I went to answer the phone.
Wonderful – all that and the meetings been cancelled yet again. Biggar-Titte, no doubt – trust his lordship to stick his oar in. After that I retreated into the conservatory for a bit of peace and quiet (it wouldn’t be so bad if I had a bit of privacy). I’m a man who likes to pace about at odd hours of the night. I’ve been on about curtains for yonks.
Finally I heard the TV go off. ‘A good wife would sew curtains’ I yelled. No answer – I repeated it. Instead she stuck her head through the serving-hatch, making farting noises.
This is what I’m up against.
***
Letters. (one only): Eeek! More bad news. Heartbound, that’s back again. ‘Worth watching – original angle’ it says. Well, that’s something I suppose. There’s a blow, I’d high hopes with that one too, returned from Village Crys (no constructive critique as such). So be it – we battle onwards and upwards. We northerners scoff at first fences such as that. Good old Yorkshire-grit I’m meaning, we’re stoic, our determination is legendary. WE NEVER GIVE IN THAT’S WHY.
Not to worry. Luckily I’ve a plan B, instead I’m sending it off rightaway to Faber & Faber in London (that screechy-voiced woman) she sounded most amenable over the phone – her with the plummy accent. Only trouble is I’ve completely forgot her stupid name. Margo Glitch (or is it Miriam?) maybe Gulch. Dutch or maybe Clutch? I can hardly call her again, you look really stupid.
***
Thursday 23rd July.
Lord Byron 1788-1824.
I would that I was so much clay,
as I am blood, marrow, passion, feeling.
(never knew Byron had a CLUB FOOT).
DeLacey Street.
(Post-two).
8:00pm. (CONSERVATORY). ATE AT PUB! Big rains all day – roads flooded. What’s happened to that so-called Indian-summer I wonder? Cynthia still isn’t speaking – so what’s new (looks as if some idiot forgot to buy paint for the living-room wall). Latest bulletin from the front line, hostilities prevailing, also odd sniping via serving-hatch. Living-room designated a definite NO GO area! Mondeo, she’s still squeaking, worse if anything – it’s doing my head in. meantime I’ve been on the phone to Fox’s Garage, trying to get hold of Fat Frank. Only, now they’re telling me he’s down in Brighton, he’s supposed to be on a Customer Courtesy course – what am I a fool? Liars more like.
Letters (one): Another poem returned, fraidy so – I’m assailed from every side. Doomed by thy Fate, that’s back, from Penzance Penmen down in Cornwall. Typical, if it’d been something connected with friggin lucky pixies, they’d’ve snapped my hand off you can bet.
Letters (two): Big bill from Dwayne the Drain, aka The Drain Doctor £360.00 plus VAT if you please. Blimey. Noway baby – he’s no chance. I’m returning it forthwith, I’m demanding a complete itemised breakdown – he was only here more than a good hour, that’s at the most, e.g. (A) What time he finally turned up? (B) What time actually down manhole? (C) What time scarpered off home – it’s hardly my fault he’d to travel across three sodding counties is it?
That’s not counting free gratis refreshments!
***
Saturday 25th July. W.E. HENLEY 1849-1903.
Out of the night that covers me (one leg!)
DeLacey Street. (Post-nil).
8:00pm. (CONSERVATORY). Hot day – nice and sunny. Some good news at least (things are looking-up). This new assistant at work Thelma Clegg, she’s turning out remarkably well! Mind you, early days as yet I suppose – not like some of those dreamy young girls they usually foist onto me at least, e.g. gossiping all day. Also, another good thing in her favour is her avid interest in poetry (smallish world eh), and even smaller it appears. Not only that, it turns out she also aspires to writing poetry herself. Mind you most people are a bit inclined to say that I usually find. Ha ha I thought to myself (you have to smile). They always make it sound so easy.
Something else I’ve noticed too. SHE’S INTERSTED IN YOU.
Indeed. Like I said, she listens does Thelma, that’s a rare commodity in most women these days I find. Take this morning, I just happened to mention my own particular aspirations, about getting published myself – hopefully sooner rather than later. Nor did she laugh, not like some I could mention – far from it. Rightaway she said ‘Go for it Colin – what have you got to lose. If you don’t try how will you ever know?’ How many right, encouragement I’m meaning, you could tell she meant it. Then I remembered about those famous poets, each with some kind of disability – it makes you think. ‘Ha’ I said half-jokingly ‘one thing for sure, if it means having a leg off as a perquisite to getting myself published, in that case maybe I won’t bother’ I laughed.
She stared, then frowned ‘Um’ she said.
She broke off to serve a customer. It seemed rather a good opportunity to mention our own little Poetry Society (‘small but thriving’ I said). We’re always on the lookout for new members. Unfortunately however, next thing who should walk past but old Docket & Co, him and his lanky P.A. Ms. (wonderful) Walker, lagging ten paces behind as per usual. He stared, then returned my nod without a smile. I wouldn’t mind, right up until then we’d both been run right off our feet.
Pity that, after that it all got left in mid-air.
***
Half-day at work. I was looking forward to it – it gave me a chance to get outside into the fresh-air. Just on the off-chance I decided to call in at Fox’s Garage on my way home. No sign of Fat Frank, I was hoping to have a word about my stupid squeak. Instead he’d left his dopey son Lance in charge of things. Boy, is he thick, you’ve to repeat every ‘It’s about my squeaky car’ I repeated.
He just looks at you silly. ‘Wha? Wha? he echoed, his mouth agape.
Then, all the time he’s fiddling with his stupid nose – I’ve a sneaky feeling he’s sniffing fumes again. Even in the short time I was there he walked into the same door twice. He’s on something that’s for sure.
Everywhere you look there’s these big signs ‘24 HOUR PERSONAL SERVICE – SPREAD THE WORD!’ ‘FRANK’S ALWAYS ON THE BALL.’ ‘Tell your father a very unhappy customer would appreciate having a word, okay.’
He stared. ‘Wha? Wha?’ he said.
By the time I landed home back at DeLacey Street it was the middle of the afternoon. Such a nice day I’d been hoping maybe we could all go over to the park with the kids, take a picnic over by the lake – all the family like we used to. Cyn was in the back (I just followed the loud twangy music). Her and Avril sprawled on lilos, sunbathing, both wearing matching red and white polka-dot bikinis, guzzling red wine.
You could hardly hear yourself think – I turned down the radio.
Cynthia groaned, then lifted her sunglasses. Avril sat up, then adjusted her strap. She took off her sunglasses, her fingers raked through her straw-coloured hair. She gave me a warm smile ‘Won’t you join us for a drink?’ she asked smoothly as if she really meant it.
It was nice to be asked – that’s something at least.
I shook my head. ‘Actually’ I said ‘I’ve just had a cup of tea with my mother on my way home, but thanks all the same.’
Cyn turned to Avril, she muttered then laughed, for some unknown reason this set them both off. My expense no doubt, they’re giggling like a couple of schoolgirls.
Oh, sticks I thought.
It happens to be true (this time she’d run out of glazed cherries). That’s another reason I was late home. Mother’s a real pain at times. Mind you, but for Thelma I’d’ve been even later. She’s a real gem in no mistake. You’ve only to mention it. ‘No worries, I’ll pick it up in town.’ Same goes for the big tub of magnolia-wash paint to cover-up my handiwork over the chimney-breast wall in the living-room. Rightaway, what colour? – no problem, pay me later. She’s just happy to help out (I didn’t go into any details). I think I used the word ‘accident’ – why bore people with all the domestic mundane, that’s what I say.
Cynthia smoothed sun
-oil over her thighs. She has really nice legs I think. She looked up ‘What?’ (I must’ve been staring). ‘It’s such a nice day I thought maybe we might do something.’ She gave me a look. ‘Maybe we could go over to the park – all of us. Have a picnic by the lake I thought.’
No answer. She laid back, then closed her eyes.
I waited. ‘Just an idea, make a nice change,’ I thought.
‘Too late – we’d just about given you up’ she drawled easily turning to Avril, helping herself to a refill. Avril smiled then took a gulp from her glass, she leaned languidly, sunlight glistening her golden-tanned shoulders. ‘Colin, aren’t you a bit hot in your jacket and tie?’ she asked, but in a nice way.
‘No, not really – one gets used to it I suppose.’
Cynthia mumbled something under her breath, then laughed (hers was a snorty kind of laugh) making her breasts shake. Let her laugh I thought – idiots laugh at nothing.
‘Good idea, maybe I will take it off’ I answered belatedly.
I nodded and walked off.
Cynthia turned the radio up to full volume.
Late or not I was determined to do something with the day. I showered quickly (something summery I thought). I changed into my light sports-coat and chinos – I also dispensed with my tie. After that I went in search of the children – no surprises there of course. Hard to imagine, right – a glorious summers day, both glued to the TV screen, with the blinds down. I yanked them out of their respective bedrooms, both under loud protests.
You should’ve heard them. ‘Where – where we going?’ they both moaned in unison, one copying the other.
Oh great, now they’re giving me back-chat.
‘Out, out. Just out – okay?’ I growled darkly, I said the first thing that came into my head. ‘Swimming, that okay with you?’ then added, ‘It’s a beautiful day, let’s use it’ I said, making it sound like an order.
They swapped looks ‘No-way’ they both yelled.
‘Get your things, you’ve got three minutes, okay?’
‘I can’t, I’ve got a verruca’ Jamie said his eyes challenging.
Lucy followed, mimicking her older brother. ‘Aw dad, I hate swimming, everybody splashes you – it makes me cough.’ There again, that’s Cynthia always giving in to them I expect.
Time to bring up my big guns. ‘Okay, listen’ I said, ‘Like it or not, we’re all part of a family, from now on we’re all going to act like one, okay – otherwise I go fetch the big axe.’
They both stared.
So, then I said ‘My God, some of you don’t even know you’re born. In my day we’d no choice in the matter, when I was a kid we’d all to go to the local brickworks quarry. That’s how we all learnt to swim – we’d to cling to a car inner-tube for dear life.’
Jamie rolled his eyes. ‘You said it was out of bounds – a boy drowned you said. That’s if it’s true of course’ he smirked, shooting a sideways glance at his sister.
He gets a bit cocky at times. ‘Don’t you worry, some did’ I said, then added ‘They had a lot bigger families in those days. Life was a lot harder. They didn’t pamper them as much – maybe they didn’t care that much if they lost one or two.’ These days, all they want to do is watch gremlins on TV all day – I was running out of patience. I pointed to the door. ‘Outside’ I looked at my watch – ‘three minutes, okay?’
Outside, they both leaned listlessly up against the car in the hot sun. Jamie slouched with his hands in his pockets, kicking out at odd pebbles, refusing to make eye contact, making it clear not wanting to go anywhere – or expecting to be carried at least.
What stopped me I don’t know – it was right on the tip of my tongue. ‘No, we’re fucking-well walking for a change’ I almost said. ‘God in heaven’ I yelled – ‘what are feet for anyway?’ I’d to frog-march the pair of them just about.
It was good to get out into God’s clean fresh-air I’ll tell you.
They soon settled down after a mile or so (albeit v.reluctantly I have to admit). We all ended up over at Sitlington Common – the Scarecrow Festival no less (I’d seen the notice up in the Library). Quite a crowd in fact. Mind you there’s always a good turnout. That and the glorious weather – best part of the day as things turned out. It was good to see lots of families out enjoying themselves I’ll tell you. I said hello to quite a few people. It’s with working up at the Library I suppose.
Like I said, you nod, y’know.
Oh yes (ha ha), young Jamie came out with rather a good one too. We were admiring the ‘scarecrows,’ watching the judging. Then he says – quick as a flash: ‘Keep moving dad, or you might end up winning a prize.’ Oh, very droll I thought to myself. Well, I laughed I’ll tell you. Lifted me no end – it’s good to know you can still laugh at yourself.
Mind you we all know where that comes from don’t we?
Who should we bump into next but Thelma from work. Amazing, all those crowds of people – isn’t it a small world. She was with Max, I waved. She came over. I introduced her to the children, they were more taken up with the dog. Max was wearing a new dog-collar.
‘I’ve just bought it off one of the stalls.’
‘Let’s hope it’s a good one’ I said.
After that we all wandered around looking at the various attractions, bouncy castles, rides for the kids and what have you (Lucy had her face painted). Then later we all went into a large marquee for refreshments.
Finally we all walked slowly back over the summery fields, it was all rather jolly, what with the kids chasing around with the dog and whatnot. Fair to say we all got on grand.
In my notebook I’ve put: ‘Met Thelma from work – we all had a cup of tea in a big tent. MOST ENJOYABLE.’
***
Sunday 26th July. Why don’t you come round for Sunday tea,
You won’t like her, but you might like me.
(ANON).
DeLacey Street. (Post-nil).
7:00pm. (CONSERVATORY). Raining most of the day. No signs of a Sunday-roast either (I wouldn’t mind, it’s the highlight of the whole week). God knows why we’ve got a cooker, it’s only used once a year at Christmas – if that. Mind you, it’s the kids I feel sorry for. No wonder they always look so pale and washed-out. I made them fish-fingers and chips, followed by rice pudding out of a tin with a blob of my mother’s homemade raspberry jam in the middle.
It just shows after that they both perked up visibly. They’d probably starve but for me. Mind you maybe it’s just as well as things turned out. Nobody saw hide nor hair of their lazy mother until well into the afternoon. Cynthia had another late night (very), then what’s new. We passed on the landing nobody speaking, just like a couple of strangers sharing a lift. She looked puce – you could hear her all over the house throwing-up in the top bathroom – frightening the cat.
‘Where’s the sodding Disprins?’ she kept saying.
Serves her right, I’ve no sympathy (she can hold her head between her hands all day for me). Don’t you worry, I know where they are alright – out in the conservatory, next to the Put-U-Up bed (and I’m certainly not going to tell her). She isn’t the only one who can have a blinding headache.
So, then of course she’s taking it out on the kids, tugging Lucy’s hair like a mad thing – poor little bugger, her head nearly came right off – I said I’d do it.
All this not speaking, it’s really doing my head in. Though, what really pisses me right off, her, using the kids as a go-between I’m meaning, e.g. ‘Tell your father if he’s looking for a shirt he knows where the ironing-board is.’
Both kids looked at each other.
‘Tell her I’m going to the effing pub!’ I yelled.
***
Then I got a better idea, instead I’ve been busying myself making a fool-proof hiding place for my new Poetry Journal. This is the trouble with people like Cynthia – you never know where she’s going to strike next. I’ve cut a hole through the floor-boards, out in the conservatory, the idea is to kind
’ve slide my grandmother Cloughs old mahogany chest of drawers over the top of it. Why didn’t I think of it – it weighs a ton.
Meantime I’ve been sorting through some of my old poems. This is Cynthia, this is before we were even married. It just shows – she couldn’t get enough of me in those days:
Give me a sign …
Colin, are we an item, are we ad-infinitum,
Or are we both wasting our time?
We’ve been going out for a year thereabouts,
All I ask is you give me a sign.
My best friend at work. Yvonne, she’s a clerk,
She and her Raymond’s only gone out a short time.
They’ve got it all planned, they’ve put up the banns,
Mind you, it’s yonks since she saw a sign.
I’m starting to doubt what loves all about,
Is it love or is it just lust?
All you do is grin – you don’t hear a thing,
And, would you please take your hand off my bust?
It’s not really enough to be your ‘bit of stuff’
Just going to bed when you feel inclined.
Even if the answer is no,
I just want to know,
All I ask is you give me a sign.
Show me a sign it said – she’s chasing me right. Know what, I’ve a good mind to show her that. We were married a couple of months later at the local Methodist Chapel (much to the bitter disappointment of my mother I might add). We had a small family get-together at the Assembly Rooms, followed by a (so-called) honeymoon – a wet week in Llandudno in North Wales in a two-star hotel. We’d to move out after a couple of nights because of the seagulls, keeping us both awake with their incessant screaming pre-dawn chorus.
It Always Rains on Sundays Page 4
