snatched a big bite off one end. Fascinated, I watched her eat (in a strange kind of way that could be a good sign). Cyn only stuffs herself with calories if she's really worried about something.

‘Fine?' I queried. I gave her a look. ‘May we expand on that a little?'

She chewed hungrily. ‘Jenny's, over at Jenny's house.'

No wonder I stared. Nobody leaves their kids over at Jenny's.

‘Her with the snake around her neck – are you mad?'

It slid off like butter, she sucked at her fingers each in turn. ‘Oh, get a life.'

‘Jenny's!' I yelled. I'd just thought of something. ‘What about the tarantula, that big hairy spider she keeps inside a cage?'

‘Don't worry I know how you feel, me too. Luckily she no longer has it.'

‘Well, that's something at least – it watched me for a whole night onetime.'

‘Me too. She lost it out in the garden someplace.'

‘Who's garden for chrissakes' I yelled. Wonderful, now we have a giant spider out on the loose, strong enough to smash its way out of crates. Don't worry she says – my kid's lives could be at stake.

‘All that noise at two a.m. in the morning' I said.

Cyn rolled her eyes. ‘Look, I like parties, you don't.'

‘You're missing the whole point – what about the neighbours?'

She pulled a face, then shrugged. Instead of an answer she swung her teeth into her
second
mega-sized chocolate
cream éclair. I gave her a look of pure contempt (straight to her hips). I hope she knows that's all. ‘By the way, you've just swallowed enough calories to pull a refuse truck. I just thought I'd tell you that's all.'

She swiped her mouth with a Kleenex ‘You wouldn't've enjoyed it that's for sure. All that loud music for one thing. Clyde plays a really mean bass-guitar, really cool' Cynthia said, eyeing up where to bite next. She saw me look. ‘I thought I'd already told you. Avril's new husband from over in the States. They got married in Las Vegas – that's who the party was for.'

I nodded. ‘Tell them I said ‘good luck' ‘ I lied.

Trust Avril to smell out a rich seam, right. Come to think I'd already seen him. Him and Avril both, driving around town in this snazzy imported Dodge Ram charger, chrome-laden, bright red pickup truck. Mind you, he'd be pretty easy to miss, short guy, wearing a big cowboy hat, and what looked like a Zapata droopy moustache – I'm surprised he can even see over the steering-wheel. Poor mutt – I'll give it three months at the most. She was only there for the money you can tell.

They were all in Tony's Tavern a couple of nights back, the whole gang, rowdy bunch to say the least. American's, say no more, right – wanting to take over the whole place. Rightaway, a couple of fifties went over the bar – free drinks for everybody. God, I only wish you'd've seen them. Amazing, they poured out of the Dark Bar in one mad rush – it makes you feel really ashamed,
six and a half minutes I made it
. That's when the money ran out. All I wanted is a nice quiet drink.

Well, I know what I think. You can still have a really good time without going to extremes, right – laughter isn't everything.

Cynthia looked at her watch for the third time in a row (we'd run out of things to say already). She was dying to get back you could tell. I watched her picking odd bits of chocolate off her plate with a wetted finger. So then, more for something to say kind of thing, I said ‘So, when's the next party?'

‘Saturday' she told me distractedly, then added ‘Just a few odd girls from the Health Club.'

Well, there's no arguing with that I thought, also a few odd boys too no doubt. She looked at her watch ‘Look, I have to get back, okay?' I nodded – we'd achieved nothing. I said ‘Running a big hospital like this – I'm lucky you finding me a window' I grovelled. She ignored my sarcasm, instead she threw daggers with her eyes. ‘That's what a trial separation means, incommunicado – we have to keep on our own side of the fence.'

She picked up her bag making ready to leave, turned ‘That also means' she added, her mouth in a line ‘You are not allowed to harass me, okay. That goes for phoning me up every five minutes at work – got it? Either at home, or by letter, or pigeon fucking post, savvy? She gave me a look. That also includes stupid poems, ok?'

She really meant it you could tell. Nor had she finished. ‘That's another thing too' she went on ‘should
I at any time take it upon myself to invite a few friends round for an odd drink – my business, okay?'

‘Odd drink – you woke up the whole neighbourhood.'

We exchanged looks.

I followed her out, keep it light I thought. ‘Look, how about I come over and tidy the garden. Maybe dead-head a few roses?' I said.

She stared (I tried using my lop-sided grin – it worked wonders at onetime). ‘That okay with you, it that allowable, or does that also constitute an infringement of aforesaid contractual agreement?' I added jokily.

Not anymore it seems. ‘No, don't bother I'll do it myself. Why change?' she added icily. She turned to face me ‘Let's face it, after all I've been dead-heading all our married life.' She pushed her way through the double-doors, leaving them swinging in her wake. I stared after her, next moment she'd gone. Don't you worry I won't forget that snidey remark either, not ever.

Too late I'd forgot to mention I needed my dark suit to go to the funeral.

11:30pm. I've been over to DeLacey Street to pick up my dark suit for old Jordan Poritt's funeral tomorrow. Too late, it turns out Cyn's already sent it off to the dry-cleaners. They were having some kind of drinks party, so what's new, right. Cynthia was dressed-up to the nines, wearing a new strappy black dress, hooped earrings you
could jump through – we almost bumped into each other in the hallway (her face was a picture). Don't you worry I didn't hang around long. No wonder I felt a bit out of place – I'll say. There's me turning-up in my old raincoat and flat cap. No doubt her pride was enormous.

Nobody I knew that's for sure, not that there was a whole lot of introductions. It stuck out a mile, she couldn't get me out of the place fast enough. I said ‘While I'm here, why don't I sneak upstairs, say a quick hello to the kids?' She stared (I just remembered, more than likely they'd both be farmed out over at Jenny's house). This is what I said, ‘Kids over at the snake – charmers, am I right?' We both laughed. She walked me over to the door, she squeezed my arm, for some unknown reason it almost doubled her in two (nothing's that funny) ‘Oh, Colin, you're incorrigible' she almost screamed.

Then, on my way out I happened to meet up with Avril, her of all people, new husband in tow. That's all I need. They'd just arrived. ‘Oh, look, who's here, it's Colin. Colin's here!' She grabbed my arm. ‘How ARE YOOOOOOO?' she exclaimed in a screamy, high-pitched voice. Next thing she's giving me a really big hug, kissing me on both cheeks. You'd've thought we were really good friends or something. It ends up we're both lying our heads off, telling one another how great we both look. How fantastic it is to see each other kind've.

Finally she introduces me to her new husband. She took a big breath, ‘Clyde, this is Colin… Colin, this is Clyde, my new husband' she informed me, not without
pride, her new bosoms rising to their zenith, ready to leap out of her low-cut bright yellow party frock.

We both shook hands.

Clyde nodded his shiny bald head, then grinned displaying a gold tooth then patted his droopy moustache, as if checking if it was still there. Then Avril said ‘Clyde's from the United States of America.' I nodded. ‘Really? How nice.' So, then he said ‘Clyde Boy Schnieder the third' still pumping my arm ‘gled we could meet up at lest' he drawled, then added. ‘Like the country, like the people too, folks round these parts are really friendly.'

Again everybody nodded. Avril giggled nervously, ‘Colin is Cynthia's
husband
(she leaned on the word ‘husband') then added ‘Colin works at the Library, don't you Colin?' ‘Books' I said. ‘Ah, books' Clyde repeated, he nodded. ‘Well, well. How about thet.' Avril twisted her ring, then said ‘Shelves and shelves full of them. I've never seen so many books in my whole life.'

Again everybody nodded – why didn't I just leave.

‘Clyde's in real estate' Avril suddenly piped-up. ‘Three different States – he buys property.' She turned ‘Isn't that right, honey?' she added, hoicking up the front of her dress.

He snickered, then patted his moustache ‘Sure is honey-bell.'

Avril nodded her head. ‘Three different States' his new wife beamed.

‘Hopefully I sell quite a few too' said he.

‘Wow' I said (no wonder I was impressed). More for
something to say, I said. ‘You mean, you run the whole conglomerate all by yourself?'

‘Hell no' Clyde snickers – ‘I have aides.'

There was a pause, Avril's eyes went really big ‘YOU HAVE AIDS?' she almost yells. Everybody laughed.

They both went inside to join the party.

First impressions, if I'm truthful I liked him more than I thought I would (he's even shorter close up). Not that that matters – not when you're as rich as him that's for sure. If he stands on his wallet he's a lot taller than most people I'll bet.

*
*
*

10:00am. Grey skies (gloomy wet day). Jordan's funeral at noon. I've phoned in sick – somehow or other I just couldn't face going in to work.

Some good news at least, Mondeo returned, back from the paint-shop, pristine con as they say – well hopefully. Fat Frank's even thrown in, what he calls, ‘extra artwork,' e.g. a couple of ‘go-faster' zig-zaggy red stripes, buckshee!

So, we'll see – it still sounds a bit ropey if you ask me.
Letters (one): Sadly Little Tommy Webster's got the old heave-ho yet again. Wonderful, returned from Westward Ho (Olde Worlde Sea Shanties. Bidecombe Bay. Devon).

There you go – personally speaking, only I'd've thought they'd've grabbed it with both briny hands so to speak – very nautical I thought. Tale of the deep and all that, original slant too – young girl stowaway. Sex in the old apple-barrel (she's a ticking time-bomb in no mistake). Mutinous crew, thirty days without water. Little Tommy Webster the cabin-boy stuck up in the crows-nest. ‘Ship ahoy cap'n!' ‘Baint no ship young matey … them be … ICEBERGS!' goes the cry. If it hadn't been for little Tommy Webster they'd've all come asunder I'll bet – no doubt whatsoever.

Letters (two): From Alison in Mallorca, she's inviting me to visit. “See the sights!” she's put. Maybe not, I'll have to take a rain-check. I've sent her a postcard of Ilkley Moor with a picture of the famous Cow & Calf rocks on the front.

6:00pm. About Jordan Poritt's funeral. Okay, as funerals go I expect (it had to rain, of course). What's a funeral if it doesn't rain? Even so, it was a pretty good turnout all the same. However, what really spoilt it for me is Gabriel B.T. (him wanting to take over the whole show as usual). There's him in his expensively tailored black barathea overcoat and Homberg hat. Trust him to stand right next to me. Needless to say I stuck out like a
proverbial sore thumb, wearing my navy-blue blazer with shiny chrome buttons (I'd even tried darkening them with nail-polish).

Natch, then it turns out, on top of everything else he's doing the eulogy too. (Oh, let him get on with it I thought). All the same, given the chance I wouldn't've minded saying a few well-chosen words myself to be honest. Though if I'm being truthful I've heard a mighty lot worse. Let's face it funerals can be tricky even at the best of times – not what I'd've said, of course. Too many of his old, well used favourites for my liking – people soon get bored I find, e.g. ‘many moons ago' and ‘the mind boggles' also ‘moment in time' etc etc. Maybe that's just me, I counted four and I wasn't even listening half the time.

Like I said, one or two of the older ones were nodding off, they were falling out of pews just about. Old Jordan, him being the so-called Bard of the Dales, not surprisingly he quoted him quite a lot. What with ‘merrily tripping, merrily skipping' and ‘harken to the lark, doth sing' et al – maybe too much some people thought, including yours truly.

Strikes me he just likes to hear the sound of his own voice.

One good thing, it was a traditional funeral, that's something at least. Personally speaking I don't hold that much with bodies, trundling off, disappearing through curtains into a nether world of the unknown so to speak.

According to Leslie Crabbe, my shandy drinking
friend who works for the local council (27 years) – he scoffs at the idea. He's seen the self-same coffin used loads of times up at the Crem. He swears that for a fact, just to prove a point he tied fuse-wire around the coffin-handles. WHO CAN YOU TRUST?

Who knows, that's what he told me anyway.

One thing for sure, old Jordan, he'd've loved the drama of the whole thing. Fair to say his widow bore herself up remarkably well I thought, everybody said that (if anything she looked a bit relieved if you ask me). Then, another nice touch, she'd taken his old faithful Border Collie Ben along too, so that was nice. Maybe it's just me, it'd crossed my mind we might've had one of those heart-wrenching scenes, something on the lines of Lassie, kind've pawing at the old fellows grave-side. Instead she kept yanking her all over the shop, wanting to be off (it had three pisses into the shrubberies, that's at least). Luckily she restrained herself not to do it over the grave. That's something I suppose.

Oh yes – here's a thing too. Then on our way back, running into Cyn & Co, her and her American entourage (driving on the wrong side of the street) in their fancy new pickup truck. What else do you expect, the whole cortege is held up, they're blocking off the entire road. Don't you worry I kept my eyes right ahead, making out I hadn't seen them.

*
*
*

1:00pm. Afternoon off! (My turn for the kids.) Cyn's swapped days for some inexplicable reason. Luckily for me Thelma's stepped into the breach at v.short notice – she's a real gem in no mistake! That said, she'd been a bit quiet all morning come to think. Mind you she can be awfully moody at times.

We were down in the basement having our morning tea-break. All of a sudden, then she says ‘Did your friend find you alright the other day?' Finally I thought – so that's what's bothering her is it. Don't you worry, I know who she meant alright. ‘Hah, you mean Alison, yes thank you. No problem' I said.

After that I rather neatly changed the subject,

‘Mother's had the chimney-sweep in. God knows what the house will be like' I said, dunking my biscuit into my tea.

She steered it straight back. ‘Lovely girl, she's very attractive – don't you think?' She waited. I shrugged, I kept it light. ‘Um, now you mention it I suppose she is. She's a member of the Poetry Society, we're really old friends.'

Then, after a silence. ‘She came into the Library asking for you, she looked upset' she gave me a look. ‘Well, I wasn't sure what to do for the best – it isn't my place is it?'

I stared ‘What, me living at my mother's you mean? No, you did the right thing under the circumstances
Thelma,' I was able to reassure her. ‘She's living it up in Mallorca last I heard' then added (rather stupidly I reflected later). ‘Not that it matters, she's left Gabriel Biggar-Titte for good – not before time either if you ask me.' Too late, I'd already said it. How am I supposed to know that (I'm surprised I didn't tell her all about our night out while I'm at it). If Gabriel B.T. gets wind of that, it's chuffing dynamite – I'm done for.

After that I deliberately changed the subject, I said ‘You know Thelma, you really ought to come along one evening. You'd really enjoy it' I enthused, adding ‘it'd take you out of yourself.'

She was just that way out you could tell. ‘Well, I don't know about that so much. It's more a question of priorities, isn't it' she told me in a flat either way kind of voice. She snapped the lid down on her lunch-box with finality. That's how it got left.

No lady I thought. This is you're trouble, you're far too occupied trying to please other people. Her dopey Eric for one, the latest is he's started counting railway-sleepers on his way home from work. Don't ask (he's done it before – that's what kicked it all off before by all accounts). She's really worried, according to Thelma if he's out even by one, that means he's to start all over again just to make it tally – it was past midnight when he finally landed home the night before last. Don't tell me that's normal, if it was up to me I'd strangle him in his sleep (she'd be doing everybody a favour). Least said I thought. No wonder he's on three kinds of tablets for depression.

Join the club I thought.

Talk about something else I thought (neutral territory so to speak). Anyway, so then I purposely diverted her over to Kirsty and Shiraleen (always a high point of interest where Thelma's concerned). What bothered her mostly, now that they'd both ‘come out' what happens next? Her frown deepened ‘Does that mean they can't get married in white?' Thelma wondered aloud. ‘Um, good point. I hadn't thought of that' I said, stifling a yawn. She shook her head ‘That's really awful' she exclaimed, blinking furiously behind her glasses. What had I started. ‘Dunno, probably not' I said yawning widely.

Frankly, by now I'm wishing myself someplace else, happily ensconced in Betty's Cafe over in the High Street having a peaceful half-hour or so browsing through the small ads in the local paper, enjoying a poached egg on toast. I yawned.

Next thing you know Thelma's stood over me, shaking me to bits almost – I must've dozed off. Mind you, I blame that prehistoric central heating boiler. ‘No wonder I get all these headaches' I said – ‘somebody ought to report it.'

Her head shook ‘That's coke, you don't get any fumes from electricity – I thought everybody knows that' she stated, trudging up the stone steps. Her head appeared round the cellar-head door ‘Just in case you've forgot, you're supposed to be picking the kids up at one-thirty sharp.'