It Always Rains on Sundays (24 page)

Did she expect me to give three cheers, or what?

She waited. ‘Well, that's up to you, of course' I called out.

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10:00am. Full day off work – I'm bored to death already. This is the trouble, week-ends can be real killers. NO POST EITHER! I'd wash and polish the car but that's Sundays high point of the day. Cynthia isn't even answering her phone. Sunday is my day with the kids. I've been trying to call her at work (she really hates that). She leaves me no choice. What it is, basically I'm a family-man. I can't function without domesticity around me – a father needs to be with his children, simple as that.

2:30pm. I've been over to the pub. I thought it might take me out of myself – worse if anything. You could hardly move, it was full to the brim. Everyone staring at the
giant-sized TV screen watching the big game, you could hardly move, everybody getting over excited. You should've heard them, yelling their heads off like a load of loonies – only really loud I'm meaning.

Finally I had to come out, it was starting to work me up. After that I was at a bit of a loose end. So, then I just kind've cruised around the neighbourhood in the Mondeo. Then, when I look I'm over at DeLacey Street – isn't that strange? Where is everybody? The whole place looks deserted. That's odd I thought, even the curtains are still drawn. I crouched down behind the gate, keeping well out of sight. Next thing you know, stupid Bob Bright comes creeping up on me ‘Oy!' he yells – ‘what's your game?' (he made me jump a mile). Personally speaking I haven't much time for the fellow. He's the under-manager at the bank – it's him that started the local Neighbourhood Watch, total waste of time if you ask me – where was he when my old garden-roller went walk-abouts that time?

Finally I'd to take my cap off – it's the only way to convince the idiot I wasn't some kind of mad prowler. Twerp. ‘Oh, it's you Colin' he said, lowering his walking-stick. He stalked off with his hand in his pocket.

He might be called Bright, he can't be
all that bright
. Both living in the same cul-de-sac, you'd've thought he'd know me. So where's the crime I should've said, a father is entitled to see his own kids, right. All of a sudden there's this voice from over the hedge, ‘Coo-wee! Coo-wee!.' Then, when I look, there's Ms. Thrush, standing on top of her rockery. I waved. ‘My words, you're quite a stranger these days Mr. Quirke' she exclaimed, no
doubt angling for a bit of juicy gossip – ‘I do hope everything's alright?'

Not that she'd get anything out of me. ‘Fine and dandy' I said, then added ‘I'm just checking-out the wasps-nest.' Her hand clutched at her throat, ‘Oh dear!' she exclaimed. ‘Can't be too careful' I said. She stared, then said ‘I've been awake most of the night. I happened to see them all piling into a taxi, very early. Jamie mentioned something about going to the airport.'

I nodded. ‘Um, I'm not surprised he's mad about aeroplanes.'

‘You're quite a stranger these days?' she repeated.

‘I've been away in Helsinki attending a conference all about bats.'

She stared. I heard a scream, she dropped out of sight. Brian shot through a gap in the hedge. I offered him a polo-mint, he sniffed. Rightaway his back went up (he's hissing at me). He disappeared as quickly as he came – it's as if he didn't even know me. ‘Boy, you soon forget brother' I said aloud.

I sat on the tree-swing under the flowering cherry-tree, deep into my own thoughts. I started working on a poem, in my notebook I've put: ‘
Lines composed in the sunny garden at DeLacey Street – in sad reflective thought
.

AFTER THOUGHTS

I moved out of my flat last week,

She piled all my things in one big heap.

I'm really going to miss that FLAT

Can't think how we'll divide the CAT.

The best years of my life gone west,

Can't stand me now, think's I'm a pest.

She was my world, my life has sunk,

I loved that girl – might get drunk.

Note: I've had to use the word FLAT instead of HOUSE (house isn't a good word) – not if you want it to rhyme with CAT.

Mind you, it's a wonder I've managed to write anything (stupid Bob Bright I'm meaning). All the time I'm trying to think I can see him sneaking up on me through the shrubberies, trying his best to hide behind the ornamental rhubarb (
palmate rheum
) spying on me. Finally I yelled ‘Look, I fucking live here, okay?'

I drove back the way I'd came.

‘There's a young lady to see you …!'

My mother's voice yelling up from the kitchen (I must've dozed off). Still half-asleep I went over to the window. God, its Alison.

*
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Alison looked beautiful. She was stood at the door, dressed for summer, wearing a strappy, flowery-print frock that showed off her tanned shoulders, also a wide-brimmed
straw-hat with a scarlet ribbon that she held in her hand. Her eyes danced mischievously, it turns out she'd called in just on the off-chance to invite me out for a drive. She grinned. ‘I thought you might fancy it?' she said larkily.

My mother looked across, then returned to her knitting.

I nodded. ‘You're the third this week' I said.

Not that I needed to be asked twice.

Leaving them to chat, I flew upstairs to freshen-up. I needn't've worried, by the time I got back they were getting on grand the pair of them, both sitting at the kitchen table drinking tea out of my mother's best china cups.

Outside, the sun shone out of an empty blue sky, a perfect day for a drive out into the country. Then, even more surprises in store, Gabriel's snazzy, bright-red Jaguar sports-car waiting at the curb, gleaming in the sun – top down raring to go – at least she'd had the good sense to park it around the corner away from prying eyes.

We exchanged looks – for some reason I'm uneasy already.

Too late, suddenly we lurch forward. She was a fast driver I'd forgot, my back pressed into the leather upholstery, my hands gripped my seat as we swept up the rise, tyres drumming over the cobblestones, under the washing-lines. Finally making a sharp left at the top of the street, then heading out towards the open moors.

She was enjoying the danger you could tell. She grinned across, her long blonde hair flying in the wind (sexy I thought). I tried to smile. All I could think about, we're tearing around at break neck speed through narrow
lanes between dry-stone walls, in what appeared to be someone else's very expensive car. I closed my eyes, we raced into yet another sharp bend – just missing a huddle of sheep with only inches to spare.

Finally we pulled up. I watched the needle pivot back over to sanity. I peered through a cloud of dust. Heartshead Moortop Inn it said. Oh great. That's all I need (I'm uneasy already), Alison's idea of someplace quiet and secluded – a strange choice to say the least – I knew it well. This is the trouble so did everybody else, including Gabriel B.T. (it's his favourite watering-hole). Also it just happens to be directly opposite the swanky Country Golf Club, he's the chairman. There's us, pulling up in a flash car with personalised plates.

Oh neat I thought – not a wise move.

This is what I said ‘What about Gabriel's car?' I heard myself whine in a cry-baby voice. She stared, her long legs swung out of the car. She was halfway to the main doors already, she turned ‘Know what, I couldn't give a fiddlers fuck' she flung back.

Looking back, her reckless mood seemed to set the tone for everything. She was finally leaving him, this time for good. From now on Gabriel's history – she really meant it you could tell. She'd arranged everything, she was meeting-up with friends in London the next day.

She hadn't wanted to leave without saying goodbye.

Saturday night the place is heaving, you could hardly move. No wonder I'm nervous – who can blame me. All eyes seemed to be on us, I looked around furtively, hoping that I didn't know anybody (fat chance). Alison
grabbed my hand, she'd spied a just vacated table over by the window (Oh, hurrah I'm thinking). Right where people can see everything. Surprisingly enough, after a time I began to loosen up (booze probably). Not to mention a pretty woman's company, I actually started to enjoy myself, pretty soon turning into one of those long leisurely meals, good food, lots of good wine, private jokes. Next thing, all of a sudden you're a bit surprised you've emptied your second bottle.

Finally it's time to leave – for once Alison agreed (driving is not a good idea) prudently I ordered a taxi. The landlord shook his head ‘You'll have a bit of a wait' he informed me joyously in between pulling pints of frothy cold beer – ‘a couple of hours, that's at least.' I looked at the clock. We both shrugged.

That's when Alison came up with the bright idea we'd go for a walk.

Thinking about it, that's how it'd been all night, her taking the lead I'm meaning. She'd insisted on paying for everything, including some remarkably expensive wine (her treat, or somebody had at least). She'd used a gold-card, Gabriel's presumably. We stumbled out into the summer night, one drunky couple, stumbling through long meadow-grass, billowing cranesbill and head-high willow herb, meandering down the field-side towards the already darkening, crow, caw-cawing woods down in the valley bottom.

Omens galore, (distantly I could hear rumbling thunder), ominous black clouds were gathering already, creeping over the blue-tented moortop, like spilt ink.
Somehow it still bothered me, looking back, Gabriel's car gleaming redly in the last rays of the sun. ‘Why don't we park it around the back just in case?' I wondered aloud. No answer. She squeezed my hand, reassuring me. After that it all gets a bit blurry (parts of it are still missing even now). It came on to rain, quite a thunderstorm in fact. We both made a run for it – I can recall taking shelter in this old barn.

2:30am. Can't sleep, I've been trying to come up with a poem, something to kind've commemorate our last stolen moments together. Something really meaningful, maybe a sonnet …

All I've come up with so far is one v.feeble verse:

‘Ali's alright – we've had a good night.

We did more than we planned, it got out of hand,

She wears little knickers with patterns,

Then we both messed around till it happened.'

Nah, maybe not – might have another stab at it later.

*
*
*

8:00pm. Rainy most of the day. What's new (sunny-spells with intermittent showers of rain it says) – well, that's a
whopper for a start. More car trouble, talk about jinxed. What started it, I'd been giving her a quick once-over with the pressure-hose over at Fox's Garage. Then to my horror, next thing I see is the bloody paints coming off – that's in three different places at least. Fat Frank is as mystified as me. She's having to go into the paint shop for a complete re-spray. ‘Don't try to tell me that's normal' I said.

Meantime I've been trying to organise a lift to work with Dec Tasker the caretaker.

What makes it even worse it's my day for the kids. I was looking forward to it (I'd planned everything). I phoned Cynthia, I explained my predicament, ‘No car' I said. Even when you try to explain no-one ever believes you. ‘Typical,' she yelled, ‘you've let them down yet again.'. It'd really made her day you could tell. Too late, she'd arranged to take them to the Hypermarket instead – no doubt spoiling them rotten with store-bought affection as usual I expect.

Do your worst I thought. You'd think she'd know by now, a fathers love is beyond rubies, it's priceless – KIDS NEED THEIR FATHER, THAT'S WHY.

*
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Talk about being bored. Finally there was a break in the clouds, it turned out nice and sunny. I ended up going over to the park, though if I'm truthful I thought I might've run into Thelma walking Max. Too late, then I remembered she'd gone over to visit her younger sister Pauline in
Clitheroe. For a time I sat on a sun warmed seat under the weeping willow tree, watching the ducks. Then, just when I'm leaving the Salvation Army Silver Band suddenly struck up with a resounding march (Onward Christian Soldiers). Instead I made a bee-line towards the Victorian bandstand. Lots of people had the same idea. Sometimes it's just nice to feel a part of things – I squeezed myself right on the end of the front row.

That's when I saw my mother. I waved. She nodded, then carried on working her way towards me, rattling her collecting-tin. How smart she looked in her uniform I thought to myself. Isn't it odd how things change, when I was just a kid that same dark serge uniform of hers, it'd caused all kinds of embarrassment – especially in front of all my mates. Things got so bad I'd even cross over the street. Whereas now, instead I felt rather proud of her in a way. She'd been something of a locally renowned trumpet-player at onetime, she'd given that up yonks ago. She'd tell anybody who cared to listen ‘My lips gone' she'd say in a funny voice, pulling out her bottom lip.