It Always Rains on Sundays (30 page)

We needed someplace more private where we could talk. One thing for sure, the way I felt right now our marriage was just about dead in the water – all we needed now is the reading of the will.

In heavy silence, headlights probing through the darkness we drove through the narrow winding lanes, flanked by ancient dry-stone walls, making a steady climb towards the summit of Heartshead Moor. No particular reason. (LIAR), years before it had always been a favourite place for both of us. It was worth the climb (like being on top of the world), wide panoramic views all around, under a canopy of bright stars. Unchanged since the beginning of time, whereas now, instead of long lines of jingling park horses, far below us there's a busy six-lane highway, 24 hour night and day traffic, snaking a deep swathe, meandering it's way like a sodium-lit serpent through the bleak windswept Pennine hills into the blackness, heading for the distant haze of light over Manchester city.

For a time we sat in complete silence, listening to the wind buffeting against the car, watching the spasmodic late night traffic, tail-lights like fire-flies, tiny red eyes, fading sparks, finally disappearing in the black night.

Nobody felt much like talking you could tell.

Cynthia admitted everything. Kismet kind of thing – wrong place at the wrong time (depending on how you wanted to look at it). Though mostly, she blamed the weather – Hurricane Hugger-mugger I'm meaning.

She had to blame something I suppose.

Her eyes flashed inside the semi-gloom of the car, ‘Nightmare, nightmare – it was a total nightmare I tell you' she kept saying. I listened sadly (she used that word quite a few times come to think). I nodded. So, then I said ‘Well, I did wonder – papers over here were full of it. Quite a storm by all accounts.' She turned to face me ‘Storm – you are joking I hope? This was worse than any storm. It was a total nightmare I'll tell you.'

She was re-living the whole thing you could tell.

Again I nodded (she had to tell it in her own way). All the same I'd've been a lot happier if she'd've got more to the point – about her meeting Red-top for one thing. This is what I said ‘Look, about meeting this guy, only I'm interested, okay with you?'

Her hand went up to stop me. Like I said she needed to tell it her own way. ‘My story, okay? Nightmare,' she repeated, ‘I was there, not you, okay?' I nodded ‘Yes, you said. Hard to imagine, right.' She stared out at the black night, deep into her own thoughts. ‘Hurricanes are very, very scary Colin, you bet – total nightmare I'll tell you' she said, looking at her own reflection in the glass. I nodded, it'd started to rain. ‘Look, about this man, this complete stranger you just happened to bump into. Let's talk about him, right – okay with you?'

At this rate we could be here all night.

Again, her hand went up – don't interrupt it said. Her voice dropped almost to a whisper. ‘My story, okay,' she paused. ‘Howling wind, trees uprooted like matchsticks, windows blown in, big shards of glass, like big daggers, just waiting to stab you to death.' She shivered, then shook her head ‘You've never been in the teeth of a full-blown hurricane have you Colin? I thought we were goners for sure.'

She's right I haven't, that's true. ‘Well, no I have to admit.'

Her eyes widened, re-living the whole thing you could tell. ‘Thunder and lightning, hail-stones as big as golf-balls, bouncing off the car roof' (holy mackerel I thought!) Finally, we're starting to get the whole picture, she said ‘We hired a car, right. Breaking news coming over the radio, warning everybody about the hurricane. Pow – I'll say, the whole sky turned green.'

‘O MY GOD. Creeping Jesus – what next? Green sky?' She stared ‘Green sky. Why would I lie – why don't you listen?' I nodded. What must they have gone through, poor devils – it's even worse than I thought. Okay, so they're racing ahead, doing their utmost, trying to get to safety, keeping to back-roads – trying to keep ahead of the approaching storm.

‘To higher ground, right. To higher ground, am I right?'

She stared ‘Who needs higher ground. No you dope, this is a hurricane mutton-head. Don't be a cuckoo. Look, I'm trying to tell you.' Finally, more by luck than anything else, they make it to the next town. Meantime,
by some fluke Avril found refuge in this storm-shelter (it was touch and go), at least the kids are safe. That's something at least.

What a star, right. I'm starting to change my mind about her.

‘That's wonderful. So now you're on your own – is that correct? Okay, what about Red-top, this guy you met up with, that's what I want to know?'

‘His name is Kevin – I just happened to give him a lift.'

Oh God, it's even worse than I thought.

‘You picked up a total stranger – was that wise?' ‘What town?' I had to know everything, exactly how it happened. ‘Where? Where? Where exactly?'

‘Kissimee! Kissimee! Kissimee – it's just a town, Okay?'

Oh God. KISSIMEE, my heart sank (it had to be a name like that hadn't it). ‘Oh please, spare me the gory details' I said.

She rubbed her arms, then shivered. I tossed her the carrug. ‘We're all lucky to be alive – you've no idea' Cyn said in a far-away voice, I nodded. ‘The whole thing was a total – ‘

‘Nightmare?'

‘Uh huh. One hundred and fifty miles an hour winds – plus.'

Holy mack – plus she says. Hard to believe, right.

‘Look, Cynthia. I'm waiting for you to get to the point – tell me about the man with the red hair.'

‘My story, okay – I was there don't forget.'

‘Jesus – I could have told War and Peace.'

‘Anyway, as I was saying. Next thing, me and this
other woman I met.' This is when I had to break in, ‘Wait a sec. Which, what other woman's this? This is the first time you've mentioned her.'

‘I don't know, some foreign lady' she wailed.

‘What's her name? I need to see the whole picture.' ‘You don't ask, not in the middle of hurricanes you don't.'

Fair point, she's right. ‘Carry on' I said. ‘Then what happened?'

She stared. ‘This is what I'm trying to tell you. next thing this marshall guy showed up, holding a big gun. So then, we're all assigned to a place of safety – we all end up inside this broom-closet.'

‘A BROOM-CLOSET?' I said. ‘Glory be – what next?'

She nodded. ‘Uh huh. Exactly, me too, this is what I thought too. This is supposed to be a five-star hotel. We paid good money, right? It's a desperate situation, we'd've been foolish not to comply' she went on. ‘Where was I, so anyway this Japanese lady – ‘

-‘This nameless woman, she's Japanese, am I right?'

‘Why, is it important? You keep interrupting me. So, okay, we're stuck inside this broom-closet. Only, she can't stand it. Rightaway she's yelling, ‘MUST GET OUT!' ‘LEMME OUTA HERE!' kind've, only in Japanese. Finally, we'd no other option but to let her out. Anyway, another story, blah blah. Maybe she made it – who knows.'

‘Gosh, that's really awful. Look, I'm a little confused. Who's, you mentioned ‘we' am I right? Who's this other ‘we'?'

She stared. ‘Kevin – who else stupid? Kevin Ranker, I owe him my entire life.'

‘How long were you in there may I ask?'

Even his name, my heart sunk.

‘Together you mean, inside the broom-closet? Good question – well may you ask. Till the hurricane blew over, 24 hours, give or take. It's hard to tell.'

It's worse than I'd imagined. ‘You were in there all night?'

‘Uh huh. We were under a strict curfew, we'd to stay put, or else.'

‘Don't tell me. Together – you and this total stranger?'

‘Nothing happened. Kevin Ranker is a true southern gentleman. I want you to believe that – I owe him my life.' Oh sure, and if you swallow chewing-gum it winds around your heart, right?

You could hear the rain hitting the car.

She began drawing stick-figures on the steamed-up windscreen. Her voice broke the silence ‘You've no idea – it was a total nightmare' she whispered. ‘Just one small bottle of water between us – total darkness. One small torch with hardly any battery, really dim,' she reflected. (‘And one man – and him not too bright either' I almost said').

We both went into our own thoughts, I said ‘How'd you know he's divorced – you've checked that I hope?' She turned to face me ‘Because he said so, okay' she replied defensively. She swiped off the picture she'd made using both hands. ‘It's base fact that's why' she continued. ‘His wife ran off with some guy from the travelling circus, he used to throw knives at the tumbling midgets.' I nodded.

Mind you some people they'll believe anything.

She shook her head. ‘Thanksgiving too, that's what makes it even worse.'

‘Oh no, too bad' I said not meaning it. ‘Tough' I said. ‘ ‘Four hungry children – crop in the field?' right?

No answer, she was still deep into her own thoughts. She found a new place to start another picture.

She sighed ‘He's quite a guy – you bet' she reflected. She hahed on the glass, ‘He's a quarter pure Cherokee Indian, did I say?' I nodded (‘Really?' I snickered to myself). ‘Quite a guy' she repeated. ‘He's had it pretty rough, somehow or other he's managed to pull himself up out of the gutter, just an orphan kid from the wrong side of the tracks.'

Talk about gullible – I'll say.

Her picture depicted a man wearing a cowboy hat, riding on a horse, inside a big love-heart – my heart sank. I sighed. She saw me looking, she swiped it off with one sweep of her hand.

If only it was that easy.

She moved onto the tax-disc, she picked at it thoughtfully. Distantly she said ‘He has a boy' she half-smiled. ‘His name's Tippy – he's a real joy. He's the same age as Jamie, exactly, that's to the very day – what does that tell you. He's the spitting image of his father. He has an I.Q. of 152.'

‘He sounds a bright kid.'

Uh huh. Me too – that's what I thought. He has a tip-tilted nose and a quizzical expression – he has this big mass of curly hair' (What colour? I almost said).

‘You've already met him by the sounds of it?'

She shook her head.

‘Sadly no, no unfortunately, only a picture off a coco-pops packet. Onetime he did this TV commercial – that's out of ten thousand kids they choose Tippy – it was the freckles that swung it.'

‘Golly. How wonderful' I said.

‘Uh huh. Wait till you see him, the resemblance is uncanny. Right now he's with his ex-wife. Meantime, he's fighting his way through every court in the whole land trying to get custody – he's determined to restore him to his rightful place. Whatever it takes – even the Supreme Court if he has to.'

We drifted into silence, each to our own thoughts, staring out at the black starry night sky. One thing for sure, her mind was made up you could tell. Knowing Cynthia, once she sets her mind on something, there's no reasoning with (Aries, say no more, right), she's like a dog with a rag.

All I can feel is a sense of deep emptiness.

She handed me the tax-disc in four even pieces.

We looked at each other. ‘Try to understand Colin, small towns are for small people – I need to move on.' (Huh?) I'm still trying to work that one out. Then, after a pause, her voice came down almost to a whisper. ‘I just want to see what's over the hill, okay.'

Maybe I'm wrong. I think I'd heard that in a film onetime.

‘Why, what's in Manchester?' I said glumly.

Time to make a move. I started the car.

Going down was even worse. Nobody felt like talking much. Her mind was made up – what more was there to say. I switched on the car radio. Rightaway (an old one) Whitney Houston singing, ‘
I will always love you (love yoooooooooo –)'
That's all I need. We exchanged looks, no doubt it brought back old memories for the both of us. Wishful thinking or what, at onetime we used to call it ‘our song' kind've. That did it for me – I turned it off.

Finally we turned into DeLacey Street, I pulled up at the end of the cul-de-sac. Cynthia gave me a tight smile, (nothing else to say), she swung her legs out of the car, next moment she'd gone. I watched her go, she picked up a trot across the dewy grass, hugging her arms tight to her chest against the chill night air. Lights everywhere, still a few cars. No doubt she'd be glad to get back, back to all her goofy friends I thought. Somebody opened the door, she disappeared inside, without so much as a backward glance – the door closed behind her.

*
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8:00pm. Miserable wet day – rained most of the day (how I've got through the day I don't know). At least now it's all out in the open, that's something I suppose. What a
bitch, right, dumped like a pair of old boots. Somehow or other it's as if I can't take it all in, it keeps coming over me in waves – everything, humiliation, anger, hate. I've even thrown my wedding-ring to the back of the fire (it's a bit theatrical I know). Not that I've given up hope, even now there's always that chance of a last minute salvage operation. My door is always open – well sort've.

Mind you, my mother doesn't help. Somehow or other I get the distinct impression she's rather pleased about the whole thing in a way, put it this way, she's been v.jolly around the house. Indeed, nor has it curtailed her sudden outbursts singing hymns, e.g. ‘Abide with me' ‘Fight the good fight' et al. I wouldn't mind, she knows she has trouble with some of those high notes (it only starts the budgie off twittering). She means well I suppose, all the same if she says one more word about ‘silver linings,' I'll end up batting her one with her own stupid bible.