It Always Rains on Sundays (55 page)

Letters (one): TWO POEMS returned (both in the same post!) – there's a blow. Sadly they've sent back my ‘Life sometimes is …' Big pity, I'd high hopes, it just shows. Returned from Foibles of Everyman (Philosophy), bi-monthly. Preston Post. e.g:

(Sometimes) Life's like a plane you've just missed the flight on,

Nobody said it'd be pure Enid Blyton,

That sex is just sex and lust is just lust

Loves when you don't care what she's got for a bust.

(etc, etc).

This is the trouble, they miss half of it – nary a mention of deep provoking thought, or bright shafts of wit. Might be an idea to lower my intellect level a notch or two?

Letters (two): ‘Dalesfolk are grand!' that's back yet again I see – funnily enough, I'd a real gutsy feeling about that. It just shows, returned from True Yorkshire Grit, quarterly publication, aimed at the overseas ex-pat market. There again, no useful, what you might call constructive
critique
as such. However, it includes what's described as an ‘off the cuff' word of encouragement to all budding poets from its no doubt, worthy editor, one Barry B. Buckle Esq, addressed to what he calls ‘Each and every trueborn Yorkshireman, scattered throughout the four corners of the globe,' espousing their true worth, ‘England's finest, none better' says he.

Well Barry, fair enough. I do agree. Spot on I'd say (yes maybe), dour, stoic, straight talking, they may well be – well mostly. However, that doesn't mean the vast majority aren't as thick as a bloody corner-post!

They both piled into the car promptly just as the Townhall clock chimed 2:00pm. Both kids were really excited you could tell. Then, all the way over to the football stadium they're trying to guess where we're going kind've – why spoil the big surprise, right.

This is when it all started to go wrong.

Mind you, I should've known. Omens galore (the weather I'm meaning), quite a thunderstorm in fact, loud thunder, lightning, lighting up the whole sky. Let's face it, it didn't bode well that's for sure. I was right. I drove into the big expanse of empty car-park, splashing through puddles – we were the only car.

Some secret, right – so secret in fact, nobody remembered to tell the two teams to turn-up. THEY WERE PLAYING AWAY.

They blamed me you could tell (disappointment is hardly the word). Jamie made a porthole in the fogged-up windscreen, peering glumly out at the big empty space. ‘God, I could've told you that' he said bitterly. Lucy agreed, her small voice seemed to fill up the whole car ‘God, I could've told you that' she echoed. Well, nobody told me that's for sure. How do you think I feel, I'd bought those tickets in good faith – not to mention forking-out trillions on gizmos and stupid rattles and what have you.

We looked out at the growing puddles, listening to the rain drumming on the car roof, watching a stray mongrel dog lifting its leg against the off-side wheel. By this time nobody was hardly speaking. Finally somebody suggested going to the park (me probably). ‘It's raining!' they both chorused – actually no.

My spirits lifted, I cranked down the window, already, behind the dark scudding clouds there was sure promise of brightness. Next thing, lo and behold the sun came out. There's always lots of things you can do over at the park – I'd already decided, ignoring the kids moans of protest I headed for the exit.

However, a couple of miles further down the road there's a traffic hold-up. Everything came to a sudden stop, there's a line of cars, up ahead there's this white-haired old guy wheeling a wheel-barrow, he's right in the middle of the road. Then when I look it turns-out it's Mr. Heap, my old neighbour over at DeLacey Street,
trundling his barrow-load of garden tools. He's blocking the whole road – everyone's honking like mad.

Finally I went over (my main problem is getting everything inside the car). Then, just when I'm starting to wonder what to do next. Luckily this good Samaritan comes to my rescue. He's really friendly, then it turns out he has a close relative who suffers from Alzheimer's too. He lives right across the street, he's more than happy to store Horace's stuff, just as long as it takes.

I turned the car, so then we all drive back over to Horace's house, unfortunately nobodies home. No doubt his wife's already out looking for him – I left a note. Meanwhile we all ended up back at Stoney Bank Street, waiting for her to give me a call. All four of us watching cartoons on TV. Who knows, in his own way I think he really enjoyed it – mind you it's a bit hard to tell with Alzheimer's I expect. His wife was overjoyed you could tell. We dropped him off on our way over to the park.

This is when somebody came up with this bright idea we'd all go into the maze. This turned out to be the second big mistake. Keeping calm is the main thing (things go through your mind). Mazes can be real killers (getting lost I'm meaning). Something I read in my monthly ‘What if …? (truth is stranger than fiction)' onetime. Whole families, disappearing into thin air, bones whitening in the sun, teeth found under hats – it happens.

Maybe it's me, I'm a bit inclined to panic whenever
I'm surrounded by high foliage. Right from a kid, playing hide and seek inside my grandmother Clough's bay-window I'm meaning, surrounded by giant-sized geraniums I can't help it – all these massive spiders, YUCK.

Mind you, it's the kids I'm worried about

Lucy was pretty scared you could tell, she gripped hold of my hand like a vice. Even Jamie, who always carries a compass everywhere, (by all accounts he can even read the stars). He didn't look none too happy either.

We were starting to run out of daylight.

Then, out of the blue, next thing you know, finally – we are saved. This park-ranger comes to our rescue, driving this big 4x4, charging through the shrubberies, headlights blazing. Somebody must've heard our plaintive cries for help. He's barking instructions through a megaphone, telling us the way out. Praise the Lord!

What made it worse, by the time we landed back at DeLacey Street it's later than we planned – a lot later going by the black looks I got. They were in the middle of a party – so what's new. However, what bothered Cynthia most I expect is the kids looking a bit bedraggled and woebegone, feeling shown-up in front of all her glitzy new friends more like.

It turns out they had guests over from the States, relatives of the home-wrecker I presumed. Kevvy's English is pretty putrid if you ask me,
(kinfolks
he calls them). They'd all come over on the same
arr-pline
– get it? You could see them through this big cloud of billowing
steam, kind've wallowing inside the hot-tub, everyone waving their arms about like a bunch of loonies. I waved.

Cynthia's mood didn't improve, all the time she's giving me these looks. She blamed me for everything ‘We were just about to call the police – at least you could've phoned.' ‘I did, it was a bad signal.' Nobody gives you a chance to explain. She glared ‘You're a bad signal, full-stop.'

Mind you, the kids don't exactly help either ‘WE GOT LOST IN THE MAZE' they both chorused. Amazing – we'd all agreed not to say anything – they can't wait to snitch on me. No wonder I stared – this is their own father don't forget.

Don't worry I didn't plan on hanging around.

Too late, all of a sudden, in the distance you can hear this kind've, b, dum, b, dum, b, dum noise – it's getting closer. Lookout, here comes the Red-giant, bouncing his stupid ball. B, dum. B, dum. B, dum – there's no escape.

My heart dropped like a lead balloon.

That's all I need. Rightaway his big hairy arm drops over my shoulder, he's squeezing me to a pulp ‘Hi there everybody, howdy y'all' he drawls (who says ‘howdy' these days?) – not too many I'll bet. He grinned his slow grin, ‘Hi there CO-LEN. Hi there Jamie. Hi there Lucy' he enthused (he carried on pat-patting the ball one-handed). He paused, ‘Hey, did y'all hev a real good tem over at the big football game, huh? Only, I'd kinda pleeeend going thar my… seeelf. Only I've bin kinda busy.'

Trust that dope making things worse.

Both kids stared right at me.

‘What game?' Jamie answered dully using a flat voice. ‘What game?' Lucy repeated, looking up at her elder brother. Cyn rolled her eyes, just to make sure she thought she'd chip in too ‘NO GAME – THEY'RE PLAYING AWAY' she said in a loud voice, tittering behind her hand.

They all looked at me. ‘It was meant to be a surprise' I offered.

‘Some surprise' Cyn snorted ‘they were playing away, beat that.'

Red-top shook his head sadly ‘Gee, thet's too bed' he said mournfully. Cynthia shook her head. ‘Not only that, then they all got lost in the maze' she gurgled mirthlessly.

Both kids nodded like donkeys. ‘WE GOT LOST IN THE MAZE' they repeated. Lucy's eyes brimmed ready for tears ‘We were lost for ages. Then it got darker and darker, just going around and around in the pitch-dark.' Cynthia squeezed her shoulders to comfort her, then handed me a cold look. ‘It was really scary wasn't it Jamie?' Lucy snitched tearfully, sticking the boot in even further.

Red-top shook his head sadly. ‘Aw gee – too bed' the big man repeated. No wonder I don't like him.

Both kids trooped off to get showered and changed.

In my notebook I've put ‘POOL INCIDENT!' What happened (this is late), one minute were all sitting peacefully by the pool kind've just talking, having drinks.
Next thing little Lucy just happens to trip by, minding her own business. Then, all of a sudden, without warning Red-top grabs her, holding her by one arm and one skinny leg – next thing the big galoot's whizzing her around and around out over the pool. I'm amazed, he's going faster and faster. Lucy screamed, who can blame her. Finally, next thing the big palooka lets go, dumping the poor kid right in the middle of the damned swimming-pool. Hard to imagine, right – this is a five year old child don't forget, a none-swimmer (she wears arm-bands for chrissakes). IS HE MAD?

Cyn just laughs – some mother, right.

Don't worry, rightaway I'm up on my feet. I'm about to jump in after her fully-clothed. However, somehow, by some fluke, by some v.lucky chance, she's already clambering out under her own steam.

Everybody let out a big cheer. ‘Haw, haw. Haw, haw' goes the Red-giant.

Don't tell me that's normal, right. Why does he always have to swing everybody, either that or else he's throwing people into the swimming-pool. He can't help himself, I think maybe it might be something to do with having worked in a circus one time I expect, you tell me. Just to prove my point, next time I look, if he isn't scooping her up yet again, carrying her high-up on top of his shoulders, he's charging around like a mad thing (her head misses the cherry-tree by a fraction of an inch). Finally, then the idiot throws her about ninety feet, high up into the air. She screamed, luckily he caught her just in the nick of time. Lucy, bless her – she
tried to put on a brave face. All the same you know your own kid, right. Underneath it all she's really scared you could tell. Mind you who wouldn't be? This man is dangerous, full-stop.

‘Haw, haw. Haw, haw' goes the Red-giant.

Everybody laughs like a bunch of hyenas – what a hoot kind've. Cyn tilts her head and laughs. All she can do is pour herself another drink.

Some joker, right, there's more, next thing Red-top goes down on one knee, then he yells ‘You like that huh?' says he, Are you kidding? (not very much I'd say going by her pasty white face and wobbly legs),
also I'm fucking dizzy
. He patted her head (four times, I know because I counted the blinks – it's like being hit with a coke-shovel). Finally he ruffled her hair – kids really hate that.

Though, what really did it for me is, then he says in a loud voice ‘You're my best girl in the whole world!' No wonder I stared. ‘Whoa there – hold it right there' I'm thinking. What stopped me I don't know – I'm about to jump on his friggin head. WHO'S GIRL?

Cyn tilts her head and laughs, then gulps off her drink.

Later on Cyn sent Red-top to fetch more drinks. We watched him pit-patting away into the distance. Then it turns out that's just an excuse, she just wanted a quiet word. What came next hit me like a wrecking-ball. So, then she's telling me, there's a chance they could be moving over to
the States. No wonder I stared. You'd've thought the United States of America is just over yonder hill. Then it turns out old Fe-Fo the red-giant is having trouble getting a visa. That figures, why be surprised – up to me I'd've shot the bastard climbing over the sodding gate. Who knows? Maybe they think he's some kind of an alien.

Don't you worry my heads shaking already – my kids ain't going no place.

She saw my face, anger I hope. She rolled her eyes, then tilted her head ‘God, I wish I'd never even mentioned it. It all depends, I'm just putting you in the picture. Just a chance that's all.'

Then why mention it?

‘That's what they said about going to the moon' I said.

Just as I thought, she'd no answer for that one.

True or false, it'd really hit me for a six I'll tell you.

Lucy stood with her back next to a heater and shivered – I held my arms open, ready to give her a big hug. Too late, instead Cyn grabbed hold of her first, greedily enveloping her into a big fluffy towel. Smothering her with kisses, making her giggle.

That's how it got left. My mind wandered … Oh sure, I can just imagine it. First it's America – my kids whisked off to the other side of the world – I don't think so. What next I wonder? (guys like that, it's never enough). Then what, postcards at Christmas, is that it? Photos showing The Little White Chapel of the Sacred heart (‘And, this is a picture of our wedding in Las Vegas!') Lucy, a cute little bridesmaid no doubt – yet another painful reminder to store away in my memory-box I expect. Next thing you
know it'll be adoption papers sent through the post, marked with a cross, sign here I'll bet. No-way. MY KIDS ARE GOING NO-WHERE, OKAY.