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

by Brooke Harris

  Copyright © 2017 Brooke Harris

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to persons living or deceased is purely coincidental. The author recognizes the trademarks and copyright of all registered products and works mentioned with this work.

  Editing and Proofreading: Editing4Indies

  Cover: Najla Qamber Designs

  Table of Contents

  One

  Two

  Three

  Four

  Five

  Six

  Seven

  Eight

  Nine

  Ten

  Eleven

  Twelve

  Thirteen

  Fourteen

  Fifteen

  Sixteen

  Seventeen

  Eighteen

  Nineteen

  Twenty

  Twenty - One

  Twenty - Two

  Twenty – Three

  Twenty – Four

  Twenty – Five

  Twenty – Six

  Twenty – Seven

  Twenty – Eight

  Twenty – Nine

  Thirty

  Thirty – One

  Thirty – Two

  Thirty – Three

  Thirty – Four

  Thirty – Five

  Thirty – Six

  Thirty – Seven

  Thirty – Eight

  Thirty – Nine

  Forty

  Forty – One

  Forty – Two

  Forty – Three

  Forty – Four

  Forty – Five

  Forty – Six

  Acknowledgments

  About The Author

  For Nat and Caz

  x

  “When it rains look for rainbows.

  When it’s dark look for stars.’’ - Anonymous

  One

  The engine is making a weird noise as my foot presses heavily on the accelerator. My rusty, old car isn’t used to travelling this fast. The doors rattle and the steering wheel vibrates between my hands, reasoning with me to slow down. But I force my foot to the floor and weave in and out of the motorway traffic, all the while cursing any slow drivers under my breath.

  I’d been expecting the call. I’d known for quite some time that it could be any day now, but my breath still caught in the back of my throat when I answered my mobile, and my brother’s voice whispered softly, ‘It’s time.’

  I literally ran out of work, stopping only to scribble a brief explanation on a yellow Post-it that I stuck to Nate’s laptop screen for him to see when he finished his meetings. I don’t know how long I’ll be gone, and I don’t want to know. I didn’t even stop by my apartment to grab an overnight bag. Anything I need I can pick up in the local shop once I get there. I just need to get there before it’s too late.

  The familiar two-and-a-half-hour drive from Dublin to Galway maps out like infinity in my mind. Every minute I’m not yet with my family is tearing little pieces off my heart. An amber light flickers on the dashboard, and I roll my eyes, knowing that my little car is well overdue for a service, but I just can’t afford it at the moment. Nate said he’d bring it to the garage for me last month, but that was before our world fell apart. Before I selfishly pushed my fiancé away for something that wasn’t his fault. Suddenly, a stupid car service was the least of my worries. My fingers curl tighter around the steering wheel, and I plead with my car to hold out until I make it to Galway. Wait for me, Nana. Please wait for me.

  Traffic is forgiving, and in just under two hours, the familiar crunch of pebble stones under the tyres of my car sends a shiver down my spine. I used to love this noise as a child. This noise meant we had reached the long, winding driveway leading to my grandmother’s farmhouse in Athenry, County Galway. The journey from our family home just outside Dublin was always trying. Ben and I would spend most of the time fighting in the back seat, and my mother’s patience would wear thin. She’d warn us that if we didn’t behave, she’d turn the car around and there would be no weekend with Nana. We always knew she was bluffing, but we’d stop our arguing nonetheless and allow our excitement to take over instead.

  My grandmother’s house was a place of stories, homemade apple tarts, and hard boiled sweets. It was my favourite place in the whole world when I was a little girl, but it’s a very different place now. The years have passed. Ben turned thirty last month, and I’m almost twenty-nine. Life is busy, and we don’t visit as often as I wish we could. I try to squeeze in an overnight visit every month at least, but it’s becoming steadily more difficult to free up the time. And Ben gets pissed off if I nag him to visit when I can’t. It’s almost hard to believe we were ever the pair of goofy kids who loved the old house almost as much as we loved the old lady. Time has changed us all; just as my grandmother always warned me that it would.

  ‘You can’t save time, Holly. So spend it wisely,’ she always said, pointing her finger towards the stars in the sky, and I often wondered if she was talking to something or someone up there.

  ‘One day, you’ll be all grown up,’ she used to warn. ‘You’ll be too big to sit on my knee and too old to listen to my stories.’

  ‘I can’t wait to grow up,’ I always replied excitedly.

  When I was seven years old, I meant it. I thought being a grown-up would be amazing. And, sometimes, it is. Just not lately.

  Swooping around the final bend in the driveway and nearing the front of the house, I seek out the familiar, overgrown apple tree on the front lawn and decide to park next to it. It’s the same tree I fell out of and broke my left arm when I was nine. The same tree my father wanted to take a chainsaw to because the roots were growing too big and edging too close to the house, and the same tree my grandmother warned him that if he so much as broke a branch, she’d kick him so hard up the arse he wouldn’t be able to sit down for a month. My grandmother never swears. Ever. Sometimes I wonder if she even knows any curse words, but she loves that tree. If anyone ever touched it, I’m almost certain she’d string off a list of profanities like a sailor.

  But today, I barely recognise Nana’s big country house. I hardly recognise myself recently either – if I’m honest. Everything is changing so suddenly, and it scares me. Over the past couple of months, the smell of antiseptic cleaner has replaced the smell of home baking in my grandmother’s large farmhouse. And the stories we hear now are no longer fairy tales read from dog-eared books; they’re long-winded medical jargon read from hospital notes.

  Ben opens the front door as I tip the brakes and tuck my car under the drooping branches of the old apple tree. I swallow a little acid that’s been lodged in the back of my throat for the entire journey and breathe a sigh of relief that I haven’t been sick today. My morning sickness is finally easing off. I snatch my handbag off the passenger’s seat, and I’m out of my car almost before it comes to a complete stop. Forgetting to slip back on my killer heels, I race towards the house, struggling on the loose pebbles in my driving slippers. I can’t move fast enough towards all the memories I cherish and towards a future that scares me.

  ‘Did I make it?’ I shout.

  My voice echoes around the hug
e, open garden and carries back to hit me like a slap across the face. And then silence. The wind doesn’t rustle the leaves on the trees. The birds don’t chirp as they perch on their nests. It’s as if nature waits with baited breath for my brother’s answer. Ben doesn’t shout back. Oh, Christ.

  ‘Did I make it?’ I call again; louder this time as I edge closer to the front door, searching for clues in my brother’s face.

  Ben nods, and it’s only then I realise I’ve been holding my breath.

  I stop running as I reach the rickety doorstep. I remember how it wobbles every time you step on it, so I’ve spent years stepping over it instead because I don’t want to be the one to break it. But today, I step right on the centre of it, and as if the old concrete slab sympathises – it doesn’t move under my weight.

  Ben’s eyes are red, puffy, and bloodshot. It’s obvious he’s been crying. I want to hug him, but I’m afraid that if I touch him, I’ll fall to pieces. My chest tightens, and I’m suddenly aware of my heart beating against my ribs.

  ‘You made it,’ Ben says, his stiff upper body softening, and the corners of his lips twisting to form a half smile. ‘You made it.’

  My hand smacks against my chest, and I cough. ‘Thank God.’

  ‘C’mon. Nana is in her bedroom.’ Ben tilts his head towards the prominent sweeping stairs behind him. ‘The nurse is with her, and Mom is there too.’

  Ben steps to one side and makes room for me to pass by, but I don’t move. The fine hairs on the back of my neck stand rigid, and my back curves like a startled cat. I think I’m actually afraid to go inside. I feel like a small child again. I need someone to pick me up, cuddle me, and tell me it will all be okay. But I know how this story ends. The grown-up in me knows this one doesn’t have a happy ever after. Maybe if I never go inside, it’ll never happen, I console myself. I can stay out here on the porch, and Nana will be fine. She will be fine.

  ‘Holly, just come in. It’s freezing,’ Ben says; his hand cups my elbow, ushering me inside before he closes the heavy old front door behind us.

  I drop my handbag onto the tired wicker chair that sits just inside the door. My father is sitting on the bottom step of the stairs, staring into a cup of coffee. I place my hand on his shoulder and squeeze gently. He looks up and smiles, but he doesn’t talk or stand. I understand. I exhale slowly, nod, and brush past.

  ‘Are you coming, Ben?’ I say softly, stopping and turning around halfway up the stairs.

  Ben shakes his head. ‘You go. Take some time with her on your own. She’s been asking for you. I’ll come up soon.’

  She’s been asking for me? Guilt swirls in the pit of my stomach. I should have come sooner. Work has been crazy busy recently, since my ex-fiancé became my new boss, but that’s no excuse. I should have made time to visit my dying grandmother. My legs take the remaining steps two at a time. I need to see her.

  Nana’s bedroom door is slightly ajar, and music is playing. It’s subtle and little more than a hum in the background, but everything is so still I can hear it from the landing. It’s Nana’s favourite. The operatic stuff that Ben and I used to hate as kids. It’s Carmen, I think. All violins and cellos. It’s beautiful.

  My hand shakes as I reach for the doorknob and push the door open just enough to allow me to fit through the gap. The curtains are drawn and block the dull light of dusk from entering the room. Instead, the only light comes from four or five small candles resting haphazardly on my grandmother’s dressing table under the window. I squint, and in seconds, my eyes adjust to the dimness. Red roses sit in a large vase on the bedside table, and I stare at them, almost without blinking. I know if I move my gaze just a fraction more, I’ll see my grandmother lying in bed. Instead, my eyes try to focus on my mother’s back as she sits hunched forward on the edge of the bed. My mother is holding my grandmother’s hand, but she lets go and stands as soon as she notices me, lunging forward and wrapping her arms so tightly around my neck it pinches.

  ‘She’s not in any pain, love,’ my mother says as if she can read my mind and knows exactly what I would have asked when I managed to speak.

  I nod. I want to say I’m glad she’s not in pain, but no words come out. My mother untangles her arms from around me and gestures for me to sit. I’m not sure what to do. There’s only one bedside chair, and my mother deserves that seat.

  I take a step back, and my shoulders bump into the wall behind me. The coolness of the wallpaper seems to soothe my shaking body, and I take some deep breaths as I stand with my back stiff and awkward.

  ‘Don’t be afraid, Holly,’ my mother whispers. ‘She wouldn’t want that.’

  I frown. ‘I’m not scared, Mom.’

  I’m lying, and my mother knows it. I’m petrified, and I can see the same fear weighing down every inch of my mother’s body.

  The noise of the toilet flushing in the adjoining bathroom startles me, and I actually jump.

  ‘It’s the nurse,’ my mother explains quickly. ‘She’s lovely, Holly. You’ll like her. She’s been here with Nana since early morning.’

  I smile but not enough to show teeth.

  ‘You look tired. Have you eaten?’ my mother asks.

  I nod. It’s my second lie in less than a minute.

  My mother swallows hard, and I can actually see the lump of air physically work its way down her throat. How long has she sat here, I wonder. Hours? Days, I guess. She must be exhausted. She looks older. Almost as old as Nana.

  ‘You know what, Mom?’ I say, trying to keep my voice level. ‘I am actually pretty hungry …’

  My mother pulls herself upright and rubs her hands together. ‘Of course, you are,’ she says. ‘I’ll go downstairs and fix you something straight away. I think some leftovers are in the fridge. If not, I’ll pop out to the shop. I won’t be long.’

  ‘Sounds great. Thanks.’

  I’m not hungry. Despite only having two cups of coffee and half an apple all day, the last thing on my mind is food. The thought of eating anything right now makes me want to throw up. But my mother is weary and needs a break from keeping vigil at my grandmother’s bedside. The least I can do is choke down a sandwich if it helps to distract her.

  ‘You’ll stay with her, won’t you?’ my mother asks, turning back as she reaches the bedroom door.

  ‘Of course, I will. I’m not going anywhere.’

  Two

  ‘She knows you’re here, you know.’

  I spin around and try not to look flabbergasted as an unknown middle-age lady walks into the room. The nurse, I realise. I’m oddly surprised to find she’s wearing regular clothes and not a uniform as I’d expected.

  ‘Annie, are you awake?’ the nurse says, speaking loudly and slowly as she leans over the end of Nana’s bed. ‘You have a visitor.’

  The nurse looks at me, and it takes me longer than it should to register that she’s waiting for an introduction.

  ‘I’m Holly,’ I whisper.

  ‘Ah, Holly,’ she beams as if my name is familiar to her. ‘Lovely to meet you, at last. I’m Marcy.’ She extends her hand, and I shake it.

  It feels a little weird to exchange pleasantries over my grandmother’s bed. But everything feels strange today.

  ‘Annie has told me a lot about her only granddaughter. You two must be very close,’ Marcy says.

  Marcy’s big, round eyes sparkle when she talks about my grandmother, as if they’ve become friends in recent days, and it makes me happy. Marcy is short. Barely five-foot, I guess. And she’s noticeably overweight. But she has a warm smile and a comforting voice. I think I like Marcy. I bet Nana likes her too.

  ‘Yeah, we are.’ I swallow, finally bringing myself to look at my grandmother lying in bed. ‘We’ve always been close. Nana spoilt me rotten when I was little.’

  My grandmother is pale, but I was expecting that. What I wasn’t expecting was for her to be so thin. Her skin clings to her bones as if there’s nothing between them. But she’s half smiling and her hands are rest
ing comfortably by her sides. Her nails are painted baby pink and are as manicured and pretty as ever. A classy lady until the very end, I think, bursting with pride.

  ‘Excuse me,’ Marcy says as she brushes past me and slides between the empty chair and the edge of the bed. She strokes my grandmother’s silver hair and brushes it back off Nana’s forehead with her hand. She bends down and whispers something in my grandmother’s ear, and Nana’s half smile grows a fraction wider.

  Marcy turns around slowly and nods. ‘She knows you’re here.’

  I watch and wait, but my grandmother doesn’t move. Tears swell in the corners of my eyes. I cried so much in the car, I thought my tear ducts were dried out. I guess not.

  ‘I’ll give you two some alone time,’ Marcy says.

  My breath catches somewhere in the back of my throat, and I freeze.

  ‘Don’t worry,’ Marcy says, sensing my fear. ‘Annie’s medication is all up to date. She’s just sleepy now. Talk to her. Be with her. Take this time to make some more memories.’

  ‘Okay.’ I swallow, unsure.

  ‘I’ll be downstairs in the kitchen if you need me,’ Marcy says as she gathers up some pill bottles and other medical stuff from around the room.

  And then she’s gone. It’s just Nana and me now. It takes me a long time to finally make my way to the empty chair beside the bed. Two more whole songs have played on Nana’s Carmen CD. But when I finally sit down and take my grandmother’s hand, she wraps her fingers around my palm, and I can’t be one hundred percent sure, but it feels like she squeezes.

  I bow my head and try to keep still as my tears splash onto the knees of my tailored navy trousers like summer raindrops.

  ‘I love you, Nana,’ I say. ‘So much.’

  This time, I’m certain she squeezes my hand. My whole body smiles. I sniffle roughly and pull myself together. The last thing Nana needs is for me to be a quivering mess, bawling and getting tears all over her bedside.

  Once I start talking, I can’t stop. It’s incoherent babbling at first, but it doesn’t take long for old memories to flood my senses and the words to flow effortlessly. I talk about all the times Nana spoilt Ben and me over the years. All the times she gave us treats before dinner, much to my mother’s dismay. I remember the lazy summer days when she took us swimming in the lake behind the house. I work my way up the teenage years when Ben and I were moody and thought we’d be young forever. We used to throw hissy fits because our parents would drag us away from our friends to come to Galway for the weekend. And then there’s now. It’s hard to discuss now.