It Always Rains on Sundays (59 page)

All I could think of is why am I here?

Then on our way back, this is when we bumped into my mother. She was stood on her usual corner outside Marks and Spencer's rattling her collecting-tin for all her worth. Mother was over-joyed, over-laughing as usual, hugging and kissing everyone in sight. She was with a large red-faced, jolly-looking man wearing the same
Salvation Army uniform, churning out Christmas carols on an old barrel-organ – needless to say the kids were mightily embarrassed by the whole thing.

He slipped off his mitten to shake hands, he laughed ‘So, this is the famous Colin I keep hearing so much about?' I nodded – you feel really stupid. Mother's face fairly beamed.

Famous – famous for what exactly? That'll be my mother, telling him what a good son I am I expect – lying her head off more like. Time to go, both kids were dying to get off you could tell. Then, after more hugs and kisses we all said our good-byes. Then did the whole thing again from across the street until we got to the corner.

Things don't improve, finally just to top everything, when we got back to the car we were just in time to be greeted by a bland-faced man wearing a peaked cap, just in the process of sticking a parking ticket on the windscreen.

We both nodded. ‘Merry Christmas' I yelled.

It was even worse than I thought. Hard to imagine, a church hall packed to the brim with well-meaning ladies. Everybody singing Happy Birthday (only really loud). Finally I said I needed the bathroom – it's the only way I could make my escape. I spent the next couple of hours hiding in my room working on a poem.

In my notebook I've put: ‘Stanzas composed in quiet contemplative thought hiding in my room on my 40th birthday.'

HAPPY BIRTHDAY

Too late, too late – she's hung balloons on the gate,

She's making me have a party.

They'll be jelly and games, and I'll forget people's names,

And I'll have to act hale and hearty.

I'll say: ‘Hi, how are you?

They'll sing: ‘Happy Birthday to you.'

She's clouded my sky, she's shadowed my sun,

The parties over before it's begun.

They've collected the bottles, they've stacked-up the chairs,

You can't have a party – not if she won't be there.

*
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11:00pm. Mondayish day all in all. Christmas festivities continue unabated, pell-mell in fact is (alright if you like that sort of thing I suppose). Earlier on we all piled into Tony's Tavern, the whole gang from work – (no wonder I've still got a thick head). Mind you, what with my new job coming up and whatnot, this could well be my last time – promotion to management I'm meaning. Let's
face it, it's bound to make a difference. Not that it's gone to my head or anything. Lord no, hopefully I'm still the same down to earth chap and all that, basically it isn't a bad idea I suppose. There's nothing wrong with a bit of healthy fraternization with people off the shop-floor – within certain boundaries, of course.

Indeed, as I say, it is Christmas after all – which was fine at first. That's until some bright spark came up with the stupid idea we'd all amalgamate with some of the other ladies from the Moorsiders and Underhill branch. Pity, as I say right up until then we were all getting along grand. Everything was hunky-dory.

However, the more the merrier as they say – not always.

So then we all traipsed up the hill (this is on foot by the way), quite a slog in any conditions. By then it's blowing a blizzard I might add, almost a mile, trudging over to the Old Moorcock Inn.

However, not wanting to be a spoil-sport I said little.

Fine by me, also, another thing they neglected to mention is what big drinkers they all are – I'll say. Some more than others he added. Don't get me wrong, killjoy I am not. Ask anybody you like. Even so it did split the party into two different camps somewhat. Christmas or not, quite frankly it was all turning into a pretty costly affair if you ask me – very in fact.

Somebody had to say something.

Finally I stood up, I said ‘Look here ladies, correct me if I'm wrong. Maybe it's me, only, I thought the general idea is everybody contributing the same, equally – fair to
all. Not like some I could mention, tossing the odd fifty-pence piece into the kitty. Then belting straight onto neat double-vodkas all night.'

Not surprisingly that didn't go down too well either. They're blaming me for everything you could tell. That put the old kibosh on everything, after that it was big sulks all round. Soon after that the party broke up, in ones and twos we all kind've drifted off going our separate ways. Mind you, I'd already heard it on the grapevine, they were a bit of a common lot anyway – it just shows.

Letters (one only): Oh superb! Sadly they've returned my love sonnet Double Destiny, back from Dunstable Rhymers, signed Alvira A. Alcock (say no more). Personally speaking, I'd've thought a heart-wrenching tale all about an ill-omend pair of star-crossed lovers (based, he added on a TRUE STORY) – that we all know, ahem. Only, I'd've thought it'd've appealed enormously to most people. However, some encouragement at least, e.g. ‘luminous and haunting' ‘cogent thought – gritty' ‘Send more – et al.' they don't say that to everybody I'll bet.

*
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*

Mother's just rushed off in a bit of a huff, she's going to a fancy-dress Turkey & Tinsel Christmas party. She was wearing a silver tu-tu and tights, a silver affro wig and silver painted wellington-boots, finally a walking-stick wrapped in tinfoil. ‘I'm a fairy-princess' mother said (I
would never have guessed). ‘Um, so I see' I said. What started it, she would insist on cooking a meal. I'd already said I wasn't hungry (kippers of all things) – the whole place reeked to high heaven. I'd promised myself an early night. She plonked the plate down in front of me – I pushed it away ‘No thanks' I said.

‘Course you do, everybody likes kippers' she insisted.

‘Stuff em – don't you think I've more to think about than bloody rotten kippers' I yelled.

Then she's saying I'm in a funny mood. Finally I settled for a five and a half minute boiled egg. Consequently, after that conversation was rather strained to say the least. Mother broke the silence by suddenly announcing she'd decided to have her hip done after all. No wonder I looked, I wouldn't mind she'd always been dead set against the whole idea.

‘Oh, that's nice' I said.

So, then it turns out our other side neighbour, old Mrs. Tredwell, apparently she'd just had
both
hers replaced – and with mighty success it seems. Indeed, she was up a ladder cleaning her top windows within a month, so mother informed me.

She was waiting for me, she started clearing the table, one eye on the clock. ‘Trust you not to be interested' she commented.

She turned over by the door ‘Anyway, you'd not get me up there – no fear. Not for love nor money. No fear' she repeated.

‘Why would you want to clean her top windows?' I said.

Next thing, there was a loud honking of a car-horn. Mother went off in a rush without speaking. I heard the front door slam with a thud. I lifted the curtain. Outside, waiting at the curb there was a decorated mini-bus, filled to the brim with shrieking women – (what sounded like a mass escape from the local looney-bin). Everyone waving like mad. I waved.

Nobody understands – my mind was all over the shop. All of a sudden I decided to go over to the pub, with the sole intention of getting very drunk.

*
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*

God, what a day – when will it all end I cry! The Mondeo I'm meaning, she's still over-heating. First thing this morning, I'd only got as far as the park gates, next thing the whole cars filled with steam (I'm like a dog, having to stop at every lamp-post) – only in reverse. Then, on top of that, only now she's started making a v.perculiar knocking noise. Rightaway I phoned-up Fox's Garage. Fat Frank came over in the tow-truck. He wasn't too happy you could tell, he shook his head and said little – (not too good that's for sure). It might be any number of things according to him, it might even be her ‘big ends.' I nodded – it sounded rather vulgar if you ask me). He climbed back into his truck, shaking his head, then slammed it into gear. He drove off singing ‘God rest ye merry gentlemen let nothing you
dismay.' Sadly, I watched my car trundling off into the misty distance. Either way I'm still hoping he can fix it.

All the same, deep down I'm expecting the worst.

I decided to phone in sick. Luckily Thelma picked up the phone rightaway. I told her about my predicament. ‘No car' I said. There was a pause. ‘What's wrong with catching a bus?'

Time for my big guns.

So, then I told her everything, not just about my car blowing-up. About what'd happened the night before over at the pub – the big fight I'd had I'm meaning. There was a pause ‘OMYGOD!' she exclaimed (she said it three times in a row) ‘OMYGOD – are you okay?'

This time she was different again, she gave me her full attention.

‘Just wait till you see my nose' I said.

A bright wintry sun broke through the snow-laden clouds. Already odd flurries of snow fluttered amid the bare branches of the wintry trees. We sat on my favourite seat under the shelter out of the cold wind, watching the ducks. Thelma had come well prepared as usual, including a big flask of coffee. She'd even remembered to fetch the first-aid box from work. She stared intently at my swollen nose, then stuck a sticking-plaster over it.

‘I told you it was bad.'

She topped up my coffee. ‘You'll live.'

After that we each went into our own thoughts. Her voice broke the silence ‘What happened?' she repeated. ‘Good question – it's hard to know where to start' I said.

She stared ‘How about, you throwing beer over somebody?'

Nobody listens, I'd already explained – nothing's that simple. Guilty without trial, next case kind've. She slurped her coffee, then sighed ‘This all started when you spilt some beer over somebody, am I right – a full-tray I think you said?'

‘Don't remind me, it was a pure accident.'

‘Well, in that case I'm hardly surprised' Thelma snorted.

Pictures from the night before in the Dark Bar came flooding back. You could hardly move, a noisy crowd filled the bar. Everyone staring at the giant-sized TV screen watching the big football game. Next thing you know, there's this big argument – pure accident. It just shows, one minute everything's peaceful. Next thing they're fighting in lumps. You name it, chairs flying the lot. ‘No warning, I'm right in the middle of the whole thing,' I said.

‘There's, about ten, big rough guys, tough as they come, against one – that's at least. They really hate me you can tell.'

Thelma's eyes widened, her hand went up to her mouth.

‘My God – you might've been killed!' she exclaimed.

I nodded. ‘Me too – all I can see is angry faces, pure hate. Take my word, it was a pretty close thing. Mind you,
that's all it takes with some people. There's some pretty shady characters hanging around the Dark Bar. Boy, the stories I could tell you, they'd slit your gizzard just as soon as look at you for sure.'

‘My God.'

‘Uh huh – it's just like sitting on a powder-keg, next thing. Boom!'

‘You could've been killed,' she repeated.

‘Tell me. I'm lucky I'm here to tell the story. Luckily for me, this is when Red-top showed up.'

Her eyes got even bigger ‘Kevin – you don't even like him?'

‘Red-top I'm meaning, who else? He came to my rescue just in the nick of time. I'd've been a goner for sure, chances are but for him you'd've been going to a funeral I'll bet.'

‘Kevin Ranker – the home-wrecker?' she said incredulously.

‘Uh huh. This is what I'm trying to tell you. Everything's changed – well some at least. He came to my rescue, in my darkest hour of need. He saved my entire life, there's no reasoning with these kind of people – I'd've been a goner for sure.'

‘It takes a real man to walk away from a fight' she stated earnestly.

She's right. ‘How about running?' I said.

She looked at her watch. She gathered up her things into her bag, time to make a move. We'd lost the sun, I
followed her footsteps in the light covering of snow. We started to walk back the way we'd come, following a meandering path around the contours of the lake. Suddenly I stopped dead (I'd just had a sudden thought). What if it leaks out? I could just imagine it, banner-headlines “TOWN'S CHIEF LIBRARIAN IN PUB FRACUS!” What then? What an idiot – a man in my position, caught-up in a bar-room brawl. Oh, wonderful – I could even lose my job.

Thelma waited for me to catch her up under the bandstand, shaking her umbrella. I jogged up, closing the gap. Her smile faded, no doubt she could tell how worried I was. I said ‘This is a small town – how's it going to look. One word of this gets out I'm a goner for sure. I could even lose my job – WHAT JOB? I haven't even started it yet. You watch, it'll be the police next, what then?'

‘It won't come to that, surely?'

I stared, it was the way she said it, it's as if her voice still held some doubt. She looked up at the heavy sky, an icy wind blew little flurries of snow, whirling into the holly trees. ‘We'd better be making a move' she announced. Instead I grabbed her arm ‘Wait, hang on a sec. Something important – something else too.' She stared at my nose. ‘This is about me and Red-top. In future I'm planning to be a lot nicer to people – not hating I'm meaning.'