Rain

by Kate Le Vann

  Question: is he ignoring me because he thinks I don’t want to hear from him, or is he ignoring me because after the way I’ve treated him he doesn’t want to hear from me?

  And is that it? Is he going to come back, and if he isn’t, how do I persuade him to without … actually talking to him?

  The summer is disappearing before my eyes like a wool jumper unravelling – what seemed like weeks and weeks, because I was missing Dad so much, now seems like no time at all. I keep thinking, if Harry comes back tomorrow, how many days do I have left to let him know what I feel about him? It’s not enough days. And what if he doesn’t come back at all?

  Chapter 14

  It was Friday when they came back – both Harry and Madrigal – with quick and vague apologies about Madrigal having family commitments (‘Oh yeah?’ Rain thought childishly, ‘had to be there for Big Roy, did you?’), and Harry nodding but not saying much. Rain glanced his way for a millisecond, to find he was looking at her. She chanced further looks at him when she thought it was safe, but he didn’t look back again. Rain made excuses and went out soon after they’d arrived. She caught the first bus that came and stayed on it, not sure of where to get off – maybe she’d just take it as far as it went and then worry about how to get back later.

  She worried she was being childish, but she didn’t know how else to be – the situation was really difficult, really embarrassing. They’d said nothing to each other since Harry had sent those texts that she hadn’t answered. Rain looked out of the bus window. The first time she’d taken this route was with Harry, the day she’d been chased by a robot and they’d talked in that weird, tucked-away little pub. Then she’d taken it again with him when they went to the Tate Modern to see the Andy Warhol exhibition. Rain wished she could forgive Harry and Harry could forgive her without either of them actually having to have the conversation, but she’d taken it too far by ignoring him and he’d taken it too far by staying away, and now she didn’t know how to get back to normal.

  At St Paul’s Cathedral, Rain got off the bus – it was nearly the last stop and she was the only person left on the top deck. She walked halfway across the bridge she’d crossed with Harry, the shiny silver Millennium bridge, and leaned hard on the rail, looking down the river. The sun reflected on the river was dazzling. Little kids on day-trip boats waved and called to the people on the bridge. Rain was in London, her mum and dad’s home town, and London was brilliant. She closed her eyes and felt the breeze blowing her hair back, then she laughed gently, biting her bottom lip. It was time she stopped worrying and started remembering she was on holiday. And time to give Harry a break, too.

  In the second bedroom on the first floor of Vivienne’s house, Harry and Madrigal were taking a Madrigalinitiated break while Vivienne was out. They sat on the floor with their legs out straight in front of them, leaning on a dust-sheet covered sofa, drinking cans of Coke. Madrigal fiddled with the radio, turning the volume up.

  ‘Ach, how many more weeks of this?’ Madrigal said. ‘It’s our holidays, Harry, we are going to get a few weeks off at the end of it, aren’t we?’

  ‘Mads, you don’t need the money, why are you even still here?’ Harry said.

  Madrigal shrugged, looking away from him. ‘I thought you needed the help,’ she said.

  ‘The help’s great,’ Harry said. ‘You know I’m grateful, it’s just that I’m feeling guilty.’

  ‘You don’t have to. It’s fun hanging out, isn’t it?’

  ‘Yeah,’ Harry said, nodding enthusiastically. ‘I’ve been having fun. Well, until I blew things with Rain.’

  ‘Blew things?’ Madrigal said. ‘There were things, then?’

  Harry almost jumped, as if it surprised him that he’d said too much. ‘No. I just … well, it’s not really something I can talk about, I just let her down, something I said I’d do for her.’

  ‘What, that thing with the old muso friend of my dad’s?’ Madrigal said. ‘You don’t have to tell me.’ Harry smiled, relieved. ‘I’m sure I can find out from my dad,’ she added.

  ‘Ah, don’t, Mads!’

  Madrigal giggled. ‘I’m just joking!’ She reached into her pocket and took out a little sachet of loose tobacco. ‘Open the windows, will you?’

  ‘Vivienne’ll know if you’ve been smoking,’ Harry said.

  ‘Possibly. Probably she won’t care, though,’ Madrigal said. ‘She’s quite a cool old lady. She knows what young sexy people get up to.’ Harry obediently opened all the windows as wide as he could, and sat down next to Madrigal again, while she took a prerolled joint out of her tobacco packet, and lit it. She took a long drag, and then offered it to Harry. He shook his head. Madrigal exhaled. ‘Come on, then, tell me what naughties you and the teenager have been getting up to?’

  Harry smiled painfully. ‘There’s nothing.’

  ‘But the old lady’s been making you take her out.’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘And she’s got a big Sandra Dee crush on you.’

  ‘No, she … ‘

  ‘And you’re falling over yourself trying to hide that stupid crush you’ve got on her. It’s not working, by the way, Harry.’

  Harry let his mouth hang open, and it wasn’t clear whether he was going to protest that it wasn’t true or gapingly admire her powers of perception. He laughed stiffly, instead, and Madrigal took another puff and blew it approximately in the direction of the open window. She was smiling, but her eyes looked pink and restless. She started to sing along under her breath to a song on the radio.

  ‘Vivienne’ll be back soon,’ Harry said.

  ‘No, she won’t,’ Madrigal said. ‘She’s got to get all the way to the King’s Road and back and she only ever takes buses – like you. It’ll take her maybe two hours.’

  ‘And she’s already been gone an hour,’ Harry said. ‘Anyway, we should probably have something to show for the morning. Let’s get back to it.’

  ‘Well then, you start, Harry, I’m having a smoke.’

  Harry moved his shoulders as if he was about to get up, but didn’t. ‘Mads, why are you here?’ he said. His voice was low and his face was close to hers.

  ‘Come on, Harry,’ Madrigal said, not turning to face him. ‘Am I the only person here who can spot obvious crushes?’ She put her head down and stubbed out her joint on the top of her empty can of Coke, dropping the butt inside.

  ‘Mads … ‘

  ‘Harry,’ Madrigal said, impatiently.

  ‘You know how gorgeous you are.’

  ‘Do you?’ she said, finally looking at him. She gave him a little half-smile.

  ‘You’re way out of my league,’ he said.

  Madrigal’s voice almost cracked as she replied. ‘I’m not, you know.’

  ‘Madrigal, you know you could get any bloke … ‘ ‘Look, I know,’ Madrigal said, her voice stronger again now. ‘It’s Little Orphan Annie, you’ve got it bad for her.’ She pushed her finger into the top of the Coke can, rasping it along the sharp edge. ‘It’s fine. Harry, how long have we known each other? If something was going to happen between us it would have happened. It’s cool.’

  ‘I’d better get back to … ‘

  ‘Don’t go yet.’ She held his hand. He looked at her, his eyes warning and consoling. ‘It’s cool,’ Madrigal said.

  Vivienne, back from her trip to the King’s Road, came upstairs with some cakes she’d just bought from the shop around the corner. When she reached the top of the stairs, she could see into the bedroom they were decorating today, and she could see Harry and Madrigal kissing. They didn’t see her. She went back downstairs as quietly as she could.

  ‘I can’t do this,’ Harry said, pulling back. ‘I’m sorry, Mads, I didn’t mean to make you think … ‘

  ‘Oh, relax, I don’t think anything,’ Madrigal said. ‘It’s just the pot making me horny.’ She leaned into him again. ‘It’s not like you’re cheating on anyone. You said she doesn’t want anything to do with you.’

  Harr
y subtly held her away. ‘She doesn’t,’ he said. ‘I think she doesn’t. But while there’s a chance, I have to … and you know, even if there isn’t a chance, I just can’t think about anyone else right now. You said it, really. I’ve got it bad.’

  ‘Well, I told you that,’ Madrigal said, but there was no triumph in her voice. She peeled her clothes off his where they clung, and rolled away from him, taking a few steps on her knees. She fiddled with the radio again, rejecting every station and then turning it off. ‘So you want to go out with a schoolgirl? That’s your plan? A northern schoolgirl! They all get married at sixteen, you know.’

  ‘That’s not fair.’ Harry tried not to sound angry, but he could hear the tightness in his voice.

  ‘It was just a joke,’ said Madrigal. ‘She’s the one, eh?’

  ‘I have no idea,’ Harry said. ‘But when she’s around, I can’t think of anything, and when she’s not around I can’t think of anything else.’

  ‘Oh … blah,’ Madrigal said, and blew a fat, wet raspberry at him.

  Rain was making her way back, walking through Trafalgar Square and past the National Gallery where she’d gone with Harry to see Boy Bitten By a Lizard. She went inside, found the room with the Caravaggios and sat where she’d sat before, where her parents had sat together before her, and looked at the paintings. It was true what Colin Thurber had said – the diary didn’t even name her dad’s favourite painting, and she didn’t know which one it was. She looked around, trying to guess. There was a quite intense one with the head of a beheaded John the Baptist on a plate, but that couldn’t be anyone’s favourite painting. The head was green. There was another with a beardless Jesus surrounded by people jumping up so quickly they went out of focus and almost out of the picture frame. She didn’t know what made her so sure, but Rain was certain that it was the painting – something about it, she knew he’d love it. Rain realised that, even though she might not know much about his life before she was born, she knew him now, better than anyone.

  In the gift shop, she bought the Boy Bitten By a Lizard postcard, and while she rode the bus home, tried to think of something funny but encouraging to write on it, to slip to Harry so they wouldn’t have to talk or apologise. Girl smitten by a Londoner? Too much. She wrote: From a girl bitten by London. Please don’t be put off showing me more of the place because I had a bad day. Rain.

  Rain got back home a lot later than she’d expected to – after getting off the bus she’d wandered along the Portobello Road, dipping into the weird clothes shops, the Oxfam bookshop, and, last of all, stopping for the fabulous brownies Harry had bought her when she first went out with him. It was almost seven o’clock when she opened the door, and her gran was downstairs in the kitchen making paella.

  ‘Hi, Rain,’ Vivienne said, pushing her sleeves up further and wiping her hair off her face. ‘You look … perky. Good day?’

  ‘I had a fab day!’ Rain said. ‘It’s lovely going places with people; but it’s also good going it alone, actually, because you can spend exactly as long as you like wherever you want without worrying that you’re boring the heck out of them.’

  ‘And also you don’t have to stay somewhere mind-numbingly boring because you’re both waiting for the other person to say they’ve had enough. I agree.’

  ‘That smells delicious.’

  ‘It’s nearly ready, if you wanted to eat right now, or it can just as easily sit?’

  ‘I’m starving,’ Rain said, and threw her shopping bags down, and came over to help her gran make a salad.

  The paella was saffrony-fragrant, stuffed full of big langoustines. Rain ate two full bowls of it. Afterwards, Vivienne was scooping ice-cream on to the brownies, which they’d warmed in the oven, and Rain tentatively asked how the day had gone in the house now that Harry and Madrigal were back.

  ‘Oh. Right,’ her gran said, and Rain stuck her elbows on the table, making fun because Vivienne’s expression was quite serious. ‘Well, I’m not sure how you’ll feel about this,’ Vivienne began, ‘but it turned out I was wrong and you were right. By the looks of things, Madrigal and Harry are an item.’

  Rain’s stomach lurched as if she was in a lift that had just dropped unexpectedly. ‘How do you know?’ she finally asked.

  ‘Oh, they were necking when I got home. They didn’t see me, and I just left them to it – well, it was their break time.’

  Rain couldn’t think how to react, and Vivienne judged the silence correctly. ‘Oh, sweetie, I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘I thought you were only flirting with him for fun.’

  ‘Of course I was,’ Rain said. She recovered quickly. ‘It’s just, you know, I feel funny now about going out alone with him if he’s someone else’s boyfriend. I don’t think I’d like it if I had a boyfriend and he was going out with Madrigal. I suppose I don’t seem like much of a threat to her.’

  ‘Pah!’ Vivienne said.

  ‘Oh well,’ Rain said.

  ‘He’s just not as smart as I thought he was,’ Vivienne said.

  ‘Stupid me for fancying someone so stupid,’ Rain said.

  The next morning it rained. A lot. Heavy showers lashed against the fragile old windows of Vivienne’s house, streaming into the gutters in the street below. Vivienne stared out at her newly tidy garden; the smaller saplings the garden-clearance had uncovered were being bent backwards by the heavy rain, flower petals crushed flat.

  Rain had gone for a walk.

  The rain felt less nice than she’d expected. It slapped her face, got down her neck. She stood on a trick pavement slab that dipped four inches with her weight, spraying her leg with water and drenching her foot, so that the sock squelched inside her shoe. A lorry drove past, throwing up a wall of water that Rain tried to jump away from, but she was still splattered.

  ‘Uch, I’m so THICK,’ Rain said out loud, kicking an arch of water in front of her. She’d hoped to be spiritually cleansed by the rain, but she was just getting wet.

  Rain was finding it hard to believe she’d been so wrong about Harry. Why would he have lied to her about Madrigal – was it all about tricking her into having sex? She laughed with embarrassment; if it was about him having sex with her he had seriously been taking his time – he hadn’t even tried to kiss her. Then, horribly, she realised that her misunderstanding might have been almost the reverse of that – he hadn’t ever been interested in her that way, he really could have been showing her around London just to be kind. In which case, the worst thing he’d done to her was tell her Madrigal wasn’t his girlfriend, and he must have had some other reason for that – maybe she hadn’t been his girlfriend then, and yesterday things had changed – they had, after all, been left alone for a day, without their boss and their boss’s loopy granddaughter around. Well, lucky Harry.

  She came home and shrugged comically at her gran’s shocked expression on seeing how wet Rain was. Rain went upstairs to write an email to Georgina. It took her more than an hour: she included the whole complicated story about trying to trace her dad, all the way to how she ended up with Harry in the middle-aged gay couple’s chic little house, but she found it a lot more difficult explaining what was happening with her and Harry right now.

  Even my gran had been on at me to have a summer fling with him, and I swear to God he led me on! Do guys do that when they’re not interested? If they do, that’s not fair! It seems to be breaking some kind of guy rule for them to pretend to be interested and not be interested in anything.

  She was trying to be funny for Georgina, but she knew that what had happened between Harry and her was much more complicated. They had been friends. It hadn’t just been wishful romantic thinking, it hadn’t been imaginary. It had been a friendship that was much more natural and honest than any she’d had in her life –she felt completely herself with Harry – funnier and sillier and angrier and just BIGGER than she was with anyone else: she relaxed with him. However, she’d misinterpreted his boyfriend intentions, the friendship – the friendship – was real. She had
to put her embarrassment aside (even though her instinct was just to hide, for ever) and stop sulking about losing someone who had never been hers.

  Easier said than done when he had eyes like Harry.

  Rain leaned her forehead against the cold window and looked out. It was still cloudy but brighter, and the heavy rain had almost stopped. The street below looked clean and peaceful and London felt small and manageable. Then Rain saw a walk she recognised coming round the corner, heading towards her gran’s house: Harry was here.

  Chapter 15

  ‘It’s Harry, Harry’s outside,’ Rain said to Vivienne, before he’d reached the house. She put on her shoes and coat – the shoes were freezing and soggy on her feet – and went out, shutting the door behind her. She pulled the cold damp coat tightly around her.

  ‘Did you want Gran?’ Rain said, but she knew he didn’t.

  ‘No,’ Harry said.

  ‘Shall we walk?’

  ‘Yes.’

  It was still lightly raining. They walked in silence until they were well past the end of the street.

  ‘What did Vivienne say about things?’ Harry said.

  Rain was surprised he suspected that her gran might have talked about him snogging Madrigal. Then she realised he meant the mystery of her real father. ‘Nothing. Everything’s fine. My dad’s my dad. QV was code. It was nothing.’

  ‘That’s it?’ He was shocked.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Wow.’

  Rain could hear her shoes squelching. They didn’t look at each other.

  ‘How do you feel?’ Harry said.

  ‘Relieved?’ Rain said.

  ‘But not totally?’ Harry said.

  ‘No, yeah, relieved. But a bit abandoned too.’

  ‘You know,’ Harry said, ‘I don’t know anything about my parents as kids, or when they met, or the way they met. You could have shown me a … a Dickens novel or something and said it was my dad’s diary and I wouldn’t have thought it couldn’t be. Well, except for the carriages instead of cars. Do you know what I mean? I don’t think I put it very well.’