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

by Brooke Harris

  ‘My love life is in the toilet, Nana,’ I say, the words tasting familiar in my mouth. ‘I know how much you like Nate, but he’s not the guy you think he is. He’s not the guy I thought he was.’ I sigh deeply. ‘He’s shown his true colours recently, and he really is a gigantic arse. Trust me. First hurdle and he buggered off to Ibiza with his brothers for a lad’s week. He rang me pissed out of his tree at four o’clock in the morning trying to fix things. But it’s too late. The damage is done. There’s no coming back from this. I really thought I’d found a good one, Nana,’ I say, struggling to fight back tears. ‘I really did. And the worst part is that even though everything is a mess, I miss him. I really, really miss him.’ I drag my hand around my face and twist and pull my skin until it pinches. ‘Maybe true love just isn’t going to happen for me.’

  My grandmother’s grip tightens around my hand, and I instinctively lean closer to her. It takes her a few seconds, but she opens her mouth and rolls her tongue past her cracked lips. I wait. She’s going to speak, and I’m excited. My blood courses so fiercely through my veins I can hear my pulse pound inside my head. The pressure is uncomfortable and gives me a headache, but I don’t flinch and risk disturbing her.

  ‘True love ...’ Nana coughs and opens her eyes. ‘You don’t find it, Holly. It finds you. And it never lets go. Ever.’

  I’m about to tell her how I hope that’s true, but I don’t get a chance. She begins coughing like crazy, and she can’t draw a breath. Just those few words have exerted her.

  ‘It’s okay, Nana,’ I whisper as I lean over her and gently rub her chest. ‘It’s okay.’

  It’s so not okay. I’m completely freaking out. I want to help her sit up so she can cough it up and catch her breath, but I’m afraid to move her in case I hurt her fragile bones.

  ‘Try to stay calm, Nana. Don’t panic,’ I say, pulling my hand away from her and racing out the bedroom door.

  Don’t panic? I roll my eyes — I’m such a hypocrite.

  I stand at the top of the stairs and look over the banister. No one’s in the hall, and I can hear voices and the clattering of teacups coming from the kitchen. I don’t want to shout and startle my grandmother, but I need the nurse. I run down the first few steps completely torn — I don’t want to leave Nana alone, but I need help. I stop midway and puff out with relief when Ben appears at the kitchen door. He glances my way, and I don’t have to say anything. He scurries back through the door, and within seconds, Marcy is flying up the stairs past me.

  Minutes later, Ben comes to fetch me. I hadn’t realised I’d been frozen on the stairs until I feel my brother’s hand on my shoulder.

  ‘C’mon. Let me get you a coffee, Holly. Mom has a snack made for you. I was just coming to call you.’

  My legs wobble as they try to navigate the steps. Ben nudges the crook of his arm towards me, and I link my arm through it gratefully, letting him take most of the weight of my body.

  ‘Is this really happening?’ I mumble. ‘Is she really going to leave us?’

  ‘Yeah, Hols. I think so.’

  Three

  My family and I are dotted around the kitchen table, silently sipping coffee we don’t want. I stare out the window, but I don’t see the garden outside; I’m too busy replaying old memories in my head. I concentrate on my last visit to the old farmhouse before Nana’s diagnosis. I think it was late summer. Nate and I were on our way to Mayo for a weekend by the sea, and we popped in for a chat with Nana on the way. Nana made tea and scones, like always, and the three of us sat at this very table as Nana shared some of her old stories with us. I’d heard all the tales countless times before, but I’m so full of regret right now that I only offered her half my attention because I was anxious to get back on the road. Nate, on the other hand, listened carefully and asked lots of questions about the past. At the time, I thought he was humouring her, but looking back, I think he was genuinely curious about her life in a time before mobile phones and email.

  A gentle knock on the kitchen door pulls me back to the here and now. The door creaks open, and Marcy’s head appears in the gap.

  ‘Marcy,’ Mom says, standing up as the gap widens and Marcy shuffles into the kitchen.

  ‘Coffee?’ Ben asks, trying to shuffle out from his position wedged between the table and the kitchen wall.

  Marcy shakes her head gently. ‘No, thank you, Ben. I’ve had plenty already.’

  Ben plonks back down and goes back to staring into his own cup full of cold coffee that he never drank.

  Marcy and my mother stand still and look at each other for a moment as if Marcy is telling my mother something without words. I wish I understood. I wish Marcy would speak. And I wish my mother would sit down again; she looks as if she’s about to fall over. I find myself sliding to the edge of my chair, just in case, ready to catch her.

  I guess Marcy and my mother are around the same age. They both have a low maintenance sense of style and silver strands run through their hair—although my mother definitely has the lion’s share. But where Marcy is short and heavyset, my mother is tall, taller than a lot of men I know, and slim.

  It can’t be more than a couple of seconds before Marcy speaks, but the wait feels endless.

  ‘Annie is calm now,’ Marcy says. ‘The morphine is helping.’

  ‘How long does she have?’ I blurt out suddenly.

  My mother shoots me a disapproving glare. And my father says my name the way he used to when I was a kid and he was scolding me for doing something naughty.

  ‘Sorry.’ I swallow, apologising to spare my parents’ feelings, but I’m still desperate for an answer.

  ‘Don’t be,’ Marcy says. ‘You’d be surprised how often I hear that question. And I wish there was something I could tell you, Holly, but I’m afraid there really is no definitive answer. Everyone is different. But your grandmother is a fighter. That much I do know. She’s going to do this on her terms.’

  ‘But we don’t have long, do we?’ I continue.

  ‘Holly. Stop it,’ Dad protests. ‘Not in front of your mother.’

  ‘Leave her, George,’ Mom cuts across him. ‘She’s right to ask. Maybe we should know. At least that way we can make arrangements.’

  This time, I glare at my mother with narrowed eyes. I know she means the funeral. Christ! We can’t really be having this conversation.

  ‘I’ll sort all that stuff, Mom. Don’t worry,’ Ben offers.

  This is normally the point in our conversations where I’d joke and call him a lick arse for trying to be the favourite. But not today. Nothing is funny today.

  I don’t say anything more. Marcy hasn’t given me the answer I need. The answer that this is all a big mistake and Nana just has the flu and will get better in a few days. I don’t want to discuss anything else.

  ‘Excuse me,’ I say, pushing my chair back.

  The legs squeak as they object to sliding back against the marble floor tiles. Everyone watches me as I stand. What the hell? I make my way out the back door without looking back and without saying another word.

  The old chicken shed at the end of the garden smells funny. My grandmother hasn’t kept chickens there in more than twenty years, but I swear I can still get the whiff of cornmeal and the scent of fluffy yellow feathers of newly hatched chicks. It’s wonderfully familiar, but it hurts my heart.

  It’s dark out here. It can’t be past six p.m., but it feels like the middle of the night. Christ, I hate January. There’s no light down on this end of the garden, and I’m too far away from the house for the light shining out the kitchen window to stretch all the way down here. I remember how Ben and I would hide out here way past our bedtime content that no one would find us in the dark. It’s different now. I’m all too acquainted with darkness in recent weeks as I once again try to hide. But grown-up problems aren’t as easy to hide from.

  I drag my phone out of my trouser pocket and use the torch app to help me see where the hell I’m going. I notice the countless missed
calls and texts from Nate, but I ignore them. He probably wants to discuss me dashing out of the office abruptly when we have a major presentation for an international client tomorrow. We don’t discuss anything except work these days. At first, I thought it was better than not talking at all, but I’m finding it harder and harder to pretend we’re just colleagues. I miss the man I thought was my soul mate. I can’t believe Nate would call to discuss spreadsheets and figure projections when he knows how ill Nana is.

  I find an empty metal bucket and turn it over to sit on top. It’s freezing and ridiculously uncomfortable, but I don’t get back up. I fold my arms across my chest to keep warm and hunch over until I’m almost curled into a ball. And finally, alone, I allow myself to cry. Heavy, salty tears trickle down my cheeks as my body heaves and groans. And it feels good to let it all out. It feels good. But it also feels so horribly bad and painful that I’m not sure I can cope. Oh, Nana.

  ‘There you are,’ a voice says.

  I jump and immediately sit upright.

  ‘Your mother told me I might find you out here,’ Marcy explains.

  ‘I just needed a minute.’

  ‘I completely understand. It’s scary; I get that. But it’s bitter cold out here, and you’ve no coat on.’ Marcy sighs. ‘Annie wouldn’t want you to catch your death.’

  ‘Maybe that would be a good thing,’ I grumble. ‘We could go together.’

  ‘Oh, Holly, sweetheart. No.’ Even in the darkness, I can see Marcy shaking her head. ‘You’re young with your whole life ahead of you. I know this hurts a lot, but your grandmother wouldn’t want to hear you talking like that.’

  ‘It’s not fair.’ I snort, pulling the sleeve of my jumper over my hand and using it to dab around my eyes.

  ‘I know. I know.’ Marcy sighs. ‘I know it feels like that now. But Annie was young once too, just like you are now. She’s lived her life. A great life, Holly. Her time has come, and she’s ready to go. But she can’t go peacefully if she knows you’re out here all alone and upset.’

  My whole face scrunches. Sweet as Marcy is, her story stinks worse than the chicken shed.

  ‘Did my mother tell you to say that?’ I moan.

  Marcy shakes her head, but I know she’s lying.

  ‘Nana doesn’t know I’m out here, does she?’

  ‘No,’ Marcy confesses.

  I smile and drop my head, feeling less on edge. I like Marcy better when she’s honest.

  ‘But Annie does worry about you,’ Marcy adds. ‘She thinks you guard your heart when it comes to love, and she doesn’t want that for you.’

  Nate comes to my mind straight away. I’ve heard people in the office whisper about how we’re the most mismatched couple they know. Nate is confident and outspoken. I’m quiet and emotionally guarded. The bitches in accounts actually had a bet on when we’d break up. Whoever chose January made a fortune. My family, on the other hand, was rooting for us. My mother said Nate was good for me and brought me out of my shell – whatever that meant. And Nana said Nate reminds her of someone. I really wish I’d taken the time now to ask her who.

  I drag my eyes from staring at my feet to study the woman standing in front of me who I don’t know, but she seems to know so much about me.

  ‘Nana said she’s worried about me?’ I squeak.

  ‘She didn’t have to actually say it,’ Marcy says. ‘It’s what she didn’t tell me that helped me understand how much she cares about you. And your brother too.’

  ‘You’ve talked a lot these past few days.’ I smile. ‘You and Nana, I mean.’

  Marcy’s body language becomes lighter — happier. ‘Annie is a lovely lady.’ Marcy smiles. ‘It’s been a pleasure taking care of her and getting to know her.’

  Marcy’s words twist like a vise around my heart. My grandmother really is a lovely lady. Everyone thinks so. She’s lived in Athenry all her life, and the whole town knows her well. She’s popular and makes friends so easily. I’m not like that, unfortunately.

  Marcy is Nana’s newest friend. You’d think I would feel sad that even on her deathbed, my grandmother is still making new friends, still attracting people with her charming personality and warm heart, but it doesn’t. It feels good. I remind myself that I’m cut from the same cloth. Talbot blood runs in my veins, and I’m damn proud. I’m glad Marcy is Nana’s nurse. I’m so happy that Nana has had company these past few days. Someone to share her old stories with. It should have been me, but I’m here now. We can share stories now. I stand.

  ‘So you’ll come back inside?’ Marcy asks.

  ‘Yeah. Of course.’ I shouldn’t have come outside.

  ‘Oh. Before we go, I have a quick question,’ Marcy says, fidgeting with her nails.

  ‘Okay?’ I reply, wondering why she can’t wait until we go back inside — where it’s warm.

  ‘Was Annie an artist when she was younger?’

  I giggle. ‘Oh, God no. Painting and drawing are definitely not Nana’s thing. She’s more of a book person, you know?’

  ‘Hmm.’ Marcy actually scratches her head, and the cliché almost makes me laugh again. ‘It’s just … hmm …’

  ‘It’s just what?’ I say, riddled with curiosity.

  ‘Ah, no, nothing. Never mind.’

  My eyebrow rises independent of the rest of my face. And even though I didn’t intend it to, my expression lets Marcy know I’m not impressed. ‘Tell me, please? Is there something I should be worried about?’

  ‘No. No,’ Marcy says, shaking her hand back and forth as if she’s erasing a mistake written in the air. ‘Annie talks about her sketches fondly. She babbles about them in her sleep. And it makes her happy.’

  ‘That’s odd. I’ve never known her to draw. Ever,’ I say.

  ‘I was wondering if she has an old sketchbook somewhere. Or some pictures she’s painted that are hiding away. In the attic maybe?’

  I shrug. ‘I dunno. S’pose we could take a look. But it just doesn’t sound like Nana.’

  ‘It was probably a long time ago. Before you were born, I’d say. Maybe I should ask your mother.’

  I shake my head. ‘No. Don’t say anything for now. My mom is barely coping as it is. If she thinks there are paintings that mean something to Nana lost somewhere, she’ll be even more upset. I’ll look for them. It’s one less thing for my mom to worry about.’

  ‘Sounds like a good plan, Holly. I hope you find something. Your grandmother has such love in her voice when she talks about them. I know they must be very special.’

  ‘Okay.’ I smile, quite contented to have a chore. ‘I’ll start looking straight away.’

  ‘Good girl.’ Marcy winks and places her hand on my shoulder, and I realise perhaps she’s older than I first thought.

  And I wonder if the paintings are really for Nana … or for me. I get the impression she can read me like one of Nana’s books. Maybe there are no paintings. Maybe the idea is just a pleasant distraction. Something to occupy my time and stop me from freaking out again. And I think I like Marcy more than ever.

  Four

  The attic almost smells as uninviting as the chicken shed. The musty, damp stench wafts towards me as soon as Ben slides the hatch back. I don’t want to go up there. I suspect the only visitors the attic has seen in over twenty years have a lot more legs than I do. If the giant-ass spider who tried to hop in the shower with me a couple of years ago is anything to go by, Nana’s house is masquerading as a refuge for insects of unfathomable size.

  ‘Come on, Holly, will you?’ Ben peeks down at me through the square hole that opening the attic door has created in the guest bedroom ceiling.

  ‘Be careful,’ I warn instinctively.

  ‘Are you coming up or what? This was your idea,’ Ben grumbles.

  ‘Gimme a minute,’ I say, my hands shaking as I grip the sides of the ladder.

  Ben disappears from my view, and I know he’s getting pissed off. I haven’t even told him what we’re looking for yet. But as soon as I’d ment
ioned the attic, his face lit up. He’s most likely as grateful for the distraction as I am. Or he’s excited. It’s just like it used to be when we were kids. We’d dress up, the fairy princess and Darth Vader, and we’d explore for hours. We’d leave no stone unturned. Literally. The garden would be a mess when we were finished. We were like a whirlwind ripping through the house. Throwing cushions off the couch onto the floor, we used them as our stepping stones to cross the lava river. We’d pull fresh linen from the closet in search of treasure. My mother would scold us and insist we tidy up, but my grandmother would smile, tell us to wash up for dinner, and quickly put the house back in order by herself.

  Timbers creak and groan overhead, pulling my mind back to the here and now and my position on a wobbly ladder. It’s just the sound of Ben walking around up there. A few specks of dust trickle down and land in my eye, and I protest with some elaborate profanity mumbled under my breath.

  My legs quiver as I make my way up the ladder. ‘I’m coming,’ I say, not sure why I need to announce it as if Ben isn’t expecting me.

  Ben doesn’t reply, but a light flickers, and after a couple of false starts, it finally stays on. It doesn’t feel as scary when it’s bright.

  ‘Found the light switch,’ Ben shouts.

  ‘Really? I hadn’t noticed.’

  Ben groans. It makes me laugh. This really is like we are kids again.

  I finally reach the top of the ladder, take a deep breath, and poke my head through. It’s surprisingly clean. Insulation visibly pokes out from the eves of the roof, but other than that, you could be fooled into believing it was just another room in the house. Unused and cold – sure. But not a breeding ground for terrifying insects as I’d anticipated.