It Always Rains on Sundays

by It Always Rains on Sundays (epub)

  One good thing at least – well, it is in a way. Finally I’ve managed to have a face to face meeting with Fat Frank (about my squeak I’m meaning). What happened, just on the off-chance I called in at Fox’s Garage on my way home from work. Trust me to call in just when they’re in the middle of their stupid tea-break. ‘How goes it Wally?’ he says, spitting out bits of bread all over me. Typical I thought – this guy didn’t even know me from Adam you could tell (hard to believe less than a month back we were both on first names), the dope with the squeaky car I almost said. This is what I said. He chewed thoughtfully, his small piggy-eyes glinted behind his newspaper, ‘Wasn’t he the one with the beard?’ (a joke?) His grin spread slowly, he looked surprised at his own wit.

  There was a long rumbling laugh, ending in a squeak. Next thing his brother Lolly appeared out of the back (he’s big too VERY), fierce looking with red beetroot juice round his mouth. Both brothers are famed locally for their bizarre T-shirts. Frank’s choice was short and sweet, ‘FUCK OFF I’M HAVING A BAD DAY.’ Whereas, his even larger, younger brother, his was more subtle. His had a big picture of Monika Lewinsky spreading over his ample chest, white on black, showing some kind of whitish fluid spilling from her mouth, it said simply ‘I HATE MILK.’ They both sniggered.

  Finally I had to remind him. ‘Colin. Colin Quirke, as in berk – I’m your best customer’ I said. They swapped looks. ‘It’s about my mint con, almost brand new Mondeo. “Car of the month!” right?’ Frank nodded, watching me carefully. So then we all turned to stare out of the window at my mud-splattered car, looking sad and forlorn outside on the oily puddled forecourt. Maybe the idea is if we all stare hard enough the problem would solve itself. I told him about my squeak – how it was driving me mad. ‘Car of the month, right?’ I said again. Lolly swiped his mouth with his shirt-sleeve, then leered, breaking into a giggle. He looked over at his elder and presumably wiser brother.

  Time for my ace card, ‘Still under warranty, right?’ I look at them each in turn.

  Frank nodded, then cleared his throat ‘Give her a chance – she needs running in’ he declared. He screwed-up his food-wrapper into a ball, tossing it into the air in a high arc into the waste-bin. Lolly did the same, missing by a mile. Not surprisingly he fully agreed ‘She needs running in a bit dunt it Frank?’ he echoed sullenly, unzipping a banana.

  Some showdown I’m thinking – total waste of time.

  They followed me out. Finally, (somewhat bizarrely) all three of us solemnly shook hands. Lolly kicked wildly at a stone, it clanged against my off-side wheel. Frank glared. I stared, I climbed into my car. I drove off, one ear cocked waiting for my squeak – I was not disappointed.

  ***

  Wednesday 19th August. William Shakespeare 1564-1616.

  Hark, hark the lark at Heavens gate.

  DeLacey Street. (Post-two).

  8:00pm. (CONSERVATORY). MONDEO – she’s still squeaking, worse if anything. Only now, on top of everything else she’s over-heating again – I’m having to carry a container everywhere in case of an emergency. It’s a real pain in the arse I’ll tell you.

  Don’t you worry, they haven’t heard the last of it, not by any means. In fact I wouldn’t be at all surprised if it didn’t end up in the County Court. Though, if I’m truthful I first got the idea from Nathan Skippy who works at the Town Hall (interesting fellow). Sometimes we share the odd lager or two over a light lunch at Betty’s café in the High Street – in point of fact he thinks I’ve got an air-tight case. So, then it turns out, the man he has in mind is a real killer. He’s the same chap that looked after his own mother that time over some ducks that’d stopped laying, after they’d had the road up that time. He said I’d win hands down – cost the gas company loads according to him. Food for thought at least. Meantime it looks as if I’ll just have to plod on regardless, stuffing up my lug-holes with loo-roll I expect.

  ***

  Another long (v.long) v.boring day at work. Librayish in other words. At least I can rely on Thelma, that’s something I suppose – I’ve noticed big changes already. Those junior girls I’m meaning. Not before time either (they run rings around me) – glum faces galore. (white blouses indeed). What else do they expect down in the basement. ‘Don’t come running to me, get yourself some khaki smocks – it’s a place of work’ I said.

  Mind you I’ve been a bit spoilt for choice, hot-air ballooning over the pyramids, that or white-water rafting down the Colorado river. I’ve also turned down the chance to go over Niagra falls in a herring-barrel. What with that, and then loads of gorgeous women on the phone, pestering me for sex – I wish.

  Apart from that – zilch, nothing. De-nada.

  Tell a lie, old Docket stopped by to have a word this morning. What now I thought – I braced myself. You always expect the worst. Since Cyn’s been away everything’s gone to pot, I’ve been late more times than I care to admit. As thing’s turned out he surprised me by talking about something else entirely.

  He gestured me over, then leaned in closer ‘Colin a word’ he hissed wetly, his mouth close to my ear, his voice went down to a whisper ‘About me going at Christmas?’ I nodded. He paused. No doubt he’d be meaning his impending retirement I expect (so, it was Christmas after all) not before time either. That’s if he lasts that long – he looked a bit peaky if you ask me.

  Let’s face it he’d been in the Library-service a hundred years at least.

  He crooked his finger, then leaned in closer (I could smell peppermints). ‘A little bird tells me, any promotions – it will come from in house’ he whispered conspiringly, he gave me a broad wink. I nodded. He gave me a watery half-smile ‘And, that’s definite’ he confided. He turned away, then changed his mind, ‘By the by’ he added, he tapped the side of his nose with his forefinger. ‘You haven’t heard that from me think on, okay – it’s bloody hush-hush is that’ he said secretively.

  He stared, as if waiting for my reaction. I nodded slowly. ‘That’s come from above’ he said gravely. He pointed a shaky finger upwards (GOD I wondered?) He nodded, then gave me another broad wink, before turning on his heel. He strode off purposely, leaving his P.A. Evaline Walker (always a few paces behind) having to break into a skippy, gawky-like trot in order to catch up.

  I watched him go – don’t fall for that one I thought.

  No doubt he’s already said that to just about everybody I’ll bet. Even Dec Tasker the caretaker, he told me over a month ago, at least – he got it from the window-cleaner.

  He just does that to keep you on your toes.

  Oh wait – this is news (well, it is in a way). Only now, the latest is Gabriel Biggar-Titte’s been treating himself to a brand new car. (Something else for him to brag about I expect.) I wouldn’t mind, he’s only had the silver Porsche a couple of months, that’s at most. This one’s a bright, cherry-red Jaguar sports-car (a soft-top, just like him, heh heh). You have to smile – does he know it’s England or what, when’s he planning to have the top down – three days top I’ll bet, that’s at the most. Mind you, it’s a terrific gas-guzzler you can bet – not that he’s the type to worry himself too much about the ozone hole I expect.

  Though what really got me, he’s just reversing his flashy new car out of my personal slot in the Library car-park (cheeky sod!) – is nothing sacred, unlike us lesser mortals it saves him the trouble of finding himself a parking-meter I expect.

  What stopped me I don’t know. I’d all on not to say something I’ll tell you.

  We both nodded. No doubt he’d be expecting me to go into raptures about his new car, only I didn’t, all I said is ‘New jam-jar I see – very nice.’ I left it at that.

  He slid down the window, (mine jammed the swine) I ended up having to hold it open using my foot. He did that lop-sided smile he always does ‘You’ve been having a bit of good news by all accounts?’ says he.

  ‘News?’ I queried warily. It took me aback a bit I’ll tell you. (That’s out of the blue I thought.) No wonder I stare
d. He cocked his head out of the window, he said ‘A little bird tells me you’ve some rather interesting news from a publisher, in London no less’ he added with a smirk.

  Don’t you worry, rightaway I’m on guard.

  No doubt he’d be meaning my good news letter from Torchlight Publications – how he got wind of it I’ve no idea. Who told him I wonder? No-way, it certainly wasn’t me – that only left Thelma at work. This too, I discounted it out of hand, she doesn’t even like the fellow. Don’t you worry she soon had him weighed-up – no prompting from me either, he added.

  He was waiting for me, he grinned ‘Cynthia mentioned it, I just happened to bump into her in the Travel Shop in town’ he said airily. ‘You’ve some rather promising news so I hear – a whole collection in fact. She said you were cock-a-hoop’ he added with a smirk.

  Bloody Cynthia – I might’ve known. Trust her to run into that superannuated twerp. Mind you, that’s Biggar-Titte all over, he thinks nobody else should be published, barring his lordship, of course.

  No wonder nobody likes him.

  One thing for sure he got nothing out of me. I laughed ‘Me, cock-a-hoop? Oh, I think not, it isn’t an expression I would use’ I said with alacrity, then added ‘Good heavens. You know how it is – it’s only a letter after all.’

  He stared, then nodded slowly, no doubt he could tell he’d hit a brick wall.

  Instead he changed the subject back over to Cynthia ‘All off to the Sunshine State eh? Quite a party of them I gather?’ his eyes watched me carefully. I said ‘Yes.’

  Nosey twat. What’s it to him anyway? So, then he said ‘Whatsaname, she’s gone too I believe – that rather attractive blonde filly, recently widowed unfortunately. Whatsit –?’

  Let the bastard struggle I thought.

  Don’t you worry, I knew who he meant alright. Avril, who else? No doubt he’d be after a bit of juicy gossip I expect. Finally I said ‘Avril Kneen you mean?’ He guffawed ‘Oh, I’ll bet she is’ he exploded, sniggering at his own pathetic joke. ‘No doubt they’ll all be having a whale of a time. All girls together – what say you Colin?’ he laughed.

  Colin say mind your own friggin business I almost said.

  His face went serious, he said ‘Look, it’s up to you brother, married ladies going off on vacation alone – without their husbands I’m meaning.’ He gave me a broad wink, then tapped the side of his nose with his forefinger. ‘All the same I’d be rather worried if it was me – I’ll say no more.’

  You’ve said more than enough already I thought.

  Trust Biggar-Titte, always wanting to stir things up. I shrugged. ‘There’s a whole crowd of them, they’ve even taken the kids’ I told him. He nodded, his window stopped halfway, he leaned out ‘Take a tip from a friend (some friend) – I’ve been down that particular road myself a couple of times already don’t forget.’ We exchanged looks ‘Good luck!’ he cried. I stared after him. He shot off, tyres squealing, tail-lights aglow, into the High Street, weaving through the busy home-going traffic.

  12:15am. (CONSERVATORY). That’s all it takes, Cynthia I’m meaning (even the mention of her name.) I’ve been over to the pub, hoping it might take me out of myself – it didn’t. Back home to a cold empty house, at least Brian’s there to welcome me ‘Looks as if it’s just you and me old son’ I said. He stared, then leapt up onto the table in one bound. He pushed his head against my hand, then meowed once, as if to say ‘Not to worry old friend, you still have me. At least you know I won’t forsake you – don’t forget, every cloud has a silver lining.’

  I gave him a fish-finger off my plate, he was chuffed to bits you could tell.

  He waited by the back door to be let out. He was off in a trice, straight through the privet-hedge into Ms. Thrush’s back garden (can’t wait to get his leg-over I expect). Oh, if only life was that simple I thought.

  ***

  1:30am. Can’t sleep – I’ve only just got around to opening my mail.

  Letters (one): Oh, wonderful – more bumph. ‘DON’T BE A LOSER – quit work forever!’ it says. How would you like to have an extra £100,000 per annum? (Yes, that’s on top of what you’re earning now). Nice of them to offer I’m sure. However, my golden rule is never to accept gifts of large sums of money – especially by mail. Strange though it might seem, adversity suits me fine and dandy. Some folks really enjoy having to struggle and scrape to pay bills (the whole family in fact). Absolute duffers the whole lot of us, we come from a long line of raggedty-arsed, 100 per cent losers, each and every one of us, WE LOVE IT. Our family motto is ‘Born a washout, die a washout – achieve nothing.’

  Letters (two): from Torchlight Publications (London).

  Dear Colin, sorry I haven’t been in touch sooner. I’ve been away adjudicating at the annual West Country Verse Festival – I really enjoy it. More and more these days my time seems to be consumed well in advance (reward enough if that in some small way I can help root out and nurture new talent) – being something of a poet yourself, no doubt you will understand. However, I know in the meantime Quentin has already ‘set the wheels in motion’ so to speak. In truth, he was greatly impressed (not that often in his case I might add) Moreover he appears to regard you as being something of a catch. Indeed, now that I’ve seen some of your work, nor am I disinclined not to agree. Truly, a mixed-bag – filled to the brim with that unique, original, honest to goodness, good old Yorkshire grit. North Country right to the core – and good poems all in my view.

  Actually I rather liked them all. This for instance:

  Amy, dear Amy

  Amy, dear Amy – what goes on in your head?

  You’d be the first to admit – well, you’re hardy well read.

  And you’ve said it yourself, you do talk overloud,

  And to be brutishly honest you’re over endowed.

  In those spindly high-heels you’re heads taller than me,

  Dear God – and you’re language with my mother for tea.

  (etc etc and so-forth).

  This also caught my eye: (stanza two/three).

  Where’s old whatsit?

  The presentation went quite well – I met our new M.D.

  Who was at pains to tell me how we’d prospered, thanks to me

  Oh, lots to drink – what food to gorge,

  Though he would call me Arthur instead of George.

  Somehow I expected more, more statement that I’d been,

  I wonder who will sit there now, under the portrait of the Queen?

  Poems of the workplace I liked also – in your letter you gave me a brief outline about your earlier life, e.g. working alongside your father on the shop-floor. I presume that is before you decided to go back to resume your ‘somewhat stunted’ education. How wonderful, I rather envy you in a way. Somehow or other you can’t beat the actual ‘feel of the cloth’ hands on experience I always think. Actually my twin brother Frosty once worked in a travelling circus in Paris for a short period – needless to say, he absolutely loved it.

  This is another (I’ve left out stanza three) – I think it’s rather better?

  ROLL ON FIVE O’CLOCK

  Another week, another day,

  I should not have gone to work today.

  First blink of eye, first turn of head,

  Far better if I’d stayed in bed.

  Strangely silent the machine-shop floor

  Before work begins full-fettle.

  All too soon, the motors’ hum, then roar

  Soon drowned mid-screams of tearing metal.

  From the machine-shop floor, you can just see the door

  And escape, to green fields and oblivion.

  Imagining the two of us there and the sweet smelling air

  Andrea’s arms, Andrea’s knees holding tight to the pillion.

  (etc etc and so-forth).

  Intriguing to say the least (and, who’s Andrea we all wonder?) However, practicalities, no doubt you will be pleased to know that our professional readers report was particula
rly glowing, you will find her assessment deeply gratifying, e.g. “a wonderfully, self-revelatory array of word pictures”

  “-truly a warm, welcome new voice. I have no hesitation in recommending publication, highly deserving of a wider readership in my view.” No idle flattery I assure you. Well deserved – an opinion shared by our whole team I might add. Question. When are you in town? Perhaps I can pencil in, say Wednesday next (that would be the 26th) – I’ll expect you around 1:00pm. Do call me if not. I am very much looking forward to meeting you to discuss it further, what promises to be a fine collection of poems.

  With kind regards

  Yours sincerely

  Edna Batte (Mrs).

  Executive Editor

  2:30am. Wait till I tell Cynthia – she’ll be over the moon I’ll bet. Looks as if I’m celebrating already – I’ll say. What happened, a gang of kids were kicking a ball around under the lamp (I couldn’t help myself). I gave it one mighty kick, it went over the trees – not a hope of finding it in the pitch-dark. Though, what made it even worse, I also lost my shoe. What with stumping up the cost of a new football (etc). That’s not counting my suit having to go to the cleaners! Looks like I’m well out of pocket on that one.

  ***

  Monday 24th August. Writers Block (Tip of the month).

  Don’t use long words just for the sake of it.

  DeLacey Street. (Post-one).

  6:30pm. (CONSERVATORY). Postcard from Cyn & Co in Orlando. Only now she’s telling me they’re planning to stay on even longer (everyone’s having a whale of a time by the sounds of it.) WHAT ABOUT ME I DON’T COUNT I SUPPOSE.