IT NEVER RAINS BUT IT POURS

With temperatures hovering around +25?C for weeks, the good weather
had persisted for longer than anyone would have imagined. The tarmac
was melting on the roads and motorways. Lakes had dried up, crops were
left scorched in the fields, and a hosepipe ban had been in force for
nearly three months. All in all, it was a strange state of affairs when
the British public were reduced to praying for rain. But, as they say:
'it's an ill wind that blows nobody any good'. Sales of sun block,
suntan lotion, ice cream, soft drinks, swimsuits, sunglasses and big
straw hats had reached an all time record high.

Brendan Egan worked hard and earned good money as a self-employed
plasterer. The long days and good weather had suited him. As there had
been no hold ups on the new housing development he was working on; the
job was well ahead of schedule and the bonuses were high.

If there was one thing Brendan looked forward to after a long week of
hard work, it was a Sunday lunchtime drink. With this in mind he had
arranged to pick Gloria up at her place and take her out for the day.
Knowing his liking for a pint or two, Gloria had agreed that he should
leave his Mondeo at her house while she drove them in her Peugeot
206.

The plan was to drive to Bardley (a small Severn-side town in
Worcestershire), park the car and take a leisurely walk along the river
to a pub that had been recommended to Brendan by a work colleague. Over
lunch and a pint he could then decide, with Gloria, what they should do
with the rest of the day.

He had first met Gloria Bains at a barbecue organised by mutual friends
- the Kellys: Brendan worked with Michael (a plumber), and Gloria with
Tracey in the archives department of the Central Library. His first
impression of Gloria was that she was a pretentious cow with an
inflated ego and a 'better and holier-than-thou attitude'. Right from
the start he had conceded that she was better educated than him, both
academically and in world affairs (she had a degree in history from
Bangor University. He had a City and Guilds certificate in plastering
from Walsall Technical College). But he could not understand her need
to make it so obvious by discussing topics he didn't understand in
words that were alien to his limited vocabulary. He supposed, had it
not been for her looks and the way she was put together, he would not
have made the effort to get to know her better. But now that he had got
to know her, he certainly had no regrets. At the beginning, if he were
honest, he would admit that striking up a relationship with Ms Bains
had been a personal challenge. However, by some amazing quirk of fate
he had found they got on very well together. He could only define it as
a case of unlike poles attracting.

Now he had come to appreciate her higher intellect and begun to enjoy
some of her avant-garde interests. If nothing else, she had made him
aware that there were a few other things in life besides work, beer and
football. Not only had she now got him traipsing around museums and art
galleries, she had actually got him enjoying it.

Perhaps he should have made it plainer when he said they would take a
stroll to the pub, because it was a little bit more than that. In fact,
it was more of a long walk. No, even that was erring on the
conservative side; it was really more of a hike. If she had known in
advance, maybe she would have left the house better equipped. Or,
knowing what she was like, she would have rejected the suggestion
altogether.

Gloria was ready and waiting when he pulled up outside the row of neat
little terraced houses. After she greeted him on the doorstep with a
warm smile, he gave her a peck on the cheek before and she showed him
through to her tastefully decorated living room.
"Well, how do I look?" she beamed as she held out the skirt of her
simple white dress and did a little twirl in front of the original
black cast iron fireplace.
"Gorgeous," he said and he wasn't exaggerating.
But that had been the opportunity he had missed. He had not been
sufficiently strong willed to tell her that while he appreciated how
adorable she looked in that little white linen number, it wasn't
exactly suitable for what he had planned. Well, what red-blooded male
would have the will power to talk a girl like Gloria into changing out
of something as feminine as that and into a something more practical?
He was also wary of her temper: She had red hair and a redhead's
temperament. If he suggested anything other than what she had chosen,
he would be in trouble, and it was sure to lead to a row. The day was
too good for that.

They left the Peugeot in the municipal car park at Bardley and bought
99s from an ice cream vendor. It had only just turned 11:00 and already
the sun was blistering the grey gravel path in front of them as they
ambled along the riverbank. With her chestnut locks flowing onto her
shoulder and her full red lips, the way Gloria nibbled at her chocolate
flake, prompted Brendan to make a mental analogy between her and the
girl in the Cadbury's TV advertisement. That thought sent a little
quiver of anticipation through his veins.
"River's higher than I thought it would be," Gloria commented as she
paused to toss the last remnants of her ice cream cornet to a
swan.
"Yeah," Brendan nodded, "But according to the weather forecast I think
they've had some rain in Wales over the last couple of days?"
"Oh, well the sooner it gets to here, the better," Gloria smiled.

Bardley had been a major river port before the Industrial Revolution
and until the smaller town of Haybury-on-Severn, further down the
river, had been linked to the Midlands canal network. While they ate
their ice creams Gloria and Brendan had been strolling along what had
been the main quay, in the direction of Bridge North.

The shear grey stonewall of the quay progressively gave way to a steep
grassy bank, which sloped down into the water. Here the path was
reduced to a red clay track. At times when the river level was higher,
the grassy bank to their right was a favourite haunt of anglers. Now it
appeared deserted.

Brendan had always been amazed at the abundance of energy Gloria
exhibited. She was only two years younger than him but she made him
feel like an old man. Even allowing for the fact that she wore less
than him and was, therefore, much cooler, as far as he was concerned,
anything more than the slowest pace was too much in the heat of the
day. He was already experiencing the uncomfortable sensation of his
jeans sticking to his legs. But she was keeping up a sprightly pace,
which made him feel far older than he normally did. And why shouldn't
Gloria be filled with the joys of life? If anyone had everything going
for her it was Gloria Bains - she was beautiful and a picture of health
and vitality. In a way, he supposed, that's what he liked most about
her - she made him feel privileged by association.
"So how far is it now?" she asked, pausing to harvest more daisies for
the chain she was making.
A look of apprehension crossed Brendan's face. Avoiding her eyes, he
stared down at his Cat boots and mumbled, "To the Ferry House? Oh,
about another mile or so."
He was aware of Gloria's nose wrinkling and her brow creasing into a
series of deep furrows. "I thought we were out for a leisurely walk,
not a bloody cross country trek! Honestly, Brendan, I sometimes wonder
about you. Do you do these things on purpose just to wind me up?"
"Does it matter?" he shrugged.
"Does it matter?" she mimicked him, "How far could you walk in these?"
She held up her right foot and waggled it at him to draw his attention
to her lightweight, heeled sandals.
As if by cue, there was a faint but steady roll of thunder behind them
in the distance.

The heaviness of the sky soon became all too apparent as the clouds
gathered and merged until they completely encapsulated the whole world
in a mantle of dark grey. The air was still very sticky while the
rumble of thunder gradually transcended the universe, bringing with it
the first few smatterings of raindrops. Within seconds torrents were
splattering onto the riverside path. The recent hot weather had left
the path as hard baked as a kiln-fired pot, making it impossible to
soak up the flood. Instead, the cascade of monster sized droplets hit
the ground and splashed back up to above calf height on Gloria's naked
legs, leaving them randomly patterned with red/brown splodges of mud.
The route in front of them was instantly transformed into a minefield
of puddles, behind them forked lightning tore through the blackened
skies, ripping bright narrow jagged connectors between heaven and
earth.

Instinctively, Brendan took Gloria by the arm to hurry her along. They
broke into a trot. Then, realising how futile this action was, Brendan
slowed them back down to a brisk walking pace again. The jerking action
on her arm and the swift change of pace caused Gloria to briefly lose
her footing. Her right ankle rolled over the side of her frail,
strapped sandal. The sudden jar caused her to suck in a pained whimper
through her clenched teeth.
"Will you make up your mind whether we're bloody coming or going?" she
snapped at Brendan through a veil of sodden hair. Reaching forward, he
gently brushed aside a couple of matted tangles that clung to her face,
to reveal her wide brown eyes, the source of the sooty tram lines that
ran down her face and under her chin.

He was just as wet and miserable as she was but, judging her mood, he
felt inclined to keep it to himself.
"It's not my fault. I can't control the soddin' weather," He tried to
reason with her.
"It was your stupid idea," she reminded him, pausing to remove the
offending footwear, "And you didn't tell me we were going on a bloody
route march. Look at me, Brendan; I'm bloody soaked to the skin. My
hair's a mess and my dress is ruined. Some bloody day this has turned
out to be!"
Despite her fury, the way her bottom lip trembled with frustration and
the way her teeth were chattering with the sudden drop in temperature,
she looked so pathetic and vulnerable; he couldn't help but feel
responsible. Besides her dress being 'ruined', it had also been
rendered transparent. But Brendan wasn't going to make her aware of
that; he was in enough trouble as it was. Instead, he took her elbow to
steady her as she perched herself on one leg to drag a sandal from her
foot.
"Sod off!" she snarled, " I can manage myself. You've done enough
damage as it is." The effort of shrugging him away threw her slightly
off balance. The small handbag containing her purse and car keys slid
from where she had it clamped under her right arm. Brendan looked on in
alarm as he watched it beginning to slither down the grass embankment.
He hesitated for a moment, in the belief that it was sure to get caught
up in some of the undergrowth before cascading into the river. The
instant he realised this was not going to happen, he took off after
it.

As if heralding some great disaster, an almighty crash of thunder
exploded in the blackness above his head. No sooner had his feet left
the path than he found himself struggling for traction in the quagmire
of the grassy slope. Although his target had not been caught in any of
the brambles or other vegetation, it had come to a halt in a small
natural indent. But with the rate the deluge was washing off the track,
Brendan feared it would only be a short time before the brown leather
bag was en route to the river again. His feet pawed frantically as his
Cats strained for grip against the greasy surface. All the while he was
slithering about time was ticking away. He needed to retrieve the bag,
and fast! In desperation he finally took the bull by the horns and
launched himself, head long, belly down, at his objective. The bow wave
he created in the surface water was something phenomenal as he slid
towards the fast flowing Severn like a tumbled water skier being
dragged by the boat. And all the time he was surfing the grass he was
aware of Gloria, in an impatient stance with her arms folded across her
chest, seemingly oblivious to his plight, nonchalantly observing his
progress. Halfway through his descent, he managed to twist over and
round so that he was sliding on his bottom, facing the river. His
projected course was a touch to the left of where the bag lay. So, when
he finally came alongside, with great trepidation, he braked by ramming
his heels into the soft ground, shot out his right hand and grabbed out
at his quarry. His next thought was one of relief as he sensed his
fingers closing around the soddened leather. Once he was confident that
it was firmly secured in his grasp, he manoeuvred himself round so that
he was again belly-down, this time facing up the slope. All he needed
to do now was to get sufficient purchase by digging the toes of his
boots into the ground so that he could crawl back to the top of the
trail he had blazed down the embankment. It was no easy task. Like a
cyclist with a disengaged chain, his initial attempt resulted in plenty
of leg movement but no forward progress. Eventually, with the
assistance of his left hand gripping a small shrub, which miraculously
remained firmly planted in the ground, he managed to draw his body up
and along. Slowly and painstakingly, by roughly half metre increments,
he gradually made his way through the mud and spoil until he came to
rest at eye-level with Gloria's bare feet. Still with her arms folded,
she gazed down on him, seemingly devoid of emotion. With what was left
of his stamina, he drew himself up off the ground and up to his full,
muddy height on the edge of the path.
"You got it then?" she huffed.
"Yeah," he responded breathlessly.
"Good!" Her eyes narrowed into slits as she took the bag from him and
slipped it under her arm. Then Brendan face expressed his alarm as he
felt Gloria's palms pressing hard into his chest. Before he could
contemplate anything else, he sensed the sudden shove that took him
completely by surprise as she growled at him, "Now you can bugger off
back to where you've been!"
Normally he would have been able to resist the force of the push but he
was drained of energy, soaked to the skin and was standing on the edge
of a very slippery slope.

He went back down the embankment like a ship being launched on the
Clyde. Before he really knew what was happening, he found he was taking
in enormous amounts of water as he used his very last ounce of energy
dwindled with the effort to grapple for the riverbank. It was a wasted
exercise. An undercurrent grabbed him and he was whisked away. And all
the time Gloria stood dripping wet but safe on the path with an
expressionless look on her face. She didn't move until she was sure
Brendan had been swept well away, out of her life and his own. It was
then, and only then that she walked slowly back into Bardley to report
this tragic accident to the police.

The local constabulary immediately mustered all the resources available
to them. Five days later Brendan Egan's body was found in the shallows
of a weir, three miles downstream from Bardley.