When It Rains: The bittersweet romance you won't want to miss Page 5

  I walk as fast as the heavy brown bag will allow. It’s an awkward shape and forces my stride to sway and waddle.

  A bunch of teenagers sit on the low wall outside the post office. I recognise most of their faces from primary school. Of course, they’ve changed somewhat as they grew into young adults but not enough to become strangers. I lost touch with them all over the years. Most left school by the time they were ten or eleven, and my father warned me that the ones who went on to second level were not appropriate company for me to keep.

  One face catches my attention amongst the others. Arthur Talbot. He’s as handsome as ever, I think reluctantly. He doesn’t sit on the wall like everyone else. He stands with his back leaning against the stony surface; his elbows are bent and tucked by his side as they rest on top of the wall. It can’t be comfortable, but he makes the pose look effortless; like a damn eagle stalking his prey. The girls of the village flock around him like lambs to the slaughter. Silly girls. His dark hair is slicked back off his face, and he wears the collar of his black, leather jacket up, framing his neck as if he’s too cool for school. A cigarette dangles between his lips, and his eyes are locked on me. I can feel the tiny hairs on the back of my neck tingle.

  He moves as I approach, positioning himself so I’ll have to brush against him or ask him to move as I pass. And I know he does it on purpose. I slow, pretending to yield to the weight of the brown paper bag. He waits perched with one foot firmly on the footpath, and the other resting on the bumper of the bottle green Morris with a cream soft-top roof that’s parked in front of him. I guess most girls are impressed by a guy with a car. I’m not like most girls, but I wish I was.

  ‘In a hurry, Annie?’ one of the girls shouts at me as I decide to step off the footpath and walk around the parked car with my head down.

  I nod, but I don’t look up.

  ‘Oh, Annie. C’mon. Loosen up, will you? We’re only having a laugh,’ she jars.

  My grip of the brown paper parcel in my arms tightens, and I speed up. I just want to get home. My father will be awake soon, and last night’s whiskey will have left its mark on his mood. Lamb chops will be a good antidote, I think.

  I keep my head down, but my eyes strain to look up at The Blackwell Tavern that takes pride of place at the top of the town. I’ve never been inside—most respectable women in Athenry haven’t—but I hate the place nonetheless. It’s just after midday and already the bicycles of many good men are littered outside. I’m convinced something is wrong with the measures in that place. Men walk in there good people with their heads held high. Good men who love their families and work hard. But they stagger out with wobbly legs, slurred words, and the temper of a monster. I sometimes wonder how many girls, like me, have felt the back of their father’s hand because he spent too long drinking the day away in The Blackwell Tavern. I can’t be the only one.

  ‘Annie. Stop and talk to us for a while,’ the pretty girl says as she eyes me up and swings her legs from side to side on the wall.

  ‘Don’t bother trying to talk to her,’ someone else shouts. ‘She’s a weirdo.’

  The insult slides off me as if my skin is made of wax. It’s grown thick and impenetrable after all these years of name-calling and taunting from the local kids.

  ‘Don’t you want friends?’ the girl continues, flicking some of her light blond hair that falls in heavy curls around her shoulders.

  Her bright blue eyes sparkle as they glare at me and sarcasm laces her words like sticky honey.

  ‘I don’t need friends.’ I snort, my eyes meeting hers uncomfortably.

  Most of the teenagers on the wall snigger. Some cover their mouth with their hand or drop their head, but most don’t bother to hide their amusement. They stare at me as if I’m crazy. Some even look a little afraid of me. Their searing glares hurt more than their silly words ever could.

  Arthur drags himself away from his friends and walks around the front of his car to stand directly in my path again. His eyes burn into me the most. I scan the road for a way past him, but he’s too close to the car for me to squeeze between him and the passenger’s door, and there’s a huge, mucky puddle on the other side if I go around him. I can’t avoid it, and I’d ruin my shoes if I go through it. Mucky shoes would almost certainly earn a black eye from my father this afternoon. I’ll have to just stand here and take whatever cruel words this bunch decides to throw at me. I begin to sing silently in my head. “Mack the Knife”, my favourite. The chorus plays on a loop, and I know I will be able to block out their words if I just keep singing.

  Arthur doesn’t say anything. He just stands and watches me. And they said I’m the weirdo?

  Three rounds of the chorus later, I finally snap. I can’t afford to flitter away a Saturday afternoon on their silly teenage games.

  ‘Can I help you?’ I snort.

  ‘Actually, I think you’re the one who needs help,’ Arthur says.

  ‘Me?’ I say, tilting my head to one side to look past him.

  The road stretches out to infinity behind him, and the sky is angrier than ever. This delay is almost certain to catch me out in the rain. I look back, expecting to see him laughing, or at least glancing back at his giggling friends. But he’s not doing either. He’s simply watching me. His eyes are still burning into me, but it feels different now. Like he really sees me. The me inside that I try so hard to hide from everyone. No one has ever looked at me this way before—not even my mother—and this look scares me.

  The girl who’d been teasing me lowers herself carefully off the wall and slowly makes her way over to stand next to him. She drapes her arms around his neck and presses her body so close to him that it makes me uncomfortable. She must be his girlfriend, I think.

  ‘Come on, Sketch,’ she says. ‘Just leave her. This is getting boring now.’

  He reaches up and takes her hands in his, and for a moment, I think he’s about to kiss her. But he doesn’t. He untangles himself from her grip and forces her hands back down by her sides.

  ‘I’m not bored.’ He smiles. ‘Are you bored, Annie?’

  I shake my head, and I’m reeling so much it makes me dizzy. Ten seconds ago, I’d have dropped my eyes to the road and used the opportunity to run past while they were distracted. But that’s before he looked at me with his sea blue eyes. His eyes tell me he knows so much more about me than just my name.

  ‘I’m not bored.’ I swallow.

  ‘See. Annie’s not bored either,’ he croaks confidently.

  I like the way my name sounds coming from his lips. I like his lips. They’re full and dark red and the perfect complement against his warm complexion.

  ‘Go home if you want to, Bridget,’ he says, taking his eyes off me for a moment to toss them onto her.

  She shrugs, and her face sours as if she’s sucking on a lemon. ‘Fine. I will. I’m not going to waste my day trying to drag two words out of Annie the drip. But don’t come running to me when you discover what she’s really like.’

  ‘And you know her so well, Bridget, do you?’ Arthur grins.

  Bridget’s top lip tightens causing little wrinkles to appear across the bridge of her nose, instantly aging her by ten years.

  ‘She thinks she’s better than the rest of us. That’s for sure.’ Bridget snorts. ‘It’s downright rude. I don’t know how many times I’ve tried to say hello to her since I left school, but Annie won’t waste her breath on bidding me the time of day.’

  ‘Is that true, Annie?’ Arthur ask, his eyes narrowing and glossing over with disappointment.

  I blank. I don’t come into town often. And when I do, I’m always on an errand for my father complete with an unrealistic timeframe to get it done. Maybe Bridget has tried to say hello and I’ve been so preoccupied I didn’t even notice. No wonder she thinks I’m rude.

  ‘Cat got your tongue, Annie?’ Bridget goads. ‘Go back to walking on past with your head in the clouds and do us all a favour.’

  The paper bag in my arms grows unco
mfortably heavy, and I look up at the sky as I feel a single raindrop fall and trickle down my nose.

  ‘Yes, that’s it.’ Bridget laughs. ‘Keep your head just like that and walk on by.’

  Bridget brushes her hand past Arthur’s waist and attempts to link his elbow in the crook of her arm, but he takes a step forward, leaving her standing with her mouth gaping and one foot dipped into the mucky puddle. He’s so close to me I can smell his musky scent that’s as crisp and appealing as his ice white t-shirt that peeks out from underneath his leather jacket.

  ‘Stop it, Bridget,’ Arthur scolds, his voice suddenly deeper and giving the impression that he’s much older than twenty. ‘Annie, don’t mind her. I don’t want you to walk away. Won’t you stay and talk for a while? Please?’

  My top teeth press into my bottom lip, and despite my little blue dress being far too light for the chilly spring day, I feel hot and clammy like a hill walker on a summer’s day.

  ‘Oh, Sketch. This is ridiculous,’ Bridget titters. ‘You’re wasting your breath. She’ll be back to sticking her head in the clouds or her nose in a book tomorrow.’

  ‘Goodbye, Bridget,’ Arthur says.

  Jealousy and disappointment settle into the fine lines around Bridget’s pretty eyes, and I actually feel sorry for her. I guess she’s not his girlfriend, after all. But she sure would like to be. I should probably tell her that I’m not a threat. Arthur is undeniably attractive, but I don’t see him in that way … I can’t. The rest of the group hops off the wall and looks at Arthur. He entertains their need for a leader and offers them a single nod, letting them know they’re dismissed. They follow Bridget with their heads low and their faces unimpressed, but no one looks as visibly frustrated as Bridget does.

  Arthur waits until his friends turn a corner and are out of view before he smiles brightly and reveals white, straight teeth.

  ‘Let’s start over,’ he says. ‘I’m Sketch.’ He extends his hand.

  My eyes narrow, and I shift on the spot as I try to figure out what he’s up to. Arthur Talbot has known me since I was four years old. We spent most of primary school sitting beside each other. I helped him with maths, and he often snuck an apple from his father’s orchard into his schoolbag for me. I never told him, but sometimes that apple was all I ate for the entire day. Looking back, I didn’t have to tell him. He knew. Arthur left school three days before his eleventh birthday. His father needed help on the farm, and as an only boy, Arthur had a duty. I missed the delicious red apples terribly, but I missed Arthur so much more.

  I shift the parcel to rest under my arm and use my free hand to shake his. I’ve already delayed too long to make it home before the rain. And since I’m carrying a bag of fresh vegetables and meat compliments of Arthur’s father, the least I can do is stop for a few minutes and entertain some conversation.

  ‘Annie Fagan. Nice to meet you, Sketch.’ I smile so wide my cheeks scrunch and try to force my eyes closed.

  His hand is warm, and his shake is firm. Our hands stay clasped for a fraction longer than they should. I pull away first, but it doesn’t diminish the tingle running down my spine.

  ‘My friends call me Sketch these days,’ he explains, suddenly seeming nervous now that we’re alone.

  ‘Are they your friends?’ I point down the road to where shadows peek out around the corner, and I know the group from the wall are huddled and waiting for Sketch there.

  ‘Yeah. They’re not a bad bunch. Honest.’

  I pull a face, and then blush when I realise how rude my obvious distaste must seem.

  Sketch laughs. ‘Bridget is just a bit touchy. She’s not good with new people. Especially people who intimidate her.’

  It’s my turn to laugh, but mine is more of a nervous giggle. There’s no way I intimidate anyone, but I appreciate his efforts to defend her. He seems as good a friend to Bridget as he once was to me.

  The parcel under my arm pinches my skin when I’m carrying it with just one hand and the sharp sting of its weight reminds me of where I should be.

  ‘It was nice to see you again, Sketch,’ I say, taking a step backwards. ‘But I really should be on my way now.’

  ‘So you really are in a hurry?’ he exhales.

  ‘Actually. Yes.’

  ‘Okay then. Let me give you a lift?’

  I turn to look at his car, hating myself for noticing how shiny it is. I shake my head to politely decline his offer.

  ‘I won’t try any funny business, Annie. I’ve delayed you; I really would like to make up for messing up your day and drop you to wherever you need to be.’ He rummages in his pants pocket and pulls out car keys, spinning them round his index finger with a confidence that’s hard not to venerate.

  I clear my throat with a dry cough and try to think of something plausible to say. He’s got this all wrong. I’m not refusing his lift because I’m afraid of him. It’s quite the opposite. He’s well-spoken and neatly dressed. He looks more like he belongs on a movie screen than cleaning out a pigsty. He smells divine, a distinct combination of citrus and sandalwood, and he has money. Family money. The Talbots are one of the most well-known and respected families in Athenry.

  ‘Don’t be fooled by their broad shoulders, mucky boots, and pants that smell of cow dung,’ my mother once told me. ‘There’s money in cow shit, Annie. There’s no such thing as a poor farmer.’

  I run my eyes over every inch of his new and expensive car. The Talbots have lots of money. My mother has warned me about men like Sketch. Men like my father. If the package appears too good to be true, that’s because, usually, it is. Sketch Talbot is a gentleman and way out of my league. Even just talking to him, I’m playing with fire. We’ve grown up and grown apart. I knew the boy I sat beside in school, but time has rolled on. I don’t know the man standing in front of me.

  ‘Thank you, but it’s a lovely day,’ I mumble. ‘I’d rather walk.’

  Sketch throws a lazy eye to the sky, and I can’t help but copy him. Dark, black clouds circle overhead.

  ‘Lovely day, eh?’ He smirks, his eyes falling back and settling on mine.

  ‘There’s nothing wrong with a little rain,’ I say defiantly.

  ‘True …’ He nods. ‘If you’re a duck.’

  I shrug. I want to get in his car. I desperately do. I’m cold and lonely, and the prospect of rekindling a friendship that I once cherished fills me to the brim with excitement. But then I look at The Blackwell Tavern. At three stories high, it towers dramatically over all the other shops and cottages along the road. It’s the dominant premises of the town, and a not-so-subtle metaphor for the type of men who frequent it day in and day out. Men who drink until they fall, men who beat their wives, and men who don’t tolerate their daughters travelling in cars with once-upon-a-time friends.

  ‘Please, Annie. What are you afraid of?’

  I’m certain Sketch thinks the answer is him. He is so wrong.

  ‘Wait here.’ Sketch shuffles as if he’s worried that the moment he takes his eyes off me, I’ll run away.

  Sketch races around the front of the car and opens the driver’s door.

  ‘You still there, Annie?’ he shouts, and I follow the sound of his voice to look across the cream soft-top roof to find him gazing at me.

  We stand on the opposite side of the tidy green car with our eyes meeting and my heart racing.

  ‘I have something for you,’ he says triumphantly.

  His smile is warm and contagious, and my lips twist and mirror his expression. My pulse is pounding so furiously I can hear the blood in my veins as it courses past my ears, and my knees suddenly feel independent of the rest of my legs as they wobble like jelly. I know this feeling. It rips through my body every time I hear the stomping of my father’s boots late at night on the front porch. But this time is different. This time, my racing heart is because I’m the opposite of afraid. Sketch’s eyes feel like home. A home I’ve never known. They feel safe.

  ‘Well, say something, Annie,’
he quivers. ‘Gosh, you don’t half know how to make a guy nervous.’

  ‘Sorry.’ I blush. ‘What is it?’

  Sketch’s shoulder twists, and I guess he’s reaching around his back for something. Hot, excited air rushes past my gaping lips as Sketch pulls a rosy apple out from behind his back and holds it high enough for me to see.

  ‘An apple. A r-red apple,’ I stutter as if he doesn’t know what’s in his hand. ‘Is it from your father’s orchard?’

  Sketch nods. ‘And they taste just as good as ever, Annie.’

  ‘Oh, my gosh. You remember.’

  ‘I could never forget. I’m just glad you remember too.’

  ‘Always,’ I beam.

  Sketch’s head disappears out of view, and I hold my breath until he appears again at my side of the car.

  I tilt my wrist, listening to the crack of my bones as I look at my watch. It’s almost one o’clock. My father will almost certainly wake for his lunch soon. I’ll never make it back in time to prepare his bacon and egg sandwich with the crust cut off in time.

  ‘Okay.’ I nod. ‘I’ll go with you.’

  Sketch smiles brightly, and my tummy somersaults. He’s so handsome. I’ve never seen anyone so attractive before in real life. He looks like he’s stepped straight out of my daydreams.

  ‘I live on Millview Drive. It’s just past the graveyard on the right,’ I explain and point as if it’s possible to see my parents’ house at the tip of my finger.

  His eyes narrow. ‘I know Millview. But that’s at least … what? Eight miles outside town.’

  ‘Seven and a half,’ I say. ‘Is it too far for you to drive? I understand.’

  His chiselled jawline softens, and if possible, it makes him even more attractive. ‘No, it’s fine. I like driving, so I’m happy for an excuse to head out of town. But, man, Annie, that’s one heck of a walk.’