When It Rains: The bittersweet romance you won't want to miss Read online

  ‘There’s nothing wrong with Annie’s walking legs.’ My father snorts, slapping me on the back roughly enough to force a throaty grunt to spill out my open lips.

  ‘It’s a dangerous road, Mr Fagan, with some very blind bends. Horses and carts have been known to turn over plenty o’ times along that stretch.’ Sketch’s eyes fix on my father’s face, and he doesn’t so much as blink. ‘I’m sure if anything happened to Annie, you’d never forgive yourself.’

  I hear a groan somewhere between my father’s throat and his belly. Sketch is trying his patience now, I can tell. I should say something and warn Sketch to take it easy, but my father has taught me better than to interrupt when men are speaking.

  ‘And tell me, Mr Talbot, what would you get out of this arrangement? Besides the pleasure of my darling daughter’s company, of course?’

  Sketch takes a step back and his head bobs as he exaggerates looking me up and down. ‘As I said, I’m a gentleman. But I’m not a fool. There’d have to be a slight charge, of course.’

  My father throws his head back, and a wicked laugh gargles in the back of his throat. ‘Now we’re getting to the bones of it, my boy. You’re a shroud businessman, I’ll give you that. But I knew there had to be more to you than all this nice as pie bullshit.’

  ‘So do we have a deal?’ Sketch says.

  ‘We most certainly do not,’ my father grunts. ‘I’m not paying you a penny, young man. Annie can walk. It’ll do her no harm. Fresh air is good for a young lass. Women get all sorts of silly notions in their head if they don’t have fresh air to clear their brain out.’

  Sketch’s lips narrow, and I wonder what he’s thinking. I get the distinct impression he doesn’t share my father’s low opinion of women, thankfully.

  ‘I didn’t mean money, sir.’ Sketch nods.

  ‘Really?’ My father smirks, casting a lazy eye over me. ‘And what exactly did you mean?’

  Sketch clears his throat and shuffles on the spot. He suddenly seems less confident, edging more towards awkward. I cross my fingers behind my back that my father’s probing and harsh tone haven’t unravelled Sketch. If he falls apart now, it could land me in a lot of trouble.

  My father’s breathing is low and heavy, and I can tell the weight of last night’s alcohol is making him uncomfortable. His shoulders round and flop forward, dragging his neck and head with them, and he grunts deeply. The smell of stale whiskey seems to seep from his pores even when his mouth is closed. I’ve no doubt Sketch can smell it too. I’m not sure how much longer my father will tolerate Sketch’s intrusion.

  Sketch takes a step back and creates a comfortable distance between him and my father. I catch him swallow a large lump of stubborn air that he struggles to force down. ‘My mother died not a full six years back, sir,’ Sketch begins. ‘It’s just my pops and me now. And well, the farm is big. It takes a lot of tending to. Makes a fella mighty hungry, working the land, does. Pops and me could do with a decent feeding when we get in for the evening.’

  ‘I’m sorry for your troubles,’ my father manages. ‘It’s difficult to lose a parent. Especially at your age.’

  I hear something in my father I’m not used to. Sincerity. I almost believe he’s truly sorry for Sketch’s loss. I know my grandmother died when my father was sixteen. But he never talks about her. I just assumed they weren’t close, but maybe I was wrong. Maybe he misses her. Maybe my father is human, after all.

  ‘But really, my boy, your dead mother isn’t my problem.’ My father snarls.

  I sigh. That’s more like the man I know. Cold and unsympathetic.

  ‘I don’t expect it would be, sir,’ Sketch continues. ‘But my pops and I need a woman’s touch around the house. Cleaning, cooking, that sort of thing. We can pay a fare wage.’

  ‘And you think young Annie here is a mighty fine cook?’ My father brightens; the mention of money has clearly got his attention.

  Sketch nods. ‘I’m hoping so. Yes.’

  ‘And who’s going to look after me, Mr Talbot? Don’t I need feeding?’

  The corners of Sketch’s lips twitch into an uncertain smile. I can tell he’s choosing his words carefully. Sketch is as clever as he is charming.

  ‘I’m sure your wife takes pleasure in looking after you, Mr Fagan.’

  My father tosses his head over his shoulder, and I follow his gaze towards my mother who is still crouched on the floor.

  ‘Mary,’ he calls loudly. ‘Come here and meet someone.’

  My mother stands up slowly and runs her hands over her apron and composes herself impressively. She walks towards us with her head held high, but she can’t hide an awkward limp as she yields to her bruised knees.

  ‘Hello.’ She smiles brightly, reaching the door and taking position in the gap my father has created for her between his side and mine.

  ‘Hello, Mrs Fagan.’ Sketch nods. ‘It’s a pleasure to meet you.’

  ‘Sketch …’ I cough. ‘I mean, Mr Talbot, was just telling Pa how he and his pops could use some help up at their farm.’

  ‘Oh, you’re a farmer’s boy?’ my mother says as if she hasn’t heard every word from her crouched position on the floor.

  ‘Yes, ma’am.’ Sketch smiles. ‘And I’m hoping I could offer your daughter some employment.’

  ‘Oh, well, that could be good …’ my mother begins, but she’s silenced midsentence by my father’s angry scowl.

  ‘And what makes you think we need the money?’ my father snaps, lunging forward and simultaneously pushing my mother back until she almost tumbles over.

  I instinctively slip my arm around her waist to steady her. Thankfully, my father’s heated mood is concentrated on Sketch, and he doesn’t notice me assist my mother briefly.

  ‘I can tell you don’t need the money, sir,’ Sketch pacifies. ‘You have a fine home. A beautiful home. You clearly do an excellent job of running a household. My offer is purely selfish. I would not be doing you or Annie a favour by employing her. You’d be doing me a service. One I’d very much appreciate.’

  ‘You have a way with words, Mr Talbot.’ My father straightens. ‘I’ll give you that.’

  ‘So we’re agreed, then?’ Sketch’s face is poker straight, but an unmissable sparkle of excitement twinkles in his eyes. ‘I’ll provide Annie with lifts to and from town twice a week. Let’s say Tuesday and Saturdays for now. All other weekdays, Annie can come to the farm and earn her lift with some cleaning and cooking. Sunday, of course, is a family day, and I wouldn’t dare intrude on that.’

  Bubbles of excitement pop inside my belly as if someone has shaken a bottle of fizzy soda inside me. I can barely catch my breath with anticipation.

  My father straightens and a seriousness invades his forehead. ‘That’s a hefty price to pay for a couple of lifts.’

  ‘Perhaps some cash could help,’ Sketch suggests. ‘Four shillings should do it?’

  ‘Five.’

  ‘You drive a hard bargain, Mr Talbot. Okay, sir. Five shillings and not a penny more.’

  Sketch extends his hand, and my father shakes it so roughly that when they release I can see the imprints of my father’s meaty fingers on Sketch’s hand.

  ‘I’ll come by at ten on Monday morning to pick Annie up for her first day,’ Sketch says.

  ‘Eleven,’ my father barks. ‘She’ll have to clean out the fire here and make breakfast first. I can’t have my household fall to pieces to suit you.’

  Sketch exhales slowly and deeply, and his dislike of my father is written in the weary lines around his eyes that weren’t there early. ‘Eleven.’

  ‘Goodbye, Mr Fagan,’ Sketch says politely, making brief eye contact with my mother.

  I wish he hadn’t done that. My mother will get a beating for his affections later.

  ‘Annie,’ he says, and I pray he won’t smile as he talks to me. ‘I will see you on Monday morning. Don’t be late,’ he finishes sternly as if he has guessed my father would not appreciate a sign of affection for me. />
  ‘Mr Fagan.’ Sketch nods as he descends the porch steps backwards. ‘Until Monday.’

  My father slams the door with an angry thud, and his eyes burn into mine like amber coals.

  ‘Why don’t you have a lie-down, Johnny,’ my mother suggests. ‘Annie and I will crack on with the cooking. You need a wee rest after all that clever negotiating. Mr Talbot talks the talk, so let’s put his food to the test and see how great his farm really is.’

  I don’t wait for my mother to finish before I scurry ahead and gather up the tray of broken crockery from earlier before my father remembers it and it oils his temper once more.

  My father wilts behind me and makes his way to flop his overweight body down in the fireside chair.

  ‘Tea, Mary,’ he shouts as my mother and I make our way into the kitchen.

  ‘Of course, my love,’ my mother says through gritted teeth that my father can’t see. ‘Of course.’

  My mother ogles the fresh goods from the paper bag and works in silence as she begins preparing a fine meal. She doesn’t open her mouth to speak until loud snores carry from the sitting room into the kitchen like a creaking door.

  ‘Annie, sweetheart. Promise me you’ll be careful,’ she says, clasping her slender fingers softly around my wrist and giving my hand a gentle shake.

  I eye her with uncertainty and nod.

  ‘I see the way that boy looks at you. It’s not your broom and mop he’s interested in.’

  ‘Do you think?’ I beam. ‘Do you really think he likes me?’

  ‘Yes.’ She nods, with a sadness in her eyes. ‘But I once believed your father liked me too.’

  ‘I don’t think Sketch is like Pa,’ I say.

  ‘Clever men are dangerous, Annie. You and I know that better than most. And Sketch lied so effortlessly to your father just now …’

  ‘He lied to protect me, Ma.’

  ‘A lie is a lie, Annie.’

  ‘Oh, Ma. I know you worry. But I’ll be careful, I promise. I’ll be careful.’

  My mother’s grip tightens around my wrist and tears gather in the corner of her eyes. ‘I won’t always be here to protect you, my girl. There may be a day when your father goes too far, and well, you’ll be alone then.’

  I shake my head roughly as a sudden sting of reality pinches. What was I thinking? I can’t take a job at Sketch’s farm and leave my mother alone with my father for hours on end every day. I can’t believe I was selfish enough to think it was even a possibility. I’ll have to explain to Sketch as soon as possible. Oh, I’ve made a fine mess.

  Eleven

  Ben sits on the edge of Nana’s bed, and I’m slouched in the bedside chair. My eyes are heavy, and I can barely keep them open. Ben has been reading for almost an hour, and he finally puts the manuscript down to catch his breath.

  ‘Christ, Nana,’ he says, choking back emotion. ‘I had no idea your father was such a … a …’ He cuts himself off midsentence and drops his face into his hands.

  ‘A bastard,’ Nana croaks, opening a single eye and half smiling as if calling her father names fills her with satisfaction.

  ‘I was going to say monster, but your description is better.’ Ben chances a sheepish laugh.

  Silence falls over us quickly, and between long, heavy blinks, I watch Ben sit beside my grandmother and stroke the back of her hand gently. Nana’s rosy lips are twisted subtly up in the corners, and she hums as she breathes deeply. I know she’s replaying the words we just read. I know she’s savouring the memory of Sketch. It’s wonderful to see her so full of nostalgia and peace.

  I feel a hand squeeze my shoulder gently, and I look up to see my mother leaning over me, smiling. She’s carrying a cup of steaming coffee in each hand. She passes one to me and offers the other to Ben.

  ‘I thought you could use a pick-me-up,’ she says.

  ‘Thanks, Mom.’ Ben nods, putting the cup straight to his lips.

  ‘Thanks.’ I sigh, staring into the cup.

  I can’t drink anymore coffee. Even the smell is making me sick. I had two cups earlier, and they sat on my stomach like lead until I threw up in the downstairs toilet an hour ago. Thankfully, no one noticed.

  ‘How is she?’ Mom asks, daring to get closer.

  ‘She drifts in and out,’ Ben quickly explains.

  My mother shakes her head and takes a step back, almost tripping over my ankles. She can’t seem to bring herself to get too close. She’s too scared.

  ‘The nurse should be here in twenty minutes or so,’ Mom explains. ‘Nana needs more meds then.’

  ‘Do you want to sit with us for a while?’ I ask. ‘We’re going to take a little break from reading while Nana naps.’

  I stand and offer my mother my seat. She sits and hunches forward with her elbows on her knees and her face in her hands.

  ‘We’ll give you a moment,’ Ben says, his voice crackling like static. ‘Come on, Hols.’

  My mother doesn’t answer or look up, but I can hear a deep bass-like noise vibrate inside her, and I know that’s the sound of her heart breaking. Nathan made that same sound a couple of weeks ago. I didn’t recognise it then, but I do now.

  Hours tick by slowly. The nurse comes and goes, and another round of Nana’s meds keeps her comfortable for now. The day nurse is professional and efficient, but she’s not chatty or friendly like Marcy. I catch myself glancing at my watch, looking forward to the start of Marcy’s shift in a few hours.

  Ben and I take it in turns to potter in and out of Nana’s room for the rest of the afternoon. My mother stays statue-like for hours, but every now and then, I hear her talking to Nana. And every so often, my mother ducks out onto the landing to wipe her eyes, catch her breath, and then heads back in.

  I’m locked in the downstairs toilet when Marcy arrives a whole hour early. She heads straight into the kitchen and chats with my father for a couple of minutes. I bump into her in the hall as I come out of the bathroom just as she hangs her coat and scarf on the newel post at the bottom of the stairs.

  ‘Rough day?’ Marcy says, looking at me knowingly.

  ‘Nana had some breathing trouble earlier,’ I confess, running my hand over the top of my hair. ‘But she’s doing much better now. And we read some more today. She enjoyed that.’

  ‘That’s good.’ Marcy smiles. ‘But I was talking about you. You look as pale as a ghost.’

  ‘Oh, um, I’m fine,’ I lie as an acidy belch squirms up the back of my throat and almost makes me throw up on my own shoes.

  ‘I don’t know why they call it morning sickness,’ Marcy begins. ‘Feckin’ thing goes on all day. I was worse in the evenings on my three.’

  My hand flies to cover my mouth, and I shake my head. ‘Oh, Marcy. How did you know?’ I stutter.

  ‘Your grandmother told me.’

  ‘Nana?’ My eyes fly open as if there are flares under my eyelids. ‘Nana knows? Oh, my God, I don’t believe it.’

  ‘She’s an astute lady, your grandmother. I don’t think much gets past her.’ Marcy winks.

  ‘Oh, Marcy. I didn’t want to tell anyone. Not now. Not with Nana so sick.’

  ‘Does your mother know?’

  I shake my head.

  ‘Your father or Ben?’

  I shake again.

  ‘How about the baby’s father?’ Marcy whispers gently.

  ‘Yeah. He knows. But it’s complicated.’ I breathe.

  ‘Oh, dear.’ Marcy’s shoulders round. ‘Is he not happy?’

  ‘He was,’ I say. ‘He was so happy. We both were but …’ I scratch my ear unsure if I can bring myself to say the next words out loud.

  ‘Marcy. Hi. You’re early,’ Ben says, appearing at the bottom of the stairs behind us.

  ‘Hi, Ben.’ Marcy pulls her shoulders straighter. ‘I thought I’d come by earlier tonight.’

  ‘Mom’s upstairs with Nana now,’ Ben says, ‘if you want to go up.’

  ‘Yeah. I’ll do that.’ Marcy winks at me. ‘You get yourself a bit
e to eat, Holly. And I’ll chat to you more later, won’t I?’

  ‘Sure.’ I smile. ‘Later.’

  Ben waits until Marcy is out of earshot to talk. ‘Did I interrupt something?’

  I shake my head.

  ‘You’re a terrible liar, Holly. Do you know that?’

  I shrug.

  ‘Well, if you do want to talk, I’m here, okay? Always here.’

  ‘Thanks, Ben,’ I say. ‘I appreciate that. But I don’t really want to discuss anything right now.’

  ‘Um, I understand, Hols. But there’s someone else here who really wants to talk to you.’

  My eyes sway towards the kitchen door. My father’s been hiding in there most of the day. Either he’s giving my mother some space, or he’s feeling awkward and uncomfortable and doesn’t have any idea what to do with himself.

  Ben shakes his head. ‘Not Dad, Hols,’ he says as if he can read my mind. ‘Nate’s here.’

  ‘Nate is here? Like here right now, here?’ I squeak.

  Ben turns his back on the kitchen and points towards the closed door of the large front room. ‘He’s been waiting in the good room for about a half an hour.’

  The good room is Nana’s favourite room in the house. Ben and I were never allowed in there as kids. I used to think it was in case we broke one of Nana’s china ornaments that are so finicky and fragile I’m still afraid to touch them to this day. But I realise now we were most likely kept away because the ornaments were a choking hazard. I bet I never would have thought of something like that four months ago. Before I got pregnant. Being pregnant has really made me think about everything differently. Including Nate.

  ‘Why is Nate here?’ I snap.

  Ben raises a confused eyebrow. ‘I don’t know, Hols. Don’t you want to see him?’

  ‘We broke up, Ben,’ I explain bluntly. ‘A couple of weeks ago. I thought Mom told you. It’s really messy.’

  ‘Oh shit, Hols. I’m sorry.’ Ben softens. ‘I didn’t know.’