It Always Rains on Sundays (60 page)

‘Who Kevin – are we talking Kevin?'

‘Uh huh. He just about saved my life – that's the least I can do.'

‘You're all heart that's your trouble' Thelma said.

‘I've had more time to think things out. Hate destroys everything – including yourself. I remember reading about it. There's good in everybody if you only take the trouble to look.'

She opened up her umbrella, turning she said ‘I'm glad to hear it, you're right. About time too, it's always a lot nicer if you can both be friends.'

‘That's going a bit too far. That's not what I meant.'

She trudged off. I sloshed after her, I waited until we got to the next shelter, then picked up where I'd left off.

So then I said ‘That's something else I wanted to mention too. Something really important. It's about carrying Lucy up on his shoulders, he's promised me faithfully as a father never to push Lucy's head into a fan. That goes for everything, either picking her up, or swinging her around, or throwing her into the swimming-pool. We've even shook hands on it. From now on Lucy is grounded, okay.'

Thelma stared ‘Sorry, you've lost me.'

‘Something I read in the newspaper, okay. It's about this father. This father like me. Red-top's a father too don't forget. So, anyway, he goes into this store, he's carrying this kid, this child right on top of his shoulders, this little girl kind've, how old I'm not too sure. Like Lucy I expect, maybe she's younger. So, then, anyway he's walking along inside this store, just minding his own business …'

There I had to stop. Just thinking about it, I can see it happening – only in colour. Repeating it, it just about finished me off I'll tell you. ‘God awful' I said. I took a
deep breath. ‘Anyway, so, anyway he goes into this store, this certain store, okay. All of a sudden, next thing Lucy's head – sorry. Next thing you know this little girls head kind've hits this revolving ceiling-fan, y'know. Horrible, so innocent – '

Thelma swallowed – she's like me. She was re-living the whole thing.

‘Horrible' I said. ‘Jesus Christ, you can imagine the mess, right – blood everywhere, people are screaming. Really terrible, next thing this little girls head rolls off – thump it goes. Thump it goes … thump, thump, all the way down the damned escalator … It will stay with me forever, till the day I die. Thump, thump, thump it goes – hits every step.'

We looked at each other, both nodding our heads.

She handed me some coffee out of her flask. I nodded ‘You know what, Red-top's a pretty tall guy I think.' Her face was white as a ghost, she dabbed her eyes with a hanky, then blew her nose. ‘Um. Oh, I agree – he's quite a giant' Thelma sniffed, blinking behind her glasses.

Nobody ever sees the danger – this is the trouble.

‘So anyway, this is what we've both agreed. We've even shook hands on it. We both had a long talk over at the pub, from now on Lucy is grounded, okay. That goes for anything, up in the air or swinging out over the pool. Anywhere in the whole universe. What's more I believe him – he's a father too don't forget' I repeated.

Her eyes filled with tears ‘Oh, I agree whole heartedly, why else would he say it.'

Nobody spoke. We started to walk back, our footprints leave a track across the virgin snow. Thelma waited for me to catch up on top of the Library steps. She smiled over her muffler ‘How's your poor nose?' she enquired in a mournful voice (it's not as if she meant it you could tell). ‘Fine' I said – it wasn't fine one bit, it hurt like hell as a matter of fact.

Next thing, who should walk past but old Docket & Co.. (I saw lanky Ms. Walker having a good stare). He nodded ‘You look as if you've been in a punch-up' he exclaimed jokily, touching his hat at Thelma on his way in. We all laughed. You feel really stupid.

Thelma's just informed me she's decided against accepting her poetry-prize after all. No wonder I stared, I was a bit lost for words I'll tell you. She showed me a copy of the letter she'd sent off to the Poetry Society committee, thanking them. Then went on to explain, unfortunately it'd been entered without her knowledge or consent (one in the eye for me I thought). Also adding, that under the circumstances it would be imprudent to accept the prize after all, end of. She signed herself ‘The Dark Lady.' I handed it back ‘Well that's up to you ducky, of course' I said.

That's how it got left. No doubt she could tell I wasn't best pleased. It just shows – you think you know people.

*
*
*

8:00pm. Christmas Eve. SANTA'S BEEN! – I've been treating myself to a new car! Another Mondeo. What happened, I'm just driving past Fox's Garage on my way home from work. All of a sudden – pow! It just shows it was the furthest thing from my mind. (I don't know what made me look), there she is out on the forecourt. Pride of place. Kind've gleaming, all this extra chrome under just this one spot-light, raised up on this high podium for all to see.

‘CAR OF THE YEAR!' it said. Wow I thought – I'm not surprised.

Okay, if I'm truthful she isn't brand new, not
exactly
– not that anybody would ever know (two thousand five-hundred miles on the clock) – that's in over a whole year. One careful owner – one elderly lady. She's hardly used it – just to pick up her weekly pension round at the local post-office. Just what I've always wanted, a five-door h/b.

Like Fat Frank said, he's right, with a five-door, that way you don't have to stand out in the rain to pick up all your friends. Sometimes he talks pretty good sense I think. Even the colour, British racing-green, that's my all-time favourite colour too. Its extras are really immense. Recaro leather seats, turbo-charged, twin-exhausts, spoke-wheels, rear-spoiler, you name it.

Don't you worry I know what I said.

This time I nailed him right down to the damned floor. Even if I say so myself I made a pretty good deal. Mind you, right at first he was a bit cagey, well more than that, it turns out things were a lot worse than I thought. Anyway (blah blah) the upshot is the whole transaction finally depended on his brother in-law Ivan Hogg who runs the wreckers-yard downtown. (That bad – this is what I thought.) Don't worry, I grabbed his offer with both hands, before he changed his mind.

What would you have done – too right.

11:00pm. I've just got back. I've been dropping the kids off over at DeLacey Street. Natch, they were in the middle of having a big party – you could hardly move. Music enough to deafen you for life. All these drunky people, talking really loud. Everyone laughing like morons at stupid jokes that aren't even one bit funny I'm meaning. Everybody trying their best to give you drinks, even when they know you're driving your – new car.

All you hear is ‘Merry Christmas! Merry Christmas!' only about a million times.

Don't you worry I didn't plan on hanging around I'll tell you.

No sign of Cyn & Co. Then, just when I'm leaving, this is when they finally showed-up – both well drunk you could tell. Cynthia especially, she'd to prop herself up on the doorpost ‘Hah. Colin' she giggled – ‘it's you. How nice' she gushed. Liar I thought.

‘Merry Christmas! Merry Christmas!' they both yelled.

You should've seen them, arms entwined like a pair of young lovers (– oh pleeeeze). Rightaway, Red-top's giving me high-fives. ‘Join the party!' he bellows right in my ear. Even if we're not sworn enemies anymore, that still doesn't make us blood brothers, right.

You'd to shout over the music. ‘Maybe some another time. I'm driving my, MY NEW CAR' I said – I pointed towards the window ‘NEW CAR' I repeated.

Nobody mentioned my new car even once.

Red-top shook his head ‘Aw gee – too bed, too bed' he said.

Cyn's eyes were all over the shop. She tilted her glass, then pretended to sulk ‘Cowin won't stay, not even for one wittle dwink – he really hates me' she wailed. Then added ‘One wittle dwinky, just one dwinky that's all' she pouted in a talking to her favourite dolly voice.

‘Aw gee – too bed' said the Red-giant mournfully as if he really meant it.

There was an awkward silence.

More for something to say, so then I said ‘I've been dropping the kids off.' They both looked at each other, you'd've thought I'd said something really funny. ‘Not off the roof I hope?' Cynthia tittered.

They both looked at each other, then laughed, for some unknown reason it triggered them both off, it doubled them in two. They're having to hold on to each other, they're hysterical. They can't stop laughing. Red-tops as bad – tears are running down both cheeks.

You tell me – happy pills or what? Okay, booze is one thing. They think I don't know, drug-parties I'm
meaning (the whole place reeked of the stuff). Then there's the white stuff – it happens. You only have to look around, how spaced out everyone looks. Then when I look everybody's joining in, the whole place is in complete uproar – pushing one another into the swimming-pool. Time to make a move – who can blame me?

Don't you worry I'm outa there pronto, I headed right for the door. ‘Merry Christmas! Merry Christmas!' I yelled on my way out.

Something else too, Red-top I'm meaning. People are always coming up to me, kind've wanting to tell me things – strange stories I'm meaning, all kinds of things. You'd be surprised – pure fable most of it. This is what I'm up against.

Mind you, some people they'll believe anything, right.

What happens, it's like a couple of nights ago I'm over at Tony's Tavern, I'm in the Dark Bar trying to have a nice quiet drink. Next thing Asian Kenny, he comes up to me. So then he starts telling me some far-fetched crazy story or other, all about having seen the home-wrecker on national TV. Ha ha – he's a real scream in no mistake.

I nodded, then ordered another drink. Like I said, some people, right. Oh, wait, it gets even better. Somebody else, he'd seen him too (don't hold your breath). Dopey Donald – who else. Who listens to Dopey
Donald anyway, right? Some of the guys further along the bar-counter nudge each other's elbow, they were smiling already. Oh sure I thought, remember the Roman legionnaires marching through the early morning mist over in the park that time? Not to mention the U.F.O. landing in the lake – I rest my case. (‘
It sure as hell looked like him!
' he insisted). Fanciful to say the least.

‘Oh sure, like the three nudes that time, doing handstands around the friggin fountain I'll bet' somebody else reminded me.

Everybody laughed like drains. ‘Haw, haw. Haw, haw'.

Then this other guy who's name I don't recall chips in too. Only this guy's serious, he's another. He swears he's seen him too on the six o'clock early news. Some kind of shooting incident or other outside a foreign embassy in London, according to him Red-top's rolling around on the pavement, popping off his friggin gun, police-cars, sirens wailing, people diving for cover – OR THOUGHT HE HAD MORE LIKE.

So much for thick glasses, right. Yeah, right, I'm thinking. What a hoot, right – I'll say… (I'd all on trying to keep a straight face).

Then drunky Kenny gets into the act. Still fooling around, you can see him in the back-bar mirror hiding behind a pillar, (he's a real character in no mistake). Making out like he's a real old-time gun-slinger, ‘Hey, Wyatt Twerp – bang bang!' he yells. He repeated it just to make sure ‘Bang, bang – bang, bang' he goes. ‘Wyatt Twerp – get it?' Everybody laughed.

What a joker, right – I'll say.

Finally he drops to the floor clutching at his chest, then rolls over, kicking his legs in the air. Making everybody laugh even more. ‘Haw, haw. Haw, haw' we all go.

No wonder they're all calling him the mystery man.

You tell me – what's next I wonder.

Then somebody else, this is another time. This man swears on his mother's grave, he'd seen him too. He's walking around town wearing dark-glasses in a shabby raincoat with his fedora pulled low over his eyes. He'd seen him quite a few times (‘kind've loitering' he said) looking at himself in shop-windows – wait for it. TALKING INTO HIS DAMNED SLEEVE. Oh pleeeeze.

This guy gets around, right.

Then another time somebody else is supposed to have spotted him downtown wearing a traffic-wardens uniform, dishing-out parking tickets. True or false – you tell me. That's rumours for you I expect, mind you that kind of job would be right up his street.

I'm only glad I'm well out of it I'll tell you.

Mind you, as a matter of fact, I've even seen him myself on several occasions on my way to work. Cyn drops him off at the station, looking smartly dressed in a dark suit, wearing a tie, carrying a briefcase. He catches the 7;20 London train regular as clock-work. No doubt he's going off to his v.important new secret service job, right. Talk-about laugh – heh heh (
undercover I expect
). THAT'S IF HE HAS A JOB MORE LIKE.

This is what I'm trying to figure out. Whereas, on the other hand this acquaintance of mine – he's a regular commuter by the way. He's actually witnessed the fellow
– detraining a couple of stops further down the line. GETTING OUT of the train, very surreptitiously he said. You tell me. Maybe he thought somebody was on his tail eh (heh heh) – strange to say the very least.

Well, I know what I think. These kind of people, they live in a world of pure fantasy half the time. They come into the Library in droves. Someplace warm, sheltering from the rain, perusing the free newspapers, telling the tale all day in whispered conversations – until chucking-out time that is. Personally speaking I've no time for them. Then in summer you see them hanging around the park, loafing about in the sun all day, drinking cheap bottles of wine. Or, if the weathers inclement they sit in old-men's shelters all day, leafing through well-thumbed garden catalogues. Either that or else stuck in some gloomy pub, reminiscing for hours on end over a flat half-pint of beer, one eye on the clock. Anything to pass the day until train-time.