Silver Rain

by Jan Ruth

  As the flight droned on, the issues loomed bigger and became clouded with her fuzzy double-thinking. By the time they landed at Manchester she was barely able to function, let alone think clearly and she just wanted to lie down and close her eyes. Al found her somewhere to sit while he waited to get the luggage, then it was standing in queues again. Kate sank onto the top of her bag, feeling weak and nauseous, her head pounding.

  ‘I’ll come home with you, I’m not leaving you like this,’ he said, ‘I’ll sleep on the sofa or something.’

  ‘Why the sofa?’

  She knew why he’d said it, it was because of the marital bed but Kate couldn’t have cared less. As it happened, when they eventually reached the sanctuary of her bedroom, they both fell into the deepest sleep imaginable and she remembered nothing more till she woke, some sixteen hours later, not knowing what day it was.

  Meanwhile, her symptoms had developed into the head-cold from Hell, no doubt the result of being trapped in an airtight metal tube travelling at 550 miles per hour with hundreds of coughing and sneezing people. Al was the best nurse ever, surprising her with homemade lentil and tarragon soup, serving it to her bedside wearing not much more than an old flowery apron that used to be her mother’s.

  ‘You’ll make someone a lovely wife one day,’ she said.

  ‘Been there and done that but I came away with less than a tee-shirt.’

  Through the window, she could see the tops of the trees, profuse with blossom and birds against a slate-blue sky. He busied himself getting dressed and she decided she liked both bits of scenery, very much. He spoilt it a little when he began to think out loud.

  ‘Do you think I should gift Helen some of the inheritance?’

  ‘What on earth for?’

  ‘I still feel kind of guilty, for messing up her life.’

  ‘I refuse to feel guilty about anything or anybody anymore. Anyway, I thought you’d already given her the majority share?’

  ‘Yeah,’ he said, then after a moment, ‘Do you think I should buy Chathill?’

  ‘What, and live there by yourself ?’

  ‘No, for George and Fran, and Becca.’

  ‘But it would just go back to how it was and get in a mess.’ She put the mug of soup down and hitched herself up the bed, ‘Actually, I think you should stay out of their way for a while. I had an e-mail from George to say they were doing okay.’

  He sat on the edge of the bed and contemplated this and she couldn’t help thinking how much more simple it had been on the beach. Now that they were back home their respective problems were not only poised to resurface but begged for attention.

  ‘You don’t know what to do with this money, or with yourself, do you?’

  ‘I need to go and re-stock your fridge, that’s the first job,’ he said. ‘Then buy somewhere to live, I guess. My head’s all over the place to be honest, the jet-lag doesn’t help.’

  ‘You can stay here while you decide.’

  ‘Are you sure? I’ll pick up some of my stuff from the farm, if that’s okay?’

  ‘I’m sure, yes,’ she said, then began to cough. ‘Sorry. Sore throat.’

  ‘Can Marge and the puppy come? I’ll leave Butter with Maisie.’

  ‘Of course, I’d love that.’

  He kissed the top of her head and promised icecream.

  A couple of hours later, she managed to get dressed and reached the hall just as the landline phone rang. It was Tia, in curt mode. They hadn’t spoken since the aborted Skype session, other than very short text messages, but presumably on receipt of the recent e-mail, she was curious to know if her secret was still safe.

  ‘I hope you haven’t said anything, have you?’

  ‘Thank you, I had a lovely time.’

  ‘Good. Well?’

  ‘No, I haven’t, but I intend to.’

  ‘You promised!’

  ‘I didn’t promise, and anyway, it’s become more complicated,’ she said, then began to explain, but Tia lost patience when she came to the part about Ruby’s will, and started to interrupt. ‘What? I don’t understand what you’re going on about! Actually, I don’t want to hear any of this!’

  Kate raised her voice, determined to have her say. ‘Basically, there are now medical reasons, ethical reasons and the most important reason of all; I love Al and I’m not going to lie. I’ve asked him to move in.’

  ‘Oh for fuck’s sake! Where does that leave me?’

  ‘Tia, it’s not about you! Look, Jo needs to know about this medical condition. And she needs to tell Al.’

  ‘It’s her choice alone!’

  ‘Not anymore.’

  They disconnected and Kate stared at the handset for a moment, heart hammering and feeling slightly woozy from the exertion of shouting. When she heard the sound of something falling to the tiled floor in the kitchen, she moved as if in slow motion through the snug. The back door was open and Al was stood there, his arms loaded with a haphazard array of grocery shopping, a bunch of flowers balanced on top. Her mouth possibly dropped open but her dry throat made only a croaking sound.

  ‘Interesting conversation you were having there,’ he said quietly and dumped the shopping, unceremoniously, onto the table. A box of eggs and three different flavours of Ben and Jerry’s ice cream spilled out and rolled across the surface.

  ‘Al…’

  ‘Talk.’

  All the ingenious, more gentle ways of sharing the information, all the conversations she’d rehearsed in her mind over several days, were rendered useless. She was reduced to more or less blurting it out while he fired random questions at her. His physical reaction on hearing of Ruby’s condition was like the coming together of the two seas Brian Bennet had described; a biblical style tsunami of emotion. He didn’t utter a single word as she stumbled through, trying to explain it all, and his eyes never left hers, but there was a palpable wave of tension in the small space, almost to the point of suffocation.

  ‘Next question; next two questions in fact. Why were you telling Tia, instead of me? And what’s Jo got to do with it?’

  ‘Good questions,’ she barked, then began to cough, and he waited as she filled a glass with water and gulped some of it down, her eyes on the bottles of New Zealand Mercury Bay he’d slotted in the wooden rack on the worktop.

  ‘Kate?’

  In fits and starts, she managed to get it all out, Tia’s job, Jo’s continuing pregnancy. He was incredulous at this.

  ‘How long have you known, about Jo?’

  ‘Not long, just before we flew out. It’s just a crazy coincidence.’

  ‘And you didn’t think to mention it to me, this crazy coincidence?’

  ‘Tia was worried about breaking a confidence, about losing her job.’

  ‘Oh, she could lose her fucking job? Oh well, we can’t have that, can we?’ He raked a hand through his hair. ‘Just give me the address, now please.’

  She shuffled into the snug, fired up her laptop and found the address, then he asked her to write down the medical term she’d used. ‘I want to know exactly what it is.’

  ‘Hypertrophic cardiomyopathy.’

  ‘Hyper what? Show me!’

  He paced about while she found the medical site and printed out the information. He snatched it from her and scanned it quickly, then just as she’d done herself, went back to the beginning, frowning.

  ‘Al, can we just-’

  ‘Have you any idea how serious this is? Hang on… Maisie had chest pains at Christmas!’

  ‘She had indigestion more likely. Don’t jump to dangerous conclusions.’

  ‘What, like my kids could drop down dead? Those kind of conclusions?’

  He stuffed the printout in his back pocket, along with Jo’s address then went upstairs, taking the steps two at a time. She heard him pacing to and fro, collecting things out of the bathroom and throwing them into a bag. He came down minutes later with all his gear stuffed into a holdall.


  ‘I never thought you’d be capable of anything like this,’ he said, grabbing his jacket off the bannister. ‘I trusted you.’

  ‘Al, you’ve got more skeletons than shirts in your wardrobe so don’t throw any trust issues back at me.’

  He ignored this, opened the front door and slung the bag into his car. She followed him, momentarily stunned by the fresh wind.

  ‘Where are you going?’

  ‘Where do you think?’

  So it was all over, was it? She had no idea because she was doubled over coughing every few minutes, her eyes streaming. He slammed the car door shut and she watched him reverse at a dangerous speed off the drive, a horrible clanking sound coming from the exhaust. Her first, her only thought, was that it was Greg all over again. The argument, the slam of a door, the accident. His death, her guilt.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Kate.

  It was a kind of death. Whether his or hers, it didn’t matter because all she could do was crawl back to bed and sob but even that wasn’t proper crying, it was more a miserable combination of heaving, coughing and sneezing until it made her retch. The sheer frustration that she’d been unable to quantify any of it into words that made sense, or even simply to stay in control of the situation, came out as a torrent of tears, no use to anyone. The rest of her pain was plain old heartache, something she’d not had the pleasure of associating with since her teenage days.

  What an insensitive hash she’d made of it, would he ever forgive her? She should have told him right away and then helped him deal with it, but hindsight was always so obviously correct. And who could she talk to? Tia wasn’t picking up her phone but then why should she warn her that Al was likely on his way? The cat was out of the bag now and it was Al’s problem to deal with. His phone was switched off too, of course, but she left a pathetic message about driving carefully. She imagined him speeding along the motorway in his wreck of a car. At first he was jet-lagged, slumped at the wheel, then the exhaust was hanging off and the car was exploding into flames. She tried the phone again, but stopped herself in case he answered it while he was driving and veered off the road, down an embankment, the car rolling over and over…

  When she heard a vehicle pull on to the drive, she ran to the window, but of course it wasn’t him. For one thing the engine sounded quiet and powerful. It was Annemarie, wanting her waxing kit back.

  ‘You look… shit,’ she said, when Kate finally answered the door. She followed her through to the snug. ‘Thought you’d been on holiday?’

  ‘Yes, well, the holiday is well and truly over.’

  There was a split-second of acknowledgement on both sides to this, then she burst into tears. She cried it all out, getting it off her chest in big noisy sobs. Her sister sat mesmerised, passing tissues. Role reversal never came easily to Annemarie and she was mostly unsympathetic. Even when she asked questions, they were dumb ones.

  ‘Where did you get that ring?’

  ‘It belonged to his mother.’

  ‘Which one?’

  ‘Oh! What does it matter?’

  ‘Just trying to show an interest! I don’t get why you’re so upset. From what you’ve just told me, all this stuff is his business not yours. Anyway, Tia says he had a thing with Auntie Fran, of all people! I mean, you turn your nose up at the blokes I go with and here’s you, destroyed over some waster who dresses up as a clown.’

  ‘Just go, will you? You’re not helping.’

  ‘Where’s the waxing kit?’

  ‘Bathroom.’

  She went upstairs and clumped across the landing, then minutes later reappeared at the snug door. ‘You know where you went wrong with him, don’t you?’

  ‘Oh, I know what your mantra is, I’ve lived with it for too long.’

  ‘Then you should have learnt something. Falling in love is never an option.’

  ‘You’re a sad bitch.’

  ‘Ha! You’re the one with tears and snot running down your face.’

  Kate sighed, blotted her face and blew her nose. Was she right? In a way, it was still worth it to have had the peaks register on her life-ometer. It was the thought of flat-lining again which was thoroughly depressing. Although Annemarie might understand that aspect, her idea of a likely solution would always be to find another man.

  ‘Anyway, now that you’re not working anymore,’ Annemarie said, winding the cable round the waxing kit. ‘Could you see your way to looking out for Mum again? I’m renting the house out and going down London for a bit.’

  ‘What? When was all this decided?’

  ‘Ages ago. Can’t believe how much money you can get if you rent a four-bed to a company. I’m sharing a flat with Carol, it’ll be such a blast!’ she went on, gyrating around the coffee table. ‘Just imagine… nothing to clean or look after, no garden and the centre of the fucking universe on the doorstep.’

  ‘And what about Jake, and Robyn?’

  ‘Robyn’s going to college somewhere in Twickenham and living with her boyfriend and his mates.’

  ‘She’s much too young!’

  Annemarie sneered at this. ‘Rubbish! She’s nearly seventeen. Jakey can go to school down there as well, can’t he?’

  Kate thought she might explode with despair. She didn’t want to think about her sister’s selfish mess.

  ‘What are you running away from?’

  ‘A boring life,’ she said, sliding a set of keys onto the table. ‘Keep an eye on the house for me, yeah?’

  *

  Trapped by her sister’s hand again, that’s what it felt like. She couldn’t blame her mother but sadly, that’s how it came out as they struggled round the supermarket. She felt washed-out from a restless night, down to a mix of jet-lag and a stuffed-up nose, but mostly due to a heart like lead. Every time she woke, she tried the phone, then finally switched it off in an angry fit. Sod him!

  ‘Look at the price of those potatoes!’ her mother said.

  ‘Same as they’ve always been.’

  ‘They go up every week. I bet they’re foreign as well,’ she said, squinting at the bags. ‘Where are they from, can you see?’

  ‘No idea and I don’t care.’

  ‘It hasn’t done you any good, that trip. Don’t know why you wanted to go gallivanting halfway round the world in the first place.’

  I went for fun and sex, came back in love, lost the lot. Sod him.

  The dairy aisle was painful. It was where she’d stood, not that long ago, talking to Al, her phone pressed to her ear as she thought up names for Marge’s puppy.

  ‘How about Flora?’

  ‘It’s a boy, a big one.’

  ‘Lard?’

  ‘Hey yeah… Lardy, I like that.’

  They’d laughed and laughed, but today it all seemed childish. She pushed the trolley to the checkout and waited impatiently as her mother counted out coupons for five-pence off bread, double store points on something else. Then the coupon didn’t work because it was the wrong brand, so they held up the queue while a disinterested member of staff strolled back to the bakery to change the bread.

  During this convoluted farce, she spotted Richard Jones from her schooldays, same age as herself, pushing his mother round in a wheelchair. He looked like an old man in brogues, shirt and tie and a comb-over. A sudden vision popped into her head of Al, the way he’d looked at her through his fringe, the way he felt under her hands and the masculine smell of his skin. The way he’d disturbed her sleeping body and woken her up inside, as if she’d been dormant for years, like Sleeping Beauty.

  Good grief, she really must be in love.

  The cashier broke into her daydream, leaning across the conveyor belt as if she were deaf. ‘Sixty-nine pounds and fifteen pence, love. Do you need help with your packing, sweetheart?’

  ‘Do I look so decrepit that I can’t put a few items in a bag? And I’m not your bloody sweetheart!’

  ‘Well excuse me!’


  Her mother butted in, ‘She’s jet-lagged, that’s what it is.’

  Kate marched out of the store and across the car park. She threw the shopping into the boot, then revved the car impatiently when her mother stopped to talk to Richard Jones.

  ‘His mother’s got awful bad grout,’ she said, when she eventually flopped into the passenger seat.

  ‘Gout, you mean gout.’

  ‘That’s what I said, grout.’

  She slowed as she went past Annemarie’s house and there was indeed a sign, Let By Redman Estates, with a red slash through it. She rammed the car into third gear and speeded up.

  ‘She kept that quiet, didn’t she?’

  ‘Oh, don’t ask me, I don’t understand what she’s doing.’

  At Rhos House, they put the shopping away, then it was sorting through the post. There were dozens of unpaid bills and the flat was grubby. Although Kate felt physically debilitated, she worked through cleaning and tidying, fuelled by a fermented mix of anger and frustration, highlighted every now and again with self-pity. Every so often she stopped and tried Al’s mobile number but it remained set to voice-mail.

  ‘Who do you keep phoning?’ her mother probed. ‘I hope you’re not chasing him, it never works you know.’

  This made her laugh, but it came out as a hysterical choking noise, which made her cough and then her eyes started streaming. Her mother patted her arm and put the kettle on, and the scenario was like going back forty years when she’d fallen out with her first boyfriend at primary school and she’d wanted to believe that her mother could make it better somehow.

  ‘What’s he like, this fella?’

  How could she answer that? It was difficult to quantify Al in a sentence. The Charles and Diana mugs came out.