When It Rains: The bittersweet romance you won't want to miss Page 17

  ‘You’ll get dinner on,’ Pa bellows in the same harsh tone he used when speaking to Sketch and me moments before, but it’s much too loud and frightening for the confined indoor space now. ‘And clean this mess up first, you clumsy girl.’

  My legs tremble as I make my way to the kitchen.

  ‘And Annie,’ my father calls, sticking me to the spot. I don’t turn around for fear he might throw the other shoe, and it won’t be a painting he will knock down this time. ‘I will tolerate the coat. But you will not bring another gift from that boy into this house again. Least of all his affections. Do I make myself clear?’

  ‘Perfectly.’ I sniffle, hurrying my legs as I pray I'll make it into the safety of the kitchen before they give way completely.

  Twenty - One

  Tuesday is, without a doubt, the coldest day of the year so far. Ice covers the grass like a beautiful, twinkling blanket. I drop my legs over the edge of the bed and drag air between my gritted teeth as the bitter October morning reminds me that winter is on its way.

  I pick up my coat from the bedside chair and slide my arms in. I skip out my bedroom door and follow my usual path of chasing floorboards that won’t creak and wake my father. I meet my mother in the hall, and we smile softly at each other. I’m pleased to see Ma wrapped up in her cardigan. Now that I have a coat, she’s content to wear the cardigan rather than insisting I take it. I’m so glad. It’ll keep her warm later when I’m not here if she has to fetch more logs. I’ll fill the basket as full as I can now, and maybe she won’t have to venture out any more. Tuesday is Whiskey Day, and Pa will spend all afternoon propping up the bar in The Blackwell Tavern. Ma will only need to burn enough fuel to keep the fire from going out. She should be okay, I hope, since she really can’t lift anything in her condition.

  ‘How are you feeling today?’ I whisper.

  ‘Better, sweetheart,’ she lies.

  The bruising around her eye has gone down considerably since last night, and she seems to be blinking comfortably again. She’s masked the darkest parts with talcum powder and done quite a good job. It looks like she’s simply been a bit too heavy-handed with purple eyeshadow. The bruising under her eye that trickles onto her cheekbone and down the bridge of her nose is a little trickier to cover up, but I don’t stare.

  ‘You look nice.’ I smile.

  ‘Thank you,’ she hums, wincing as she takes a breath too deep for her wounded ribs.

  If the bruising on her face is anything to go by, I’m guessing her ribs are a rainbow of black and blue. I want to help her into the chair by the fire, get her to sit down and cover her with a blanket, but we both know she won’t sit until after my father has breakfast and leaves for the pub.

  ‘I’ll make us some scrambled egg and toast,’ I suggest.

  Ma shakes her head. ‘Your father left the milk by the fire again. It’s sour.’

  I smile. ‘I left some in a cup with a saucer on top outside the back door last night. It’s freezing out there. If no wildlife has knocked the saucer over, the milk should taste as good as fresh.’

  ‘You clever girl,’ Ma beams. ‘Your father will need a good breakfast to soak up some of that whiskey later, but your clever thinking deserves a reward. There are three eggs in the pantry. Two for Pa and the other for you.’

  ‘One for each of us.’ I shake my head. ‘You need one too, Ma. You have to eat.’

  Ma’s face scrunches her nose, and she grimaces as the movement reminds her of its delicate state. ‘One egg won’t keep your father fed. It’s okay, Annie. I’m not hungry anyway.’

  Ma’s baggy cardigan used to sit better on her. It hangs off her shoulders now just as it does when she drapes it on the back of a chair. It’s way too big; it could wrap around her twice. And her pleated, navy skirt hangs lower than it used to; she’s so slim the waistband slides down onto her hips. She’s taken it in twice in the last year, which reminds me that my father’s controlling behaviour has become worse than ever over the past twelve months. We used to at least enjoy a roast on Sunday. A whole chicken was too much even for my gluttonous father. But lately he’s been spending more and more money on drink, and Ma can only make credit with the corner shop stretch so far. I can’t remember the last time I tasted meat. My mouth waters just thinking about it.

  ‘I forgot something,’ I puff out suddenly. ‘I’m supposed to be having breakfast with the Talbot’s. I think it’s some sort of an induction meeting. Welcome to the workforce or something like that. It wouldn’t do to be full before I get there.’

  Ma smiles wryly. She doesn’t believe a word of it; I can tell because her eyes dance all over me but are reluctant to meet my gaze. I think she suspects more than a working relationship between Sketch and me, but she won’t ask. She can’t. She can’t know more than Pa about anything. If he got whiff that she was keeping secrets from him, he’d beat a confession out of her, and we both know it.

  A cheeky smile is all we can exchange, and I hope the happiness in my heart shines out through my eyes. I’m desperate to let her know I’m happy. Because my happiness would make her happy too. And Lord knows if anyone deserves to be happy, Ma does.

  ‘You won’t go hungry, then?’ Ma says, with a knowing nod.

  ‘Not today.’

  I’m confident Sketch can spare a slice of bread and some jam. Or maybe even a bite of ham. I’m excited just thinking about it.

  ‘Well, you’d best get your chores done quickly,’ Ma encourages, ‘before your father gets up. You don’t want to give him any reason to find fault.’

  Ma and I worked in content unison. She cooks while I clean out the fire and set about lighting a new one. The smell of warm, seasoned eggs drags Pa from his bed. He plonks roughly down in the fireside chair behind me, and the loud exhale he forces out, as if he’s tired from a morning’s work, startles me, and I jump, almost falling face first into the fire.

  ‘You tell that boy to keep his eyes on the cattle and off my daughter, you hear,’ he grumbles.

  I nod and stay watching the fire, willing the dirty grey smoke that trickles out from under the coals to try harder and faster to turn to flames. The back of my head stings suddenly, and my hand reaches to rub it. I spin around to find Pa with an old newspaper rolled up in his hand, satisfied he’s swatted the romantic notions out of my head as if they were a pesky fly.

  ‘I’m warning you, Annie. Any funny business and I’ll know. I’ve got eyes and ears all over this town. I’ll know.’

  Ma distracts Pa when she carries in a plate of piping hot scrambled eggs. I shake my head at the small yellow mountain on the plate that she rests across his knees. I know she’s given him every egg in the house and kept none for herself. She must be hungry. But she’s determined to fill Pa’s tummy before he goes drinking.

  Sketch knocks three times on the front door, and I sigh in relief at his perfect timing, just as the smoke in the fire turns to flames.

  ‘Work hard,’ Ma calls after me with an encouraging smile as I open the front door and wave back at her.

  Pa doesn’t even look up. His mouth is full of egg, and when I see him later, I’ve no doubt his belly will be full of whiskey. I hate Tuesday Whiskey Day, but seeing Sketch standing in the open doorway with one foot crossed over the other and his shoulder leaning haphazardly against the frame to prop him up effortlessly, I’ve a feeling I’m going to enjoy Tuesday Work Day.

  Twenty - Two

  I wake with a crick from hell in my neck. My eyes squint and adjust to the light shining in the three large floor-to-ceiling windows across from me. I hadn’t noticed the windows on that side of the hospital corridor last night when it was dark. The morning sun shines through the trees on the hospital grounds and casts oddly shaped shadows on the floor tiles. And the lengthy corridor seems less depressing and lonely in the morning light.

  My mother yawns and stirs next to me as we sit huddled on the same waiting chairs in the corridor where we slept the remainder of the night away. I lift my head off her sho
ulder, and it cracks loudly as it objects to the sudden movement.

  ‘Good morning, sleepyheads,’ Nate says, appearing around the corner.

  ‘Ugh, God,’ I grumble, pulling myself to sit upright. ‘What time is it?’

  ‘Almost seven. You got around three hours’ sleep, I think.’ Nate smiles.

  ‘I feel like I haven’t had three minutes, never mind three hours.’ I rub my eyes. ‘Where are Ben and Dad?’

  ‘They’re still asleep in your dad’s car.’ Nate smiles. ‘I offered to drive them home, but Ben didn’t want to go.’

  I smile, proud of my brother.

  ‘Did you sleep?’ I ask even though the black circles under Nate’s eyes give me my answer.

  ‘Why don’t you two go home for a while?’ my mother says, standing up to stretch her legs. ‘Holly, you look positively awful.’

  ‘Thanks.’ I snort.

  ‘You know what I mean.’ My mother smiles. ‘You need some rest. I’ll phone you the minute I hear more.’

  ‘Coffee,’ I mumble. ‘I just need coffee.’

  ‘I’ll get some,’ Nate suggests.

  ‘Nate, sit down,’ my mother says, and I suspect she’s staring at the same dark circles under Nate’s eyes as I am. ‘I’ll pop down to the canteen. It should be open around now. If I can’t get you to go home and sleep, I can at least get us some decent coffee. I can’t drink any more of that machine stuff; it’s tar. I’m as stiff as a board anyway. I need to walk around.’

  Nate nods and smiles, grateful. He bends down and picks up Nana’s manuscript that slid off my knees and onto the floor at some stage during the night. He sits next to me and drops the mound of paper into his lap.

  ‘Did you read much last night?’ he asks.

  I shake my head. ‘Not much. Nana was drifting in and out, and Mom was struggling to keep it together. I think we managed a couple of chapters.’

  ‘What time are you meeting the consultant this morning?’ Nate asks.

  I shrug. ‘Dunno. Whenever he’s doing his rounds. The nurses said that’s usually around eight or nine.’

  Nate twists his wrist and looks at his watch.

  ‘Please don’t suggest I go home in the meantime.’ I sigh. ‘Everyone keeps saying that, but I don’t want to be anywhere else.’

  ‘I know,’ Nate says. ‘I was just going to suggest we get some breakfast.’

  ‘I’m not hungry.’

  Nate drags his hand over his tired face and breathes heavily. I wonder what he’s thinking. I wonder if he’s finding all this difficult and uncomfortable. I know he likes Nana. He’s always been honest and told me he envies how close Ben and I are to her. Nate’s grandparents were dead before he was born, and his parents retired to the south of France five years ago and only come home at Christmas for a week. He doesn’t have the same sense of family that I do. He gets on well with both his younger brothers, but one’s moving to Canada next month. And the other is a permanent student, but I’m not sure which he enjoys more, gathering degrees or living the carefree lifestyle of a student. Nate doesn’t have much in common with either of them. I think Nate looks at my family and sees how close we are, and it reinforces a sense of missing out for him. I think that’s why he was so ecstatic when we found out I was pregnant. He was thrilled to start a family. His own family. I guess it just wasn’t meant to be.

  I sigh heavily and make myself lightheaded. I sway forward, almost sliding off the chair, but Nate stretches his arm across me and pins me gently in place.

  ‘You okay?’ he worries.

  ‘Sorry, yeah.’ I shake my head. ‘Was just thinking about stuff.’

  ‘Want to discuss it?’

  ‘Not really.’

  Nate slowly reaches for my hand, and without overthinking it, I allow my fingers to slip between his. It’s a reflex, and it’s comforting to slip into the memory of being together. A calm silence falls over us as we sit side by side lost in our own thoughts.

  The hospital slowly clambers to life around us. Breakfast teacups clatter as they wobble on wonky trollies in the distance. Doctors drift in and out of rooms around us as they visit patients. Patients in dressing gowns and slippers walk the corridor, nodding as they pass by. Nurses in pristine uniforms link the arms of patients too weak to walk alone. And then there’s Nana, too ill to walk at all, and my heart stings with jealousy as I watch the other patients who I hope will get better soon and go home. I wish Nana could join them.

  A dapper doctor in a navy pinstripe suit with an unbuttoned white coat appears in front of Nate and me, smiling politely.

  ‘Holly?’ he says, extending his hand.

  I tuck Nana’s manuscript under my arm and stand up to shake his hand. ‘Yeah. I’m Holly.’ I smile, wondering how he could possibly know my name.

  ‘You’re Annie’s granddaughter,’ he says, shaking my hand firmly. ‘It’s a pleasure to finally meet you. Annie talks about you all the time. You and Ben, too, of course.’

  I grin brightly, remembering Marcy told me the same thing when we first met. It’s lovely to know Nana speaks about us.

  The doctor twists his head over his shoulder and glances around the corridor. ‘Is Blair here?’

  ‘She’s just gone to get some coffee,’ Nate explains, standing up also.

  ‘Ah, okay. Good.’ He forces his sleeve ever so slightly up his arm and checks his watch. ‘Do you think she’ll be long? I’m anxious to speak to her this morning.’

  ‘Is it more bad news?’ My voice cracks.

  The doctor shifts his weight from one foot to the other and stuffs his hands into his pockets, but his gaze remains professionally on mine. ‘Your grandmother is very ill, Holly. You do know how unwell she is at this time?’

  My eyes are round, and I can’t get my mouth to open wide enough to let words out.

  ‘We know how serious things are,’ Nate explains, and I feel the palm of his hand find the base of my spine, and he traces small, calming circles.

  ‘I know Nana doesn’t want chemo,’ I say, acknowledging her wishes that I could never fully bring myself to accept. ‘But what about surgery? You hear about people having surgery for cancer all the time. A woman in the news last week in Florida had a huge tumour removed from her stomach, and she was eighty-seven.’ As I hear the simple words pass my lips, I shake my head as I understand the reality is nowhere near as simple. But right now, I would try anything and everything possible to have just a little extra time.

  The doctor’s shoulders round and soften. I can tell that my desperation makes him sad. I don’t envy his job. It must be the hardest thing in the world to tell a family someone they love is slipping away.

  ‘I think we should wait for your mother,’ he appeases.

  ‘Dr Matthews,’ my mother says, appearing behind him carrying a dull, grey paper tray cradling three takeaway coffees with steam swirling out the top.

  ‘Blair.’ He nods, stepping to one side so my mother can stand beside me.

  The doctor waits as my mother stretches across me to pass Nate a coffee and then gives me one. Finally, she discards the paper tray on the chair behind her and offer her full attention to the doctor with a subtle nod.

  He must be busy, I think, but he makes us feel as if he has all the time in the world to give us. And I appreciate him offering my mother the chance to compose herself with a distraction as mundane as coffee. Finally, when he can’t put it off any longer, he inhales sharply and his expanding chest pushes his suit jacket away from his baby blue shirt.

  ‘I spoke with the doctor on duty last night, and he tells me Annie was having trouble drawing her breath when the ambulance brought her in.’

  My mother nods emphatically. ‘Her lips were turning blue around the edges. It was terrifying.’

  ‘It’s fluid gathering in her lungs,’ the doctor explains.

  ‘That sounds horrible,’ I blurt. ‘Does it hurt?’

  ‘It can be quite distressing,’ he freely admits. ‘But we’ve given her some medication
to help, and she’s breathing much more comfortably now. She’s not in any pain, Holly, I can assure you of that.’

  ‘So is there some sort of procedure you can do to reduce the pressure? Something to take the fluid away? Help her breathe,’ I say.

  ‘Surgery?’ the doctor tilts his head to one side.

  I nod redundantly.

  ‘Annie is very weak, Holly. A procedure at this stage would not be in her best interests.

  ‘So there’s nothing?’ Nate shakes his head.

  My eyes are on my mother. She’s pale and still. I don’t think she’s breathing.

  ‘The most important thing now is to make sure Annie is comfortable,’ the doctor says. ‘For however long that may be.’

  ‘Oh, Christ.’ Mom’s shoulders round, and I grab Nate’s hand. He looks at me, and I silently warn him to get ready to catch her.

  ‘I understand.’ Mom sways. ‘I understand.’

  ‘We have wonderful hospice affiliated with the hospital called Carry Me Home. I can make arrangements to have Annie transferred later today or tomorrow,’ the doctor says.

  ‘No.’ I shake my head angrily, and no matter how calmly spoken or gentle the doctor is, I suddenly decide I don’t like him anymore. ‘We’re not shoving her into some grubby old room to die. Carry Me Home.’ I gag just saying the name of the hospice out loud. ‘What is that even supposed to mean?’

  ‘Holly,’ my mother snaps, horrified. ‘Shh.’

  ‘Holly.’ The doctor calmly takes my hand. ‘I know this is hard. Trust me, I do. I lost my mother to this god-awful disease three years ago. But being angry won’t change anything. I didn’t realise that until it was too late. But you still have time. Use this time to make more memories. Talk. Sing. Tell a joke. Do whatever makes your family you. But do it now. Use whatever time you have to enjoy your grandmother.’

  ‘We’re reading together,’ I blurt out suddenly, not really sure why I feel compelled to explain.

  ‘Wonderful,’ he says, clasping his hands with a solid clap that echoes in the corridor. ‘Annie is a bookworm, eh?’