Never On A Sunday

 Steve’s voice came from somewhere behind his newspaper.

“Not today love. It’s Sunday. Can’t it wait ?”                                                                                                                     “You said that last Sunday. And the Sunday before that. And the Sunday before that.  When will you do it."

“Next Saturday. I promise.” 

"Aren't United at home next weekend."

Steve looked over the top of his paper.   "I'll do it before I go.  Honest."

“You’d better, or I’ll get Barry next door to do it.” Carol stormed out with a slam of the door.

Steve sank deeper into the Sunday supplement.    He hated being press-ganged into hard labour on a Sunday.   He wasn’t religious, but Sunday was definitely a day of rest.   For unwinding.                            For reading the newspaper at leisure.  For napping and smelling the roses. It was a British tradition.         He hated the very sound of drills, hoovers, revving engines and the like on a Sunday.

“What’s wrong with these people ?” he would think.   “Aren’t six days a week enough ?”                            His attitude was strengthened by his next door neighbour, Barry. “Modern man” Steve sneeringly called him.   Barry was a D.I.Y. enthusiast. Mostly on Sundays.   Steve sank into his armchair and daydreamed about every day being a Sunday.  

The following Saturday, Steve was up and about early.   He was already in the kitchen burning the toast when Carol came downstairs.                                                                                                                                               “You’re up early.” she said sleepily. “You’ve remembered.”                                                                                           “Remembered what ?” asked Steve as he buttered his toast.

“Your promise. Saturday you said.”  

“Oh that. I can’t. I’m going to the game.”

“You said you’d do it before you went.”

“Didn’t I tell you ?  They’re playing away today. We’ve got to get the ten o clock coach.”

“That’s it."   Carol slammed her coffee down.  “You go and I’ll never ask you again.”

“This is punishment ?”  thought Steve.   “I’ve got to go, I promised the lads.”

“You promised me.”

“Tomorrow. Honest.”

“Right. I’ll ask Barry. He’s offered enough times."

“Ha. He’ll be too busy putting up another shelf. He needs to get a life.” Steve laughed as he pulled on his red & white scarf. “See you when I get back.” he gave Carol a buttery kiss and left.

United played a blinder and won three nil. When Steve arrived home he sounded like he’d scored the winning goals himself.

“Carol. Carol. Did you see the score ?  We walked all over them.   What a team. You should have come.”   “Carol ?  What’s for supper ? Carol ?"  The house was unusually silent.   “Must have gone out with her friends.” he thought, as he threw his coat over a chair.                    

He went to the fridge to get a beer and a pork pie before settling in front of the TV to watch Match Of The Day.   Three hours later, halfway through an old black & white film, his rumbling stomach reminded him that Carol still wasn’t home. “She should be back by now.” he thought.                                          “She wouldn’t have gone to a club without me. I hope she brings a takeaway home. I’m starving.”    He looked in the fridge and decided to have another beer. He pulled the ring as he went upstairs to bed where he lay drinking and looking forward to his takeaway.

He woke at ten in the morning, the empty can lying next to him in a damp patch of stale beer.                  He turned over and his arm fell across the empty bed.   For a few semi conscious seconds there was no reaction.  Then his eyes shot open and he looked at the empty space.                                                                     It took a few seconds to collect his thoughts from the previous night.   He sat up and looked around the empty room. Something was definitely missing. He sniffed the air. No bacon and eggs cooking.      He listened for the radio in the kitchen. Silence. The truth finally dawned. He was alone.                                    Steve went to the bathroom and swilled his face.

“Just wait until she gets home.” he thought angrily.   “She’d better have a damn good explanation.”      As he dried his face, he looked around the bathroom. Something was different.   What ?                                 There was only one toothbrush in the holder. No make up on the windowsill. And Carol’s shower cap wasn’t hanging from the shower head.   For the first time since returning home, Steve had a nasty sensation. A vague thought in the far distance of his groggy mind that Carol may not have gone out   for the evening. He quickly went back to the bedroom. No shoes under the chair. No clothes over the wardrobe door. No furry toys on the dresser.   This was serious.   

Steve ran down the stairs three at a time and grabbed his mobile phone from the kitchen table.                He instantly rang a number in the memory.

“Hello Liz ?  Is Carol there ?  Left ?  Left when ?  What do you mean left me ?  Who ? Barry ?"                        Steve slammed the phone down and was halfway out of the front door before realising he was still in his United underpants. He ran upstairs and pulled on his jeans and T shirt before racing barefoot to the house next door.   Barry answered the impatient banging on the door. 

“Hello Steve. I’ve been expecting you.”

"Where is she ?  Where have you taken her ?”  there was no ‘good morning’ or explanation.

“I haven’t taken her anywhere. She’s right here.”  

“What ?  You mean … ?” Steve couldn’t force the unsavoury words out.

“Yes Steve, she’s been here all night.”

“What’s your game ?"  Steve poked Barry angrily in the chest.   "That’s my girlfriend you’re talking about. She lives next door, with me.   Not with Mr DIY man."

“No Steve.” said Barry calmly. “She stayed with you at weekends, because you’d never go and fetch her belongings so she could move in properly. She asked you enough times."

“But I was going to. Today. She knows that.” Steve sounded desperate.

“Too late Steve. She got tired of waiting. We collected her things yesterday and brought them back here.”

“We’ll see about that.” Steve tried to barge past Barry in the doorway.  

“Let me past. I’ll get her things and take them next door right now.”

Carol came to the door. “I couldn’t let you do that Steve. Not today of all days.”

“Why not. I said I would."

“But Steve, it’s Sunday.  Your day of rest.  Remember ?"   

           END.