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

by Brooke Harris

  ‘Would you do me a favour and put your hand in the side pocket of the door please?’ Sketch says as I sit in the car.

  I shake my head, flustered, but I do as he asks.

  ‘You got it?’ Sketch smiles.

  My fingers curl around a silk tie, and I pull my hand back out, dragging the tie with me.

  ‘That’s it.’ Sketch nods.

  ‘It’s a tie,’ I announce.

  ‘Well yes, usually it is. But today, it’s a blindfold.’

  My shoulder rises, and my head drops to meet them. ‘Oh no, no, no. Wherever we’re going, I want to see it with my two eyes.’

  ‘Do you trust me?’ Sketch asks.

  It’s the same question he asked the first day I sat in his car, and I never want to give him a reason to have to ask me again.

  ‘Yes. Completely,’ I say.

  ‘Then please, put this on.’

  My head is telling me to say no, but my heart is already a step ahead with a curious yes.

  ‘Okay,’ I blurt.

  Sketch secures the tie around my eyes, making sure I can’t see anything.

  ‘No peeking,’ he warns as I hear the engine splutter to life and feel us drive away.

  Sketch and I sit in silence. The only sound is the roll of the wheels over the rubble of the road. Every bump and turn teases me as I try to guess where we might be going or even in what direction.

  Sooner than I expect, the car comes to a stop.

  ‘We’re here,’ Sketch announces, excitement sticking to his words like treacle.

  ‘Here where?’ I giggle, reaching up to release the blindfold.

  ‘No, no, no,’ Sketch says, gathering my hands into his and gentle forcing them back down to my lap. ‘Not yet. Just a little farther.’

  I hear Sketch’s door open and then close, and I hold my breath as I sit alone in the car in complete darkness. I breathe out roughly as I hear my door open and feel the fresh air blow against my face.

  ‘Mind your step,’ Sketch says, taking my hand and guiding me out of the car. ‘It’s mucky here. Just be careful.’

  I’m not sure where to stand, and my knees tremble a little.

  ‘I have you,’ Sketch says. ‘C’mon. It’s not far. I won’t let go.’

  I feel long grass brush against my ankles, tickling me. I hear birds chirp overhead, and I smell freshly cut grass.

  ‘I know where we are,’ I say.

  ‘You do?’

  ‘The orchard.’ I nod, smugly triumphant. ‘Am I right?’

  ‘Yes.’ Sketch laughs. ‘But you still can’t take your blindfold off yet.’

  ‘But I guessed.’

  ‘Yes, you did. Well done.’ I can hear the excitement in Sketches voice; it’s contagious and giddiness fizzes through my veins. ‘But you only guessed where we are,’ Sketch continues. ‘You haven’t guessed why we are here.’

  ‘Why are we here?’

  ‘C’mon,’ Sketch says, tightening his grip on my hand. ‘Let’s run.’

  ‘I can’t see,’ I protest as if Sketch has forgotten I’m still blindfolded. ‘I’ll fall.’ I tug on his hand, pulling back.

  ‘I’ll never let you fall.’

  I nod. Sketch and I run. It’s odd to feel my legs move so quickly without my eyes to guide them. I don’t fall. I stumble a couple of times when my foot tangles in some long grass or I lose my footing on the uneven, mucky ground, but every time, I feel Sketch’s grip on my hand a little tighter, steadying me. By the time we come to a stop, we’re both out of breath.

  ‘Now, Annie,’ Sketch pants, letting go of my hand. ‘Take the blindfold off now.’

  My fingers shake with nervous anticipation as I reach up and wrap my fingers around the silk tie covering my eyes. I take a deep breath and tug the tie over my head. I squint as my eyes take a moment to adjust to the brightness of a beautiful morning. I find Sketch standing in front of me more handsome than I’ve ever seen him before. He’s slicked his ebony hair back off his face. He’s fitted out in a charcoal suit coupled with a crisp white shirt that complements his sallow skin. And his big, brown eyes burn into mine with such intensity it’s a struggle to hold myself back instead of running and jumping into his arms.

  Small black wrought-iron lanterns hang from the branches of various apple trees. Some hang low, some hang high, and they all sway in the gentle, summer wind. A single, cream candle sits inside the centre of every lantern, burning with fierce determination despite the muted breeze. I count the first twenty or so but quickly give up; there are just too many. The amber flames flicker beautifully like the lights of hundreds of fireflies.

  ‘Your mother came to the farm last night,’ Sketch says, taking my hand, and I think I’m finally beginning to get an explanation for why I’m here.

  A list of questions scrolls through my mind, but I’m too in awe of the beauty all around me to move words past my lips.

  ‘She walked, miles in the dark, and almost broke my front door down with her determined knocking,’ he continues.

  I shake my head. ‘She shouldn’t have walked all that way in the dark,’ I say, images of my exhausted mother trailing the long, narrow roads in the dead of night sending shivers down my spine.

  ‘Annie, listen. Just listen,’ Sketch says, adopting a serious posture.

  ‘Your mother stood on my doorstep, shaking with cold and exhaustion and told me that if I let you slip away, I’d be making the biggest mistake of my life. She told me she loved you more than life itself, and that if I didn’t make you my wife, she’d never forgive me.’

  ‘I’ve never doubted that my mother loves me,’ I say. ‘That’s exactly why I can’t leave her alone. Please try to understand, Sketch. I love you with all my heart, but my mother needs me. She only has me.’

  Sketch takes a deep breath. ‘She told me about when you were a little girl. About the early years as a family. She told me about how you were happy and healthy before your father had his accident and started drinking. And then she told me about the first time he hit you. And how sorry she was that she didn’t take you and run away right then.’

  ‘I’ve thought about running away many times over the years,’ I confess. ‘But I could never bring myself to abandon Ma. And I knew she would never come with me. I tried to tell myself that Ma must have her reasons for staying, but I could never quite understand what they were.’

  ‘She had nowhere to go, Annie,’ Sketch continues. ‘Where could a woman and a little girl run to, especially with no money? Some do-gooder would have picked her up before she got to the next town and brought her home.’

  ‘She could have tried to explain,’ I say, realising for the first time that I’m bitter she never thought I deserved an explanation. ‘She could have told them about how he hurts us. Showed them the bruises. Told them she didn’t want to go home. She could have asked for their help.’

  Sketch shakes his head. ‘Even if folks believed her, they wouldn’t help. You know that as well as I do. A man’s home and family are his castle. No one is prepared to come between a man and his family. Even if that man is a monster who doesn’t deserve them. People round these parts aren’t stupid, Annie. They’ve seen your mother’s black eyes. Her occasional limp. They know she doesn’t have an easy life, but they turn a blind eye. It’s just what people do. Because home is where a woman belongs. Everyone thinks so. It’s wrong and unfair, but your mother belongs to your father, Annie. No woman should ever be the property of any man, but that’s just the way it is. And the worst part is I don’t think that will ever change. Not here, not in Athenry.’

  ‘I do.’ I shake my head. ‘I think things will change. But only if people learn to be brave and stand up for what’s right. I think someday men and women will be equal. I think a woman will be able to work and be a good mother, but only if that’s what she wants. I think men will respect a woman’s opinion. I even think Ireland could have a female president.’

  ‘Annie, I love your optimism,’ Sketch says, taking my hand. ‘Eve
n after everything you’ve been through, you still have hope for the future. Don’t ever change, Annie Fagan.’

  I spread my fingers, and Sketch’s fingers slip between them effortlessly.

  ‘Well, do make a change, actually,’ he says, lifting my hand to his lips to kiss the back of my palm softly. ‘Change your name. Become Mrs Annie Talbot.’

  I shake my head and sigh with heavy sadness.

  ‘And before you say anything,’ he adds with an attractive raised eyebrow. ‘Your mother is taken care of. She’s going to take up your job at my father’s farm.’

  ‘My job?’ I echo.

  ‘Yes. My father is going to need someone to look after him while we’re busy travelling Europe, just like we said we would.’

  I shake my head. ‘Sketch, that was just a dream. Fantasy stuff. I didn’t really expect it to happen.’

  ‘But it can happen, Annie. If we really want it to. I know you worry about your ma, but my pa will take good care of her. I promise. And we won’t be gone forever, just a few months. I’ll sell my paintings, and you can read and write, if you want to. We can be real artists. I’ve enough money saved to keep us going for six months at least.’

  ‘Pa will just come looking for her. He’ll drag her back, probably by the hair on her head. He’d make her pay for ever thinking she could leave. It would be horrible. I can’t take that risk.’

  ‘He won’t,’ Sketch says, foolishly certain.

  I shake my head. ‘You don’t know him the way I do.’

  ‘Oh, believe me.’ Sketch’s eyes narrow. ‘I know exactly what he’s capable of. That’s why I want to get you both out of there as soon as possible.’

  ‘Sketch, this sounds wonderful, but I just don’t believe dreams come true as simply as all this.’

  ‘It’s not simple, Annie.’ Sketch stiffens. ‘I’m not pretending it’s simple. Dreams don’t come true with a click of your fingers. You have to make it happen. I think we are two people who can damn well give making it happen our best shot. I believe in us. Do you?’

  ‘But it’s not just about us.’

  Sketch sighs, but his eyes are smiling. ‘Your father made a mistake.’

  ‘He’s made a lot of those.’ I snort.

  Sketch raises his eyebrows. He’s confident and attractive, and I so want to believe everything he’s saying.

  ‘About two weeks ago, your pa got into a bar brawl. A big one, by all accounts. There was kicking and punching.’

  ‘He was yielding to a headache a couple of weeks back.’ I remember unsurprised. ‘His mood was worse than usual that night. I thought he’d just binged more than normal.’

  ‘The fight spilled out the door of the pub and onto the street. Half the town saw it. Folks are talking about how strong your pa was. Talking about how he pulverised one of the farmer’s sons from the far side of town.’

  ‘That’s terrible,’ I admit. ‘I hope the kid is okay, but I don’t understand how this helps Ma.’

  ‘A man with a back injury—too bad to work—wouldn’t have the strength to land a young farmer in the hospital now, would he?’

  ‘I ... I ... I guess not.’

  ‘But your father did.’ Sketch’s lips thin, and I can see frustration in the fine lines around his eyes. ‘He doesn’t have a bad back, Annie. He’s a lazy drunk. And the state doesn’t pay disability to lazy alcoholics. I’ve left your father a note telling him that if he ever comes near you or your mother again, I’ll personally walk to the police station and tell them everything I know. And every farmer in the town will back me up.’

  ‘He’ll be furious.’ I begin to shake just thinking about it.

  ‘Probably. But he’s not stupid, Annie. He’ll understand I’m not bluffing. Unless he wants to lose every penny he has, he’ll stay away from you and your ma. For good.’

  ‘Sketch, I’m scared,’ I admit. ‘I don’t know if my father is the type of man you can reason with.’

  ‘You said people have to be brave and make changes, Annie. We can be those people. Please be brave now and have faith in me. Let me be the man who respects your opinion. Let me spend the rest of my life being your equal, your friend, your husband. Let me even help you run for president if you want to.’

  I giggle. ‘President?’ That might be taking it a bit far.’

  ‘Annie. Please.’

  ‘When? How would we even do this? My father will never approve of a wedding.’

  ‘Your father won’t know.’

  I scrunch my nose and look around at the romantic setting of lanterns dangling off blossoming trees. ‘What’s really going on here?’ I say.

  ‘Your father won’t know because by this evening we will be on the ferry to Wales. As husband and wife.’ Sketch can’t contain his enthusiasm. ‘Annie, take one last brave step. You have been my best friend and soul mate since we were eleven years old. I can’t think of anything that would make me happier than spending the rest of my life with you as my wife.’

  I take a step forward and take Sketch by surprise when I press my lips to his. His strong arms swoop around my back, and he pulls me close to him.

  ‘I love you,’ he whispers sweetly from his open mouth into mine.

  ‘Is that your way of saying yes?’ Ma’s voice carries in the wind behind me and startles me, and I break away from Sketch and turn my head to find Ma and Mr Talbot standing a few feet behind us.

  ‘Annie, you’ve spent your whole life worrying about me,’ Ma says, ‘I can’t let you do that anymore. It’s time to spread your wings. It’s time to grow up.’

  ‘I am grown up, Ma,’ I say.

  ‘Yes. Yes, you are.’ Ma smiles. ‘And I’m so proud of you.’

  ‘You call this a party?’ a shrill female voice I instantly recognise says abruptly.

  I tilt my head a fraction to see past Ma’s shoulder, and as I suspect, I find Bridget marching, with her hands on her hips, towards us.

  ‘Thanks for coming, Bridget,’ Sketch says as she finds her way through the long grass to stand next to him.

  He smiles and kisses her quickly on the cheek. My skin crawls.

  ‘Bridget’s brother is a priest, Annie,’ Sketch says, turning to face me. He must sense my discomfort. ‘We need someone to perform the ceremony at short notice, and I knew I could rely on them.’

  I hadn’t noticed the man dressed from head to toe in black who seems to stand in Bridget’s shadow. The man in black doesn’t introduce himself, but he places his hand on my shoulder and smiles as he walks past me. Instead, he eyes up the trees, and without a word to anyone, he takes himself away to stand beneath my favourites. Two of the older trees whose branches are so long and strong they meet in the middle and create an arch.

  ‘Nice work, Sketch,’ the man in black finally says with a warm smile, and I realise they know each other well.

  ‘Don’t thank him,’ Bridget barks, pointing towards the arch of tree branches over her brother’s head. ‘I was the one out here before the birds were awake hanging candles in a cage from tree branches.’

  ‘And I’m grateful.’ Sketch sighs.

  ‘You did this?’ I ask, staring Bridget down, more condescendingly than I mean to.

  She’s dressed in a silver and grey polka dot dress with an ankle-length satin coat that matches to perfection. She’s every inch the sophisticated wedding guest. My mismatched outfit of Bridget’s blue cast-off dress, Sketch’s mother’s coat, and my old shoes is a stark contrast against her stylish elegance. Bridget must have noticed I’m not wearing the shoes she gave me, but she doesn’t bring it up or ask about their whereabouts, thank God.

  Bridget tosses her perfect curls. ‘Sketch asked for my help. How could I say no?’

  ‘Thank you.’ I smile, lost for words.

  ‘Although at three o’clock this morning when Sketch was banging on my bedroom window, I was very tempted to say no.’ Bridget knocks her shoulder gently against Sketch’s, and he tosses her a grateful smile.

  They have chemistry. T
here’s no denying it. For the first time watching them interact, I’m not jealous, and I wonder if someday Bridget and I might grow to be friends too. I run my hands down the front of her dress that I wear, and I realise that I’d like that.

  ‘You’ve all done this for Sketch?’ I fight back tears in awe of their kindness and creativity.

  Sketch shakes his head. ‘They did this for you, Annie,’ he says. ‘We all want you to be happy.’

  ‘They did it for us,’ I correct. ‘So we can be happy. Together.’

  ‘So,’ Bridget says sternly as she pulls herself tall and straight almost matching Sketch’s height. ‘Are we having ourselves a wedding or what? If you two don’t crack on with this, you’ll miss the boat.’

  I swallow a lump of too-wide-for-my-throat air. Bridget must be sad that Sketch wants us to travel, and she’ll miss him terribly, I can tell. But she hides her feelings well. Ma doesn’t hide hers quite as impressively. She’s smiling brightly, but her beautiful eyes glisten as she blinks away tears.

  The priest waves a cream piece of paper over his head and explains that we’ll need two witnesses to sign the register. Ma and Mr Talbot volunteer happily. I realise I left the daffodils my mother picked for me on the back seat of Sketch’s car, and I blush. I’m overwhelmed that this is actually happening, and as Sketch takes my hand and leads me to stand in front of the man I’m struggling to acknowledge as anything other than Bridget’s all-black-wearing brother. It just doesn’t seem real that with the power of a few words and some signatures on a piece of paper, Sketch and I will be husband and wife. But that’s exactly what happens.

  ‘I will love you for the rest of my life,’ Sketch says as everyone, especially me, hangs on his every word. ‘I have loved you since we were eight years old, and I look forward to the day I still love you when we are eighty-eight years old. Annie Talbot, you make me a better man.’

  Ma sniffles back tears, and Mr Talbot clears his throat with a proud, emotional cough.