It Always Rains in November Read online

  It Always Rains

  In November

  Richard Hoffman

  Copyright © 2010 Richard Hoffman

  The moral right of the author has been asserted.

  Apart from any fair dealing for the purposes of research or private study,

  or criticism or review, as permitted under the Copyright, Designs and Patents

  Act 1988, this publication may only be reproduced, stored or transmitted, in

  any form or by any means, with the prior permission in writing of the

  publishers, or in the case of reprographic reproduction in accordance with

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  concerning reproduction outside those terms should be sent to the publishers.

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  British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data.

  A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.

  Matador is an imprint of Troubador Publishing Ltd

  For my kids

  Chapter 0

  At the end

  Carly followed Sergeant Ellam down the police station corridors, trying not to think about her Dad being here. So much made no sense, but she had to be strong. For her Dad. He deserved that much, at least. If only she could stop it going round in her head. Something else to think about. Focus on anything but why she was here.

  Catching sight of her reflection in a glass door she wished she had her straighteners with her. The rain had made her hair curly and straggly. Her thoughts wandered to her surroundings. The station corridor may have been bright white once but now it was yellowish and didn’t look like it had been cleaned for ages. There were dirty fingerprints, a footprint halfway up the wall and two bits of graffiti that read “Clumsey hates Feds” and “Clumsey 4 Faye 4 eva” scrawled in marker pen. The whole place needed a coat of paint and a few squirts of air freshener.

  Worse, there was a smell, like the year eight boys’ toilets, because the boys miss the bowl and the place starts to stink like piss. She wondered how the policeman didn’t appear to notice. His uniform looked as if it was brand new, and fitted him so well that he could have modelled it down the fat policeman’s catwalk.

  “Don’t you have any cleaners here?”

  “In the morning we do, but after a day of public visits from the elite, it tends to be less glamorous.”

  Sergeant Ellam smiled at her, but she ignored his attempt to be friendly and stared at the floor, as they turned into a second corridor, which was painted bright blue and was newer and less urinal.

  He even tried to beg it with her.

  “I have a son about your age. Do you know him? Mark Ellam.”

  Carly shook her head. She didn’t want a cosy chat with PC Plod. She had stopped thinking about her hair, the station decor and the Sergeant’s ensemble. Everything had moved so quickly that evening. But now grim realisation set in. She was about to see her Dad. In this shitting place. Under arrest! What was her Dad doing in a police station? He might be a dickhead, but this shit, surely he didn’t deserve this.

  The Sergeant stopped and opened a door.

  “OK, Carly, your Dad’s in here.”

  Carly struggled to see round the burly policeman’s bulk. Seeing her Dad sat there was so good. He was in a police station, where people are tortured and kept awake for days so they confess. But her Dad was awake, he wasn’t bruised or beaten up, and he smiled at seeing her. Shit, when did they last smile at each other like this? She ran to her Dad and hugged him. If the room stank, like other parts of the station, Carly never noticed. At least it was a clean and polished desk, but with a chair on one side and an old wooden stool on the other, it was his prison. Her poor Dad, stuck in this hole. Before Five-O could arrange seat placings, Carly was sitting on the stool opposite her Dad, desperate to say the five billion things she had been thinking about on her way to the station. The bloody stool wobbled because one leg was shorter than the others and Carly nearly fell off as she sat down. Her Dad laughed. She perched herself on the front of the stool to make sure she didn’t fall off again.

  “Good to see you here, love.”

  He held her hand. She wanted to tell him she loved him and that he was a good Dad. Instead she stuttered, “Dad, I’m, like... I’m sorry – it’s ...”

  She stopped, studying his face, and was annoyed that he was staring at the floor, rather than at her. He’d better not be like he was at home, not listening to her. She looked closely at his face. The light in the room was not bright but his hair was greasy and there were bags – more like suitcases – under his eyes.

  “God, you look awful. What’s happened to you in here?”

  “Nothing in here, it’s what’s happened to get me in here that’s the problem.”

  Carly couldn’t think of anything to say. She watched her dad run his hand down his face. He badly needed a shave. Then he put his hand through his hair.

  “You’ll make it more manky, Dad.”

  “Not my biggest problem at the moment is it, state of my bonce? I haven’t been able to ... I’d ask for wash and blow dry but someone might misunderstand.” He attempted a laugh which died before it reached Carly’s stool. A few seconds passed in awkward silence and when her Dad spoke again it felt to Carly like he was reading something he’d been rehearsing.

  “If I look like crap, that’s because I am crap.”

  He still wasn’t looking at her and she took her hand away from his.

  “Oh, shut up, Dad! I haven’t, like, come to hear you whining.”

  For the first time, Carl looked up. His mouth opened, but no words came out.

  “Dad, I don’t want to see you like this. I wanted to say sorry. I’ve been thinking. This mess is down to me...”

  Carl leaned forward in his chair. Now he made eye contact, his voice less of a mumble as he cut her short.

  “Hang on, Carly, I feel like shit as it is – I don’t want your guilt on top.”

  Carly began to cry. She felt her Dad’s hand on her chin and wiped away the mascara trails running down her face. For a second she was mortified because of her messed up hair and black inked face. But she was reassured because now her Dad was looking right at her. For the first time in a very long while he was her big strong Dad, looking after her like he’d not done since she fell off next door’s swing, when she was eight years old, and had cut her head. Even his voice sounded different now. No more weak whining tones. A proper deep voiced man.

  “All this – this mess, is down to me. My cock ups – and this isn’t self pity, just me, for once, being honest to myself.”

  Big tears continued to trickle down Carly’s cheeks.

  “Please, Carly, don’t cry.”

  “OK, OK, Dad.” She took out a tissue and wiped away the mascara and tears. They looked at each other without speaking and Carly took a couple of deep breaths. The five billion things had been reduced in a couple of minutes to zero. Carl spoke.

  “Feel better now?”

  “Yeah, I’m good. I...I... like, I ... Look do you want to see Mum? She’s outside. They might let her in.”

  “Best not, love. Are you OK with her anyway?”

  “Yeah it’s good. And it’ll be good if she’s back home. And Gemma’s fun.”

  Carly managed a smile and sat back on the stool. Almost falling off again, she remembered to lean forwards. It was a bit uncomf
ortable, being that close to her Dad’s face. He must have thought so too, because he drew back. She was going to carry on telling him about Gemma and her Mum but she wasn’t sure if he was listening. He had stopped looking at her and was staring at the blank white wall. On another day she’d have called him a wanker for not paying attention, but she wanted to keep trying to make him feel better. That was the right thing to do.

  “I’m back at school and I’m trying much harder. And before you ask, I’m not going to see, like, any boys either, especially him.”

  “You concentrate on school. That’s all you have to do. I’ll be out of this place very soon.”

  There was another awkward silence but then Carly spoke.

  “I don’t, like, get it Dad. It seems mad that you’ve ended up in here.”

  Chapter 1

  Monday November 1st – The Prices

  Carly Price woke up at 6.30 and leapt out of bed. She had to be at Jacquie’s at 8.15 and, glancing at the mirror, needed time to sort her hair out. She wanted to open the curtains and turn the light on, but her Dad was asleep in her bed. For a second she contemplated whether she despised herself or her Dad more, but then a sense of urgency overtook her. Rummaging around her drawers, she found her school uniform, micro black skirt, tights and white shirt. In the semi-darkness, she searched for her hair straighteners, picking up two make up bags and grinning at photos of her and her BFFs posing whilst she looked for the bloody things. Swearing softly, she found them before losing her temper. Tip toeing out, she left her pink painted bedroom, filled with soft toys and a middle aged man.

  Carly spent quarter of an hour in the shower and fifty minutes straightening her hair and putting on her make-up. It was a daily ritual and Carly rarely made mistakes or considered changing her routine. With time in hand, she made her various bits and pieces follicle free zones, took a final look in the mirror and blew herself a kiss. Time for school.

  * * *

  Carl Price heard the front door slam. He got out of his daughter’s bed and stumbled into the bathroom. For a few seconds he sat on the edge of the bath with his head in hands. Before he could bring himself to consider the previous night, he looked around the bathroom. The floor was wet, and the smell of perfume reminded him of when he used to go to The Cat’s Whiskers in Streatham 20 years ago and tried to pull anything in a skirt. Picking up a razor to begin shaving, he noticed pubic hairs lodged in the sink. He swore under his breath but made no effort to clean the bathroom. Instead his stubble joined the pubes and he could focus on arriving at work promptly by nine. It was already quarter past eight and he was never going to make it on time. He had a quick shower and made a wasted cup of tea.

  Leaving for work, his key was momentarily jammed in the lock of his old Peugeot 206. As he muttered “fuck this thing” under his breath, the key turned and, miraculously starting first time, he was off. He put on the car cassette player (his car was 20th century and had no CD player), began his impression of Mark Knopfler singing Romeo and Juliet, and drove straight into a traffic jam.

  * * *

  Carly met Jacquie and Bethany at Jacquie’s house as she lived 5 minutes from De Martens. As the three walked to school, with the neeks, geeks, Goths, chavs and emos, they passed comments about their peers. Beth pointed out a girl who had once been Carly’s best friend.

  “Thee that emo, there, with Ashley, she’s been thelf harming.”

  No sympathy from Carly. “She’s, like, such a bitch, who cares?”

  Nor Jacquie. “I’d cut myself if I looked like her.”

  Carly waved to another girl “Look at the state of her, that Teri, she’s worn that every day this term.”

  “She’s a pikey.”

  “That’s racist, Beth, calling her a pikey.”

  “She’s mixed race, anyway, she can’t be a pikey.”

  “I’m mixed rathe.”

  “Yeah so what, you’re not a pikey. Or are you?”

  They were at the school now. Carly interrupted Beth and Jacquie’s debate.

  Carly looked up at the school.

  “Look at this place. Don’t it look like a prison to you? It’s not one of them new schools. Looks like a shithole.”

  “You only jutht notithed that. We’ve been coming here over a year.”

  “Yeah I know. One year gone. And...” Carly counted out on her fingers “nine...ten...eleven – three more to go.”

  “No, four more, counting this one.”

  “Whatever”.

  * * *

  Carly sat near the back for all her classes. Easier to be unseen by whoever was teaching. Her friends sat near her as did two or three fit boys. She had to push past the neeks at the front of the class. The tightly packed in desks and chairs made it hard for her to get to her chair. Most of the other kids were already sat ready for the lesson, but Miss Payne was late.

  Carly’s first lesson was Maths and she was struggling to convert fractions into decimals. She knew that a half was 0.5 and a quarter was 0.25, but three quarters and four fifths as a decimal. Couldn’t do it. She looked around her. Most of the others seemed to know what they were doing. She groaned as she saw her teacher coming towards her.

  “Do you need help, Carly?”

  Carly didn’t want the rest of the class knowing she couldn’t do this. Why couldn’t Payne-in-the-arse just piss off and leave her alone? Carly didn’t look up.

  “Carly, did you hear..?”

  “Yes, I heard you, Miss. It’s OK, I’m OK. I’m doing this.”

  “I just saw you looking round and...”

  “No, miss, I wasn’t. I’m just thinking.”

  “So, Carly, maybe you can share the result of your thinking with the rest of the class. What is three quarters as a decimal?”

  Why was she doing this? Trying to show her up in front of everyone. Not just in front of Jacquie and Beth, but in front of chung boys, Shane and Drew, and the self harmer, Jess. What a bitch!

  “Not sure, Miss.”

  “Well, what do you think it is, Carly? Have a guess.”

  “0.25.”

  “No, that’s one quarter. So for three quarters what do you think it is?”

  Carly was pissed off now. She wanted to say, “Just fuck off and ask someone else. Stop bugging me.” Instead, she managed, “Dunno, Miss.”

  “OK, can anybody help Carly out?”

  A geek gave the correct answer. Carly turned round to Jacquie.

  “She’s a fat bitch, d’you see her, pickin’ on...”

  “Carly, don’t start talking to your friends. You obviously need to...”

  “I don’t need this ...”

  “Carly, don’t back chat me. You don’t know your fractions yet, so don’t waste time gossiping.”

  Carly didn’t know why the fat cow was still singling her out.

  “Miss – you’re always pickin’ on me – I wasn’t talking.”

  “Don’t be silly Carly. I saw you talking to Jacquie. You always claim to be little miss innocent every time I catch you gossiping.”

  “I was, like, asking her about the fractions, Miss, how to do three fifths.”

  “And, what’s the answer?”

  “I don’t know, Miss, coz you interrupted us working it out.”

  Shane and Drew both laughed, as did some of the others. Carly felt good. See how Miss Payne liked being made to look a fool.

  “OK, class, who can help Carly work out three fifths as a decimal?”

  “Miss, you don’t have to...”

  “What is it now, Carly?”

  “Nothing. Don’t matter...Just stop making out I’m the only one who, like, doesn’t get this decimal stuff.”

  “Alright, Carly. I’m sorry if you feel that. But if you pay...”

  Carly couldn’t help revelling in her teacher’s apology. She turned to Bethany and said, “See, she’s beggin’ it with me now, she’s...”

  “Carly, you’re doing it again.
Stop talking. Pay attention and try and learn something. Or I’ll put you on detention.”

  “Miss, you’ve been jarring my head all morning. Enough, now.”

  Bethany and Jacquie laughed and spoke in unison.

  “You’re doin’ the pigeon again.”

  Carly’s friends called her pigeon because she thrust her head forwards and sideways when she was making a point aggressively.

  “No, Carly. Enough from you. Wind your neck in.”

  “Miss, that’s like, racist...er, neckist, I can’t help movin’ my head.”

  “Just shut up Carly, and keep it quiet for the rest of this lesson.”

  Carly muttered “fat bitch” under her breath and Bethany and Jacquie both giggled.

  Miss Payne heard the giggling – she’d have a word with the Head later about Carly Price.

  * * *

  Carl Price arrived at work just after ten past nine. The modern open plan office, at Crouts Furnishers plc, had been designed by corporate bods attuned to hierarchical laws. Carl walked past the Directors’ suites and spotted a couple of them sitting in their palaces. He wondered if they ever held parties or orgies in them. He reckoned that twenty five purchase ledger clerks occupied the space of one Director’s penthouse. Made no sense. In the separate workers’ section, only department heads had their own office; supervisors, such as Carl, had a desk of sufficient size to underpin their seniority over senior clerical staff, who in turn lorded it over ordinary clericals. Anyone could be God, as the recently refurbished lighting system responded to movement and first one in and last one out, could turn lights on and off at will.

  Carl arrived with sweat running down his forehead.

  “Morning, Janice, morning, Marion,” he spoke to the ladies sat on two identically sized desks to his own. Then, nodding to the boss’s office, “Am I OK – is he in yet?”

  Janice – small and slightly dumpy with a good heart and caring nature – glanced over her shoulder, checking the coast was clear.