It Always Rains on Sundays (41 page)

‘Don't even ask Aubrey' I said.

This is the trouble,
he was asking
(also, starting to look a bit impatient), ideas, my mind raced, hoping I could come up with something plausible – the only other alternative is to lie my head off. I said the first thing that came into my head. ‘Thelma' I said. He stared. ‘I sent you an urgent message.'

‘What bloody message? I haven't heard a dicky-bird' says he.

‘Tarmac' I said. I tried to look surprised, then tutted.

His eyes widened, he scowled ‘Bloody tarmac?'

Too late I'd said it. After that I'd no option: ‘No, what happened is we've been having the driveway resurfaced – I thought I'd mentioned it, no?'

He waited, his head shook. ‘It's turned into quite a saga' I told him, getting into my lying stride – why not, it's as good a tale as any (the more I thought about it the better I liked it). Aubrey's hands went behind his head giving it his full attention. ‘Well, go on lad.'

‘No, what started it all off' I said easily, swinging one leg over the other. ‘What a morning. First thing, I'm in the bathroom, having a careful shave, ready for my all important meeting over at County Hall. All of a sudden there's this almighty big thud. Good lord! I called out to my dear wife. Good heavens – what in the world is that
pet?' He nodded (I was on a roll). ‘Crack of dawn, no warning. Then I remembered – I looked out of the window. OMYGOD – there's twenty tons of red-hot asphalt stuck right in the middle of my driveway, I can't even get my car out. That's when I phoned Thelma to explain my predicament.'

He looked really interested. ‘Taxi man, bloody taxi' the older man interjected wetly, taking the stem of his glasses from his mouth. ‘You could've walked it twice over man' he said testily, then adding ‘I'm counting on you so you'd better shape up.'

He's right, one thing for sure I'd lost points on that one.

He's right I owe him a lot. (What made it worse is rumour has it I was the only serious contender for the job anyway.) I said, ‘Mind you, those fellows, they are a law only to themselves, all it takes is a quick phone call, “Sorry mate, we're a bit early.” Not a lot to ask is it?' I wheedled staring at the carpet.

He sighed, then shook his head. ‘Well, I haven't heard a dicky-bird.'

I looked up ‘Don't tell me you didn't get my message?' He broke off cleaning his glasses, he shook his head. ‘Hah, more likely Thelma passed it on to your P.A. Ms. Walker I expect.' I let it sink in. ‘Maybe she forgot' (I'd hit nerve). ‘Oh dear, it
was
pretty important – she's really slipping these days, don't you think?' I ventured. He gave me a look. ‘Well, in a way' I said.

His face slipped into sadness ‘Um. Maybe' he said staring into his drink. ‘Between you and me and the gate-post
she's had a lot on lately poor girl' he reflected, then added ‘Then there's that distasteful episode with her guardian, of course.' I kept nodding

‘Let them gossip – who cares, that's what I say.'

Only now, the latest is, rumour has it he'd set her up in a flat above his wife's florist shop in town. She thinks she's an exchange student from Tallin in Estonia, without even a word of English. Again, he sighed. ‘Nobody understands, people don't know the half of it. Half the time the poor girl's living right on the very edge of a mental precipice. She's like a little flower, lost in the wilderness of a harsh unforgiving world.' I nodded.

‘Hah, yes – it's a bad job is depression' I said.

So far so good – not enough. You could tell by his face, he wanted more. ‘Don't worry, I could really kick myself' I said in a small voice.

‘It's you who should be worrying' he told me, glaring over his glasses.

‘I'm sorry for letting everybody down, I really am.'

‘Mm, so you keep saying' he muttered distractedly, running his finger down the phone-index. He sat back, tapping his pen. Finally, he shook his head ‘It's Harry Moldgreen, he's our main problem?' he said grimly, then added ‘Heppy I can handle, we're both in the same bowling-team – two pints and he's anybody's.'

He read on, I nodded. Pity, I had big plans, my mind wandered …
Just think, this might've been my own office, my own desk – not to mention the panoramic views from the top-floor windows. On a clear day you can see right over the whole park, even as far as DeLacey Street. Sunlight shafting through
the trees in Autumnal splendour, glorious colours, chestnut-reds, mixed with bright yellows intermingling with myriads of browny-greens. Everything so peaceful, then in summer having the bay-windows wide open, listening to the sweet song of the blackbird …

‘ROTARY!' Docket's voice chimed into my thoughts with a jolt. (ROTARY?)
B, dong (something about the Rotary). ‘Mind you' he went on ‘Harry Moldgreen taking over as chairman won't do any harm either.' I stared. His next question shot out like a cork. ‘You're still a member I take it? – good move Colin' he says.

‘No, well – not as much as I'd like, you know how it is.'

Luckily for me old Docket's seldom visits were sparse and few. Hopefully the chances of him bumping into Inspector Sinfield were pretty remote. ‘You could do a lot worse' he advised gravely.

Somehow or other I knew I should be saying more:

Happy days eh? ‘Even more when you were chairman, I never missed a meeting. Somehow or other it never seemed the same after that. Mind you, that was many moons ago' (
Aaaaghee – many moons ago)
. Luckily, I found the brake just in time.

Meantime old Docket completely ignored me. Instead he tapped his pen (it helped him think). Finally he took off his glasses, then rubbed his eyes. ‘Best get yourself off' he said tiredly. I did my deep sigh routine, ‘Doesn't look too good eh?'

I was waffling for England, and he knew it.

He nodded towards the door, then pushed back his
glasses. ‘Leave it with me, see if we can't fix something up for next week.' He gave me a look, then began to pick out numbers. I stared. ‘Well, only if you're sure Aubrey' I wheedled, on light feet I headed for the door. ‘Oh, by the way Colin?' I turned. His eyes creased in the suggestion of a smile ‘What really happened I haven't the foggiest idea – one thing for sure, it wasn't anything remotely to do with tarmac.'

I could feel myself shrinking ‘No sir' I said.

He shood his head, ‘You're in your own little world half the time' he muttered distractedly, adding ‘Not unless you rolled it up and took it indoors out of the rain.' I watched him redial. He paused, ‘I happened to call over at DeLacey Street. I was looking for you. Cynthia refused to open the door for some strange reason.'

We exchanged looks ‘Well, she has been a bit moody of late.'

He nodded ‘Happen so – she also said, according to her you don't even live there, not anymore.' He redialled, he looked up. ‘Do yourself a favour, sort yourself out lad.'

He nodded, he turned to speak into the phone. ‘Harry? Aubrey Docket – fine thanks. Um, um, all sorted. I've just picked him up from the hospital. Doing some old girl a good turn by all accounts – bit of concussion by the sounds of it.' He pointed towards the door. ‘Um, left him a bit dopey that's all. Yeah, me too. Look about the next meeting Harry?'

I closed the door.

*
*
*

11:00am. DAY OFF. Mondeo's back in dock. She's having a complete re-spray (that's on top of over-heating). Don't ask – that cars had more chuffing colours than Joseph's best bloody overcoat.

Fat Frank's promised me it'll be ready by noon.

Meantime I've been trying to contact Cynthia to tell her I might be running a bit late. I'm supposed to be picking up the kids at one o'clock sharp. This is the trouble, all I get is stupid Red-top on the other end of the phone (who wants to talk to that idiot, right). Don't you worry, I made it short and sweet, very cool in fact.

‘This is Mrs. Quirke's HUSBAND on the phone' I said. ‘I wish to converse with MY WIFE, that's if she's available?'

You should've heard him. ‘Hey, howdy
Col-lan
, how y'all doin?' he says. Making out as if were big friends or something (who says ‘howdy' these days – not too many I'll bet) – and so slow too ‘Nope, sor-ree. Y'all kinda just missed her I geese. She'd a whole bunch of stuff – we're kinda busy working, fixing up the house' says he.

Bunch – what's bunch? Are we talking bananas or what?

If you can't speak the language why bother picking up the effing phone that's what I say. ‘Aw, too bad' I said.

Typical I thought, knowing her, no doubt, she'll be down at the local farmers market, haggling over ham-bones, no doubt squeezing
tom-maa-toes
knowing her. Looking for last-minute bargains.

‘In that case, perhaps you will be good enough as to inform MY WIFE that her HUSBAND called. Please tell her that, owing to some unforeseen minor problem with the Mondeo, there's a slight chance that I may be delayed.' There was a long pause (I could hear cogs moving slowly into place). Then about three hours later, then he says ‘Huh? – is there a message?'

‘Tell her I'll be a bit late, okay?' I hung up.

*
*
*

6:00pm. I THINK I'M STILL IN SHOCK. I've been dropping the kids off over at DeLacey Street – the whole place looks like a building site! I just sat inside my car trying to take it all in (it's as if about half my house has disappeared overnight), workmen all over the place, cement-mixers, jack-hammers, people yelling – scaffolding climbing over the whole house. Nobody tells me anything.

Cynthia must've seen the car. I watched her ambling over, munching a green apple. Taking her own sweet time as usual (attitude to the hilt you could tell). She was wearing her, ‘Hey, look at me I'm helping the workmen's' outfit e.g. over-sized Hi Vis top coat, checked-shirt, patched blue-jeans and bright yellow builders-boots. Finished off with a yellow plastic helmet. ‘THIS IS A HARD-HAT AREA' it said.

You bet, or it soon will be I thought.

Cyn got in first. ‘Well, if it isn't the jail-bird' she said sarkily, not using a smile. Trust her to fetch that up, I've already explained what happened. So, then I said. ‘It was all a big mistake – we all ended up having a laugh.'

‘I'm surprised they let you out.'

I cranked down my window. ‘What's happening – you don't mind me asking I hope?'

This time she'd gone too far. I could feel my temper. Both kids shot off, whooping loudly, making a bee-line for the mountain-sized pile of yellow building sand, dumped smack-dab, right in the centre of what used to be my pride and joy croquet lawn.

They were just about to off-load another giant-sized skip. (Like I said, I'm amazed) everything's completely ruined, deep furrows, striping the grass. Don't worry, this lady couldn't've cared less. ‘Well?' I said.

I waited – I was waiting for answers.

She half-turned, then shrugged. ‘Oh, that – we're re-modelling the house. I thought I'd told you' she took a big bite from her apple. I laughed coldly ‘Don't mind me asking I hope?' I said.

Then it turns out, it's all supposed to be a big surprise. Even the kids were in on it, come to think, they were both very secretive in the car, talking in whispers. Let's face it (destroying my house). They don't come much bigger than that, right.

Meantime her attention swung back over to the kids, by now they are running amok, jumping into the pile of sand, yelling like a pair of hooligans, ‘Jamie Quirke!' she
shrilled – ‘You've got odd socks.' Then added, ‘AND IF WE ARE GOING TO PLAY UP TO OUR NECKS IN THE SAND-PILE' she yelled. Amazing (odd-socks?) They're tearing down my house, she's more bothered about odd-socks. ‘THAT GOES FOR BOTH OF YOU' she hollered.

Reluctantly they both trooped off under her cold stare to get changed. I watched the heavy truck trundle away, churning deep muddy furrows in its wake.

Cyn picked up from where she'd left off, ‘Oh, lots of things. We've got big plans – including a hot-tub' she enthused. She took another big bite out of her apple. No wonder I stared ‘A HOT-TUB?' I yelled incredulously. I can hardly believe my own ears. Cynthia's in her own little world half the time. She scrunched thoughtfully ‘Um, why not? Avril's just had one put in over at the club – so why not I thought.'

Right off the top of my head I could think of quite a few.

Trust Avril to get one first, that figures. (Avril wants, Avril usually gets). Only, now the latest is mega-rich husband Clyde the Wallet had recently acquired the local Health club, they've fancied it up, now it's called Peppermint Place, it's turned out to be a very lucrative investment – it's doing a bomb by all accounts.

‘Um, I've fancied one for yonks, they're all the rage over in the States' Cynthia chirped. This is all Red-tops idea I was willing to bet. Mind you, you have to smile, I said ‘You honestly think this is a good idea – you'll be breaking ice come February I bet' I snickered.

Her face was a picture – you could tell nobody had even thought of that.

She gave me a look (the one she always uses when she thinks she's talking to an idiot). ‘That's why they call it a HOT-TUB, it gets hot stupid.'

What I wanted to know is who's paying for it?

Again, my eyes swept over the whole garden in disbelief (demolition site more like). What's happened to my ten-foot, meticulously-trimmed topiary hedge. My pride and joy, row of falcons?