It Always Rains on Sundays Page B

I said ‘Kids cried to come, there’s no money for shoes.’
    She lifted the flannel. I’d forgot, she’s little time forhumour at best. ‘There’s plenty folk in this world far worse off than you my lad.’
    â€˜I’m just keeping out the way of the bailiff’ I said.
    She sniffed, she preferred to talk about Cynthia ‘Still, what else can you expect from a Lowmoor Lightowler’ she chuntered.
    She loses me completely at times.
    Instead I changed the subject. ‘You missed your service, it’s not like you, not going to the Sunday morning service mother.’
    â€˜Am going tonight. God willing I am anyroad.’
    I heard the kettle switch itself off.
    â€˜I’ll make you a cup of tea. What about your dinner?’
    Again she’d faded. I waited. ‘Nay … I’ll appen not bother.’ She sighed, she covered up her face with the damp flannel. ‘Don’t worry about me son’ came a faraway voice.
    I nodded. ‘Not like you mother’ I said.
    Indeed, far from it. Summer or winter, her daily routine seldom ever varies, she’s up at six, chores done – washing hanging out. Everything ironed, airing-off on the clothes-horse in front of the fire by mid-day. That left her afternoons free for her various charity work. Meals on Wheels, you name it. That’s on top of helping out at three charity shops, that’s not counting her all night hospice vigils.
    I didn’t stop long.
    She saw me pulling into my coat. ‘Colin? (cough). Are you still there son?’ (cough, cough – big sigh). She pulled away the flannel. ‘If it’s no trouble, do you think you could make me a nice cup of tea – oh, and a piece of lightlybuttered toast? That’s if it’s no trouble’ she trailed off. She fell back, head lolling (it’s as if the whole thing exhausted her). Her eyes closed, a blue-veined hand groped around until she’d located the flannel. I went in with the tea-tray (she liked the attention). She managed to sit up, after that she perked up quite a bit. ‘Right mother, I’d best get myself off. It’s a fair old walk after all.’
    Her eyes glinted, her toast stayed in mid-air. ‘Oh, the vixen’ she exclaimed. ‘Don’t tell me she’s left you without a car?’ I shook my head. ‘I just fancied the walk’ I said. She’s always on the defensive where Cynthia’s concerned. I’d already mentioned I was having problems with the Mondeo. Her mouth stayed in a line. ‘That’s your trouble Colin, you’re too soft.’
    I opened a window. ‘You’re missing the best part of the whole day.’
    She scowled ‘It was raining stair-rods earlier on.’
    â€˜Right, I’ll be off.’ I picked up my bag of washing.
    She smiled thinly. ‘If that’s what I think it is you’d best leave it. Pick it up tomorrow on your way home from work appen?’ I nodded. I was over by the door ‘Best close the curtains too – I’m half-dressed.’ She saw me look. ‘It’s July mother – the suns cracking the flags.’
    Finally she said ‘Seeing you got your coat on you may as well fetch me a bit of coal, prop that fire up a bit’ then added. ‘There’s a service on about now – if it’s no trouble, maybe you could turn the television on for me. It’s a bit high church but it’s better than nothing I suppose.’
    She gave me a gummy smile. I went outside to fill up the coal-scuttle.
    ***
    8:30pm. (CONSERVATORY). Looks like Cynthia is going out again, line-dancing I rather suspect, not that there’s any mystery about that. She was in earlier on, ‘I’m going out with Avril’ she announced airily looking at her reflection in the glass, mouthing her cherry-red lipstick. She dabbed at her mouth with a Kleenex.
    At least she was speaking – almost