Rain

by Kate Le Vann

  Anthony frowned, and said, ‘Yeah? Go on … ?’

  ‘I think he’s my real father,’ Rain blurted out, as if she was joking. But Harry actually gasped, which made Anthony gasp too, more loudly than Harry. Rain immediately felt ashamed of making everyone gasp.

  ‘I thought I was going to do the talking,’ Harry said. ‘I’m not saying I’d have done it better. But … you have a way of going straight to the unsayable.’

  ‘I’m going to get Col,’ Anthony said. ‘I think I should probably leave you and him alone for this.’ He put the tray down without giving them their mugs of tea. A few seconds later, Colin Thurber – Quentin Vienna – came into the room without Anthony. He had a thin body under a round, double-chinned face. His dark hair was threaded with silver at the temples and sideburns. He was wearing tight stone-washed jeans and a flowery shirt with the buttons undone quite low. He was nice-looking for a man in his forties, although he was also wearing eyeliner.

  ‘What’s the story, kids?’ Colin Thurber said, cheerfully but nervously. ‘Ant said I had to get in here fast.’

  ‘Seventeen years ago,’ Rain said, ‘my mother gave birth to me. All I know is that she spent the summer with an older man … ’ She couldn’t stop herself now, it was as though nothing normal and polite could come out, only these surreal, crazy-sounding things.

  ‘We’re terribly sorry to intrude on you like this,’ Harry said. ‘Do you remember a girl called Sarah Devonshire?’

  Colin Thurber sat down on the sofa opposite Harry and Rain.

  ‘No, I’m sorry,’ he said, frowning with confusion, still trying to be friendly. ‘But I’m terrible with names, do you have a picture? Maybe if you tell me what this is about, too, I can help you with what you’re looking for.’

  Anthony had come back into the room. ‘Col, they think you’re this girl’s father … ’ He must have been listening to the conversation the whole time. He shrugged at Colin Thurber and threw him an anxious look, but stayed at the door, not fully joining them again.

  Colin Thurber’s eyes widened. Rain felt hers widening along with them. She braced herself. Then his shoulders hunched forward jerkily and he sniffed and Rain realised he was laughing.

  ‘You can see I live with a man?’ he said. He turned towards Anthony and smiled at him. Anthony smiled back hesitantly, pressing his lips together sympathetically as he looked over to Rain.

  ‘I hope this doesn’t sound rude, but it wouldn’t be unheard of for a gay man to have a child with a woman,’ Harry said. Rain stared at Harry, trying to work out if he was even a little surprised, as his voice betrayed nothing.

  ‘No, that’s true,’ Colin Thurber said. ‘But I would definitely remember if I’d had sex with one.’ He gave a little laugh, but looked shy, as if he wasn’t all that used to telling complete strangers personal things about his sex life. ‘Which, er, I haven’t.’

  Anthony came further into the room and sat down next to Colin. Rain and Harry were both silent. There didn’t seem to be anything to say. They could hardly argue with him.

  ‘Why did you think I was your father?’ Colin said. ‘Is it … what your mum’s told you? I’m sure she wouldn’t lie to you, but Colin Thurber isn’t a very uncommon name, so it may just be that you have the wrong Colin Thurber.’

  ‘It wasn’t my mum,’ Rain said. ‘I mean, it was but she didn’t tell me, she’s dead. It was in her diary.’ She knew, she knew how ridiculous she sounded now. She needed to look at the diary again – it must have been one of those teenage girl wish-fulfilment fantasies and not a word of it was true. But it had seemed so real. And why would Sarah have been lying that way at the same time she was beginning the most important relationship of her life?

  Anthony pressed a mug of tea into her hand, and because it had been sitting around for a while it was at the perfect temperature to drink quickly. Rain knocked it back, not stopping till she was at the bottom of the cup, delaying the moment she’d be expected to talk again. She was feeling really stupid. She looked around her, at all the photographs of Anthony and Colin together.

  Harry had the diary in his inside coat pocket and he took it out.

  ‘Can I take a look?’ Colin said. Harry glanced at Rain, who nodded, and he passed it to Quentin Vienna.

  ‘You know,’ Rain said, painfully. ‘It doesn’t even say your name.’

  ‘Why did you think it was supposed to be me? Just the initials?’ Colin was turning the pages slowly, looking for entries that might have explained why he had two strangers bringing a paternity suit in his living room.

  ‘There was a picture, or sort of a reference to a picture … Boy Bitten By A Lizard,’ Rain said, her voice getting quieter.

  ‘Well, it’s a … famous gay picture,’ Colin said. ‘It’s symbolic. It was one of the songs I covertly come out in. Not that I was ever really in, I never told Smash Hits I had girlfriends or anything like that. And your real father likes that picture?’

  Rain bit her lip.

  ‘And in fact … she doesn’t say it’s that Caravaggio,’ Colin said, quietly, without looking up from the diary.

  ‘We were listening to ‘Not My Baby’ as well and … I guess it’s not really about a baby,’ Harry said. Rain suddenly remembered her mum singing ‘Silver Begins’. The memory hurt now, and she didn’t say anything.

  Colin laughed, but not unkindly. ‘No, it was about my first love,’ he said, and his face softened until he looked quite like a teenager as he talked. ‘He was an older boy at school and he tried to persuade me that it’d be okay if we went out … But I was too afraid. Too afraid of being discovered, and – not just of the hassle we’d get, although obviously coming out at school was fatal then, it still is now! But also, part of me really thought that it was wrong and bad. As if you can help who you fall in love with!’ Colin looked over at Anthony, who looked back with a smile in his eyes. ‘He was so much braver than me. I always wondered if, when he heard it, he knew it was him I was singing about.’

  ‘But it turned out that a teenage girl thought it instead, seventeen years later,’ Anthony said.

  ‘I have to explain. This was my doing, all of it,’ Harry said. ‘I got very taken with the idea of playing detective and I think I’ve put Rain through a lot of unnecessary stress and disappointment. Rain, I’m really sorry. Colin, I’m really embarrassed. Anthony. I hope you can all forgive me.’ Rain stared at Harry; he seemed very grown-up, all his usual playfulness gone completely. ‘I think I’d like to go home and hit myself in the head. Rain, would you mind taking me?’

  Colin Thurber gave the diary back to Rain. Rain stood up and held her hand out to Harry without thinking.

  ‘It was nice to meet you both, anyway, honestly,’ Anthony said. ‘I hope you’re okay, Rain. And I hope you find what you’re looking for.’ Colin seemed a little more thoughtful, but he walked them to the front door.

  ‘I’m sorry I couldn’t have helped you more,’ Colin said. ‘It’s okay, you coming here. Honestly. I’m glad I could be definite about it for you. I was never the groupie type, but I’m sorry you still don’t have the answers you wanted.’ He leaned against the threshhold as if he needed the support for a moment. Rain felt intensely awkward – she’d come here half-expecting to meet her father, while to him she was just a strange girl off the street with a bag of nutty theories. Colin smiled kindly, pressing his lips together. ‘It would have been sort of nice to have an instant daughter, Rain.’

  ‘I don’t know what to say,’ Harry said, as they walked back to the Tube station, so quickly they were almost running together. ‘I’m such an idiot. I really thought I’d … well, it doesn’t matter what I thought.’

  His voice seemed to be coming from somewhere else. Rain’s ears were half-deafened by the rush of blood to her head. Her cheeks burned, she could feel her feet hitting the street in strange distant thuds, but it was like she wasn’t making them walk, they were just moving, somehow keeping going when the rest of her was switching off. ‘What am I doing?’
she kept thinking over and over. ‘Where are the people who keep me on the ground? How have I let myself get here, without anyone I trust looking out for me?’ Harry was still talking, beside her. Rain wanted her dad, but she felt as though she’d betrayed him. Even if she didn’t tell him, maybe he’d know, he’d sense it, and things would never be the same again. She wished she could get on a train and go home, real home, but her dad wouldn’t be there. And she wanted him so much.

  ‘Well, say something?’ Harry said, and Rain realised she’d stopped listening to him. She breathed in and felt as though she couldn’t make a sound even if she wanted to, as if her voice had been stamped down too deep inside her. ‘Rain.’ Harry touched her forearm. His hand felt strange, a stranger’s hand. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said.

  ‘It’s not your fault,’ Rain said. She made sure he could see her face to make him believe her. She wanted him to believe her or she knew she’d shout and cry. ‘It’s fine. I brought my problem to you, you were trying to help me. You even wasted your Saturday night doing it, well, some of it. You’ve probably still got time for a drink with Madrigal, you can tell her how it went.’

  He looked weirdly pale, and Rain was afraid he’d say something angry, although she didn’t know what Harry had to be angry about. Then she started getting angry in response to Harry’s anger, even though it hadn’t happened. She could imagine shouting at him, ‘WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU ANGRY ABOUT? You’ve let me make a complete idiot of myself and I’m still nowhere nearer to finding out what happened before I was born!’ Harry walked next to her, a little in front, so she could see his jaw clenching and unclenching; but he didn’t say a word, so Rain had nothing to shout at. The tension of the unshouted anger seemed to resonate around them, like echoes from an argument that had already happened.

  The sun was setting and Camden seemed more alive than it had when it was light. A man with long tangly hair and a beard was sitting on the stairs leading to the Tube station playing bongo drums, and the galloping beat gave the evening a sultry, throbbing soundtrack. Rain felt electricity in the air, a sense of danger and excitement; she suddenly realised how relieved she felt that she hadn’t found her father today. She hadn’t had to accept anything new or talk to him and worry about never loving him or never knowing him. She’d escaped, and now at the end of today her own dad was still her dad. But her body was drained and couldn’t hold all the emotion. She used up the last of her energy to walk faster, and take the lead.

  ‘I’m not going to tell Madrigal what happened,’ Harry said, quietly.

  ‘Oh, I bet you’re not,’ Rain snapped, not even sure if she meant it sarcastically. Her voice resonated in her own ears: it sounded horrible.

  ‘I didn’t tell her … what I thought we were doing,’ Harry said. ‘It’s bad enough that I messed this up without you thinking I’m going to be talking about you in the pub or something.’

  ‘So what did you tell her? You’d have to have had some reason for … ’

  ‘I said we’d been talking about the band and I was amazed you’d heard of them, and you said your best friend’s mum was a Sandcastles fan and your friend had asked you if you could get an old album signed for her with a personal message for her mum’s birthday.’

  ‘Wow,’ Rain said flatly. ‘Good lie. If I can offer a critique … ’ Harry held out his palm, inviting her to carry on. ‘Well, I’d have to say it’s over-complicated, and I’m not sure you should get credit for being able to lie to your girlfriend so easily, but on the other … ’

  ‘Madrigal’s not my girlfriend … ’ Harry said, tilting his head to one side to look at Rain.

  Rain put her face down. She could tell it was red because she got pins and needles in her lips when that happened. She gave a mean little shrug.

  ‘Rain, I’m sure you’ve realised I … ’

  Rain was still looking down and couldn’t see Harry’s face. She suddenly felt terrified all over, suddenly shyer than she’d ever felt before, and hopelessly, hotly sweaty. She had to get away from Harry. Anywhere. Now. She tried to keep her voice normal. ‘It’s time I went.’

  ‘Let me take you home,’ Harry said.

  ‘I know where I’m going,’ Rain said. ‘There’s no point you coming out of your way.’

  ‘Don’t be silly, Vivienne would never forgive me if I let you get the Tube alone. I’m not going to let you walk off at night on your own … ’

  ‘You know, but, Harry, the trouble is, I’m just really … still … angry about what happened today, and I need to not be around you.’ Without looking back, Rain ran through the tunnel and hopped on to the train without checking it was the one she wanted. The closing door caught her shoulder, and all the doors on all the carriages sprang open again. The people in Rain’s carriage who’d seen what she’d done tutted at her for causing a delay, but Rain was just very grateful that she and Harry didn’t have to wait on opposite platforms looking at each other. She sat on the train with her legs neatly crossed at the ankles, not spending too much time looking at the other passengers in case they looked back at her. She tried to look relaxed and sassy, but she felt like a little girl travelling alone for the first time in her life.

  From: rain@zoctine.com

  Subject: Important, but please don’t panic, everything okay

  Date: 7 August 1.58 a.m.

  To: s.lindsay@zoctine.com

  Dad, I would have given anything not to have to write this email, but I’m feeling desperate and for all of my life you’ve been the person who’s made me feel loved and certain and I want to feel that again now. You know I’ve been having a great time at Gran’s and I’m very happy, so don’t cut your trip short or anything, I don’t want you to come home.

  But.

  Dad, I found Mum’s diaries from when she got pregnant with me and I’ve worked out a little about what happened then. It’s scaring me and confusing me and I don’t know how to be about it. I know it must be painful for you, but the thing is, I just need to know more, I need to know where I came from and how you and she found each other and

  And I’m not going to send this email either, am I?

  Rain deleted the email again.

  Chapter 12

  Rain had hardly slept. She’d been thinking everything over, trying to remember how she would have come across to Harry. Had she seemed ungrateful, or immature? Stroppy? Normal? What would be a normal way to act in that situation? She lay in the dark whispering some of the things she’d said to hear them again, wishing she could change what had been said. She’d tried not to look at the clock, which seemed to steal another hour’s sleep every time she glanced at it.

  But the same restlessness woke her early the next morning, her dry mouth and throat confirming that she had finally slept. The embarrassment was still pumping through her like blood. The thought of going round to a stranger’s house and accusing him of being her father felt totally crazy today. She felt hot all over again with anger at Harry. He’d texted her by the time she’d got in, asking if he could call, but she hadn’t texted back. It wasn’t really that she couldn’t speak to him. She just needed him to know how upset she was, how important it was. Beyond words upset. Beyond words important. They’d talk about it, of course, but not right now.

  Her grandmother was still asleep. Rain tiptoed downstairs and switched on the telly, then sat on the sofa with her legs tucked underneath her. She found an old musical she’d seen a thousand times when she was younger, and watched it until she forgot about being herself.

  By the time Vivienne had come downstairs, Rain was feeling less vulnerable, and could answer her granny’s questions about the previous evening with an easy sequence of white lies. They’d been to the pictures, she told her gran, but the film they’d been planning to see had sold out, and the other two films were terrible, so they just had a cup of coffee in Camden and left. Yes, Harry had seen her home, although the Tube in the evening wasn’t scary at all.

  They heard Rain’s mobile in the kitchen, bleeping to say she
had a text. Rain put the kettle on as she checked it. Harry again.

  ‘You have to ask Vivienne. That’s who you have to ask.’

  Rain started tapping in a reply, but she knew she just wanted to have arguments with Harry while he was safely somewhere else because … she craved it. She longed to do the thing where she talked and he talked and she talked again and they kept going with their eyes meeting. It was so moreish; she could happily spend hours doing it and never feel bored, even if they never said anything new. He was under her skin: but she had let him in too far. He knew too much about her and she knew almost nothing about him. This was no time to think about playing games with Harry. He was right to send her the text like that, not to offer help. Rain had to do it alone, and she had to put her phone away.

  She’d been afraid to ask her gran, because she’d felt it would be cruel talking about Sarah’s secrets to her, things Sarah might not have wanted her mum to know. It would be emphasising the distance between Sarah and Vivienne, rather than remembering their love and closeness. So Rain had kept quiet, even though they sometimes came close to discussing exactly those moments of Sarah’s life, and Vivienne talked the usual line: the things Rain had always been told were true, as if there were no complications at all.

  How much did Vivienne know? Did Sarah tell her the second she knew she was pregnant? Did they buy the test together and hold hands as they waited for the result? Or had Sarah been alone, terrified, wondering what the hell she’d tell her mum if the test was positive? Rain’s gran was so lovely it seemed hard to believe that Sarah hadn’t been close to her: she was down-to-earth and modern and young, she would have understood, she would have been calm, she’d have been perfect. Or maybe she’d have reacted exactly like practically every other mother Rain knew.

  Rain told her granny she fancied a walk and she’d get the Sunday papers and some croissants for their breakfast. At the weekend, Londoners seemed to get up later than people in her home town. The perfectly groomed fashionistas were nowhere to be seen, and Rain saw just a few hung-over-looking men in tracksuits and baseball caps. The sunshine was pearly, gentle, and fat flowers bulged over garden walls, filling Rain’s head with the scents of geraniums and honeysuckles. The pressure of being in such a happy place, being so unhappy, got to her, and her eyes filled with tears. She passed by more tracksuited men and one of them glanced at her flushed face and shiny eyes and couldn’t help staring, and now she couldn’t hold the tears any longer. She cried properly, little whimpering sounds strangled in her throat. She felt herself getting dizzier as she tried to see through the tears, until she had to sit down on a wall outside a little church. It was in the middle of a council estate, one of the few places in the neighbourhood which wasn’t surreally rich. Rain looked for a bit of her clothing to wipe her nose on and didn’t find any, so she just rubbed her face with the back of her hand, until the crying stopped and her embarrassment started to outweigh her unhappiness.