‘Annie, I know you haven’t had time to prepare vows, but is there something you would like to say?’ the priest asks me.
‘Always and forever,’ I blurt the words tumbling from my lips so quickly they almost run into one long, nonsensical word. ‘I will love you for always and forever,’ I clarify more slowly.
Sketch laughs. ‘Short and sweet. And here I thought you were the wordy one.’
‘Always and forever isn’t short and sweet,’ I correct. ‘It’s long and powerful. And it really is a dream come true. I love you, Arthur Talbot.’
‘I love you too.’ Sketch beams with pride. ‘I love you, Annie Talbot.’
Everyone claps loudly at the mention of my new surname that fits as comfortably as if I’ve been walking around in the wrong skin all my life and I’ve only just been fitted with the right size. The perfect match.
‘Whoop, whoop.’ Bridget whistles. ‘Three cheers for the bride and groom.’
‘Hip hip hooray,’ everyone chants. ‘Hip hip hooray.’
Ma hurries over to me and wraps her arms so tightly around me I can’t breathe. ‘You’re all grown up now, Annie.’ She sniffles. ‘And I couldn’t be more proud of you.’
Mr Talbot pats Sketch firmly on the back. ‘Well done, my boy. Well done.’
Sketch shakes his head at his father’s formal approach, and to my surprise, he grabs Mr Talbot and hugs the elderly man. ‘Thanks, Pa.’
Mr Talbot is noticeably startled, but he quickly composes himself and hugs his son in return. ‘Is it too early to mention grandchildren?’ Mr Talbot quips.
‘Pa!’ Sketch blushes.
It’s not too early to discuss them, I think. But it’s definitely too early to have them. I need to bring babies up with Sketch just as soon as we step foot aboard the ferry. And I hope he’ll understand.
‘I hate to spoil this moment,’ the priest says,’ ‘but I need the register signed so I can make this official.’ He pats his shirt pocket and rolls his eyes. ‘I don’t suppose anyone thought to bring a pen?’
I hold my breath as a wave of disappointment washes over me as everyone shakes their heads. Everyone except Bridget, who stands with a confident hip out and her head tilting to the opposite side.
‘What would you do without me?’ she gloats, half laughing.
‘Thank you,’ I mouth as she brushes past me to offer her brother the pen.
Sketch signs first. He leans the page against the nearest tree. For someone who is so comfortable with a paintbrush in his hand, Sketch looks positively awkward trying to create the letters of his name with the blue ink. I suspect he hasn’t put pen to paper often since he left school, if ever. I’m next. I take the pen from Sketch and a tingle darts down my hand as his fingers brush against mine. Shaking like one of the leaves on the trees with a mix of disbelief and excitement, I write the words Annie Fagan for the last time. Then Ma and Mr Talbot sign. Finally, the priest scrawls something on the bottom line, and as simple as that, it’s official. I really am Mrs Talbot.
‘Now,’ the priest says, suddenly becoming quite serious. ‘I hate to rush you along, but I have a seven o’clock mass this morning in town, and I’ll need a ride back.’
‘No problem.’ Sketch smiles. ‘Annie and I need to be getting on our way soon anyway if we’re going to catch the ferry on time. We can drop you back to town on our way.’
My chest tightens, and I glance at Ma. This is all happening so fast. My head is still spinning.
‘Actually,’ I say, taking another look around at the candles inside the lanterns that are burnt down to little stubs. ‘Would it be okay if I waited here?’
Sketch’s face falls, and I can sense his disappointment.
‘I’d just love some time alone to take it all in before we catch the boat. I’d like some time to walk around between the trees. Do we have time?’
Sketch twists his wrist, and his glance switches from me to his watch. ‘We have time.’ He smiles. ‘The ferry is not until ten. But don’t you want to say goodbye to folks in town?’
I shake my head. ‘Anyone I want to say goodbye to is right here.’
I don’t have any friends in town. Not like Sketch, who everybody knows. I can understand him wanting to say goodbye, but I’m much more comfortable here.
‘Okay, if you’re certain.’ Sketch nods. ‘But just so you know, this is the last time I plan on being apart from you for oh ... say ... a lifetime.’
‘I can live with that.’
Sketch’s laugh is muffled as his lips press against my temple.
‘Thank you,’ I whisper. ‘I’ll see you soon.’
‘Annie, are you sure you want to be alone?’ Ma says. ‘Maybe I should stay with you.’ She glances at Mr Talbot.
I shake my head firmly. ‘No. You’re needed on the farm. You’re a woman of employment now, Ma. You have work to do.’
‘I can spare your ma for a couple of hours, Annie,’ Mr Talbot says, ‘if you’d like some time to say goodbye.’
‘It’s not goodbye,’ I explain, shaking on the outside but calm and content inside. ‘It’s see you soon. And I will see you soon, Ma. And I’ll have so much news. I can’t wait to tell you all about Europe. But it really is time for you to go. Go, hurry.’ I wave my hand back and forth encouraging her. ‘This is my time. But it’s your time too. Enjoy the farm. Enjoy it the way I did. I love you.’
‘I love you too, sweetheart.’ Ma blows me a kiss, and I reach my hand up to catch it and bring my fist close to my heart.
Mr Talbot links my mother’s arm and guides her gently away. She drags one foot slowly in front of the other, all the while her head glancing back over her shoulder so she can smile brightly at me. The glisten of sadness in her eyes mixes with a twinkle of excitement, and when she finally nods and turns her head away, I know she’s content to let us both go.
Forty – Three
Birds fly overhead, chirping happily. The sun shines high and bright in the clear, blue sky warming my face as I reminisce about all the afternoons Sketch and I have spent in this orchard over the past year. I jump as the handles on one of the tired lanterns next to me snaps and the candle, iron, and glass come crashing to the ground with a noisy bang. I bend down and investigate the mess of broken glass and wax. I pick up a sharp shard of glass and taken care not to nick myself on its jagged edge. I stand and run my other hand over the bark of the nearest tree. I remember when Sketch first brought me to this garden and showed me the tree with his parents’ initials on it. And I wonder if someday we’ll bring our children here and show them ours. I pat the trunk of the old tree, seeking out the smoothest part. Finding a space I’m happy with, I drag the glass up and down through the thick, brown bark. The glass doesn’t glide as easily as I thought it would, and it nicks me a couple of times. I wince as a drop of bright red blood trickles down my fingers. I suck on my finger as I stand back to admire my handiwork.
A + S
September 3rd 1960
Perfect, I sigh. I decide I won’t tell Sketch about my carving skills. I’ll wait until we return from Europe and then I’ll bring him here and surprise him. Maybe we could return every year on our anniversary and carve the date of the new year.
I shiver as rain clouds gather in the sky and block out the sun. I don’t have a watch, but it feels like I’ve been alone between the apple trees for so much longer than an hour. I wrap my arms around myself and rub my hands up and down, trying to keep warm. I begin to worry that we’ll miss the ferry. Or worse still, my father will be awake by now and have come looking for me. He doesn’t know where the orchard is, but I still can’t shake the feeling that I’ll find him behind me at any moment. Maybe it wasn’t such a good idea to stay in the orchard alone, after all.
‘Where are you, Sketch?’ I say, my voice echoing back to me as it bounces off the trees. ‘Where are you?’
Minutes tick by in painfully slow motion as I wait. I’m certain another hour must have passed. The ferry must have sailed by now, I worry. With
out us.
A tiny raindrop falls onto the top of my head. And another. And another. I take shelter under one of the trees and wait as it starts raining heavily. I close my eyes and daydream of France. I must have drifted off to sleep because I open my eyes again to find Bridget standing over me, shaking my shoulders roughly.
‘Wake up, Annie,’ she shouts. ‘Oh, sweet Jesus, please wake up.’
Bridget’s beautiful polka dot dress is tattered and dirty. A murky, brown stain is smeared all down the front. Her usually perfect curls are messy and blown all over her face, and her cheeks are puffy and red from crying.
I’m on my feet before I’m fully awake.
‘What is it?’ I tremble. ‘What’s wrong? What’s happened?’ I recognise the same fear in Bridget’s eyes that was all too familiar in my mother’s gaze over the years. It’s it my pa, isn’t it? Has he found my ma? Oh God, this is all my fault. How could I be so selfish.?’
Bridget is ghostly white, and she’s shaking so badly I think she’s going to fall over. ‘Hurry Annie, please?’
My eyes wash over Bridget’s dress again. The realisation that the stain her clothes is blood hits me like a brick over the back of the head. Christ, what has my pa done?
‘Where is Sketch? Is my ma okay?’ I shout, beginning to run, not sure if I’m even going in the right direction.
‘The main road,’ Bridget chokes out. ‘There’s been an accident. A terrible accident. You have to hurry, Annie.’
‘Pa.’ I swallow, imagining my father’s rage when he can’t find me. ‘Has he hurt my ma?’
Salty tears trickle down Bridget’s checks. ‘No, Annie.’ Bridget shakes her head. ‘It’s Sketch. He needs you.’
I beg my legs to run faster, but they wobble and fight against me. I kick off my stupid old shoes and pick up speed. Bridget is right beside me, keeping up with my frantic pace. She takes my hand in hers, and we run together. We stumble often on the uneven ground, but we catch each other before either of us falls.
We make it up the winding lane joining the main road to the orchard in record time. I look down at my feet. They’re bloodied and torn from the sharp stones on the road, but I don’t feel any pain. My whole body is numb with fear.
I come to a sudden stop as we reach the turning point where the little laneway joins the main road. I can’t put one foot in front of the other anymore. I’m frozen. I can’t believe what I’m seeing. I don’t want to believe it. Sketch’s car is turned upside down in the ditch. The wheels are in the air. I can see the skid marks where the tyres must have fought to grip the road.
My throat burns, and I hear a desperate woman screaming for help. It takes me some time to realise the screaming is coming from me.
I don’t understand. Sketch knows this road like the back of his hand.
Bridget’s fingers claw at her neck and it looks like she might tear her skin clean off. ‘Your Pa was just standing in the middle of the road like a crazy man. Sketch tried to brake. He tried so hard to stop the car, but it was starting to rain. The road was wet. We skidded.’ Bridget stares ahead at the wreck of Sketch’s car and her fear is tangible as the memory must play over in her mind.
Pa found me. He found me just as deep down I always knew he would. I was a fool to ever think I could be free. I look down at the gold band wrapped around my finger that I’ve only been wearing for a couple of hours and the notion of France slips from my mind like grains of sand through my open hand.
‘Where is he?’ I shout. ‘Where is my pa now?’ My heard jerks from side to side, searching the empty road that stretches for miles.
I scan the wild hedging lining the roadside. I’m terrified that Pa has dragged Ma out of view. I can’t even begin to imagine his fury that we tried to leave.
‘He’s gone, Annie. Your pa ran, scared, I think. He didn’t get his hands on your ma,’ Bridget promises. ‘And your ma …’ Bridget presses her clenched fist against her chest as if it hurts her to breathe. ‘She’s not hurt, Annie. She’s gone to look for help. Mr Talbot too. They’ve set out towards town. They’ll get help in time, I know they will. It’ll be okay. It’ll be okay, won’t it? It has to be okay.’ The words tumble out of her mouth with such speed and terror I think she might make herself sick.
‘In time for what?’ I begin to shake uncontrollably. My teeth chatter and create a horrible sound that sends a shiver down my spine. Suddenly, I’m so cold; so much colder than I ever was walking to the village without a coat on a winter’s day.
Bridget shakes her head.
‘Where is Sketch?’ I swallow suddenly terrified of her answer. ‘Where is he?’
Bridget doesn’t reply. Her silence taps against my heart like a woodpecker working hard on an old tree. She reaches for my hand. Her clammy fingers wrap around mine, and she guides me forward. At first, my feet lag as if they’re made of concrete, but as we near the car, I begin to run again.
I can’t feel my feet as they pelt the road, but I keep pushing forward. Bridget’s brother comes into view. He paces behind the car. He wears a crown of dried blood, and he’s shaking and bruised. But he’s standing and walking. There’s no sign of Sketch. I can’t see him anywhere.
‘Where is he?’ I scream, the words try to stick my lips together like golden syrup.
Bridget points a shaking finger towards the grass verge. I’m afraid to look, but my eyes have sought out the view hanging off the tip of Bridget’s finger before I have time to think. Someone has helped Sketch out of the car and laid him flat on his back on the grass next to the open driver’s door. Broken glass is scattered all around him, twinkling in the daylight like thousands of tiny stars. His eyes are closed, and his hands are folded across his chest as if he’s enjoying a wonderful dream, not a horrible nightmare.
‘Go,’ Bridget encourages, her hand slipping away from mine. ‘Go quickly, Annie.’
Catching my breath, I race toward Sketch. I’m just about to reach my arms out to touch him when my head jerks backwards as someone grabs a fistful of my hair and throws me to the ground. My knee pounds against the gritty surface first, followed almost instantly by my hip and shoulder. I look up at my pa towering tall and broad over me. He sways from one foot to the other, clasping the neck of a whiskey bottle between his thumb and a long, slender finger.
‘Pa please?’ I tremble turning my head towards where Sketch lies terrifyingly still. ‘Sketch is hurt.’
My father tosses his head back and snorts. His shoulders round and shake, and I feel sick as I realise he’s laughing.
I struggle to get to my feet, pinned between my father and the bumper of the car. I’m desperate to call out to Bridget, but I can’t see her. She must be helping her brother, I think. Or maybe they’ve started walking into town to look for help.
‘Where’s your ma?’ Pa growls, and his warm, drunken breath stings my eyes.
Standing as straight as my aching hip will allow me, I scan the road for any sign of Mr. Talbot’s car. I shake my head. ‘I don’t know.’
‘Really?’ Pa exaggerates a raised eyebrow, and he glances around at the open road. ‘How interesting, Annie, my girl?’ He snorts, the corners of his lips twitching as they form a sadistic smile. ‘You’ve managed to lose your ma and your mind all in the same day.’
My eyes drop to Sketch once again. He hasn’t stirred, but a sudden cough rips through him, shaking his chest. Tears stream uncontrollably down my cheeks at the sight of his body finally moving.
‘I’ll give you something to cry about.’ The audible snap of Pa’s teeth as he closes his mouth pulls my attention towards my father’s face that is puce with rage.
I should offer him my full attention. I know he’ll be furious if I don’t, but I can’t drag my eyes away from Sketch.
‘I don’t like being lied to, Annie,’ Pa growls through gritted teeth. ‘I don’t like it one bit.’
I open my mouth to speak, but I close it again. I won’t tell him where Ma is and anything else I do say will only drive him eve
n more crazy.
Pa gathers the whiskey bottle into his strong arms. His eyes are locked on mine as he unscrews the cap with shaking fingers. He opens his mouth unnecessarily wide and tilts his head back as he presses the rim of the bottle to his lips. The sound of his glugging scrapes against my ears like Ma’s wire scrubbing brush on the kitchen tiles. Fiery liquid dribbles down his chin and leaves a disgusting wet patch on the collar of his grey-white shirt.
Throwing the empty bottle onto the grass beside him, Pa edges forward a fraction, and I press my back into the upturned bumper of Sketch’s car until the metal nuts and bolts dig into my spine. My weight rocks the unsteady car behind me like a row boat on the choppy sea. I’m afraid I might slip under, but I can’t move away. Pa is so close to me that fabric of his clothes brush against mine and the heat of his drunken body radiates like a stove.
I babble incoherently as I try to think of a plausible reason to be out this early on a Saturday, especially in the opposite direction of the farmers market.
Pa raises his hand above his head, and I close my eyes and wait for the blow. He’s so drunk. Maybe he’ll miss, I think.
Heat explodes across my face as the back of his hand catches my cheek and the side of my nose. My knees tremble, and I want to slide to the ground, but I won’t give him the satisfaction. I open my eyes to find a grim smile lighting up his evil face.
‘What did you think was going to happen, Annie?’ Pa bellows, saliva spraying from his swollen lips. ‘Did you think the farmer’s son was some damn hero? Was he going to rescue you like in those stupid books of yours?’
I’m not sure which hurts more; my face or the way my father talks about the literature that got me through the years of hell living with him.
Pa’s head turns away from me to study where Sketch lies on the ground. ‘Some hero the boy turned out to be. Little bollocks thought he could blackmail me. This will teach him.’
I bend down and grab the empty whiskey bottle that Pa threw on the grass moments ago. I raise my arms above my head and wait for my father to turn around.
When It Rains: The bittersweet romance you won't want to miss Page 30
