‘She’s going to die soon, Nate, isn’t she?’ I sob. ‘And we’re all so damn helpless; just cooped up in this old house waiting. I hate it. I hate how I feel.’
I finally allow myself to cry. My whole upper body shakes as tear-soaked breaths drag my shoulders up and down roughly.
Nate doesn’t say a word. He sits with his arms around me, rocking back and forth as much as the tiny bed will allow us. Finally, I drift in and out of fitful sleep. Every time I wake with a fright because for a second, I forget where I am, but then Nate’s arms tighten around me and comfort me back to sleep.
After a couple of hours of Nate and I both so cramped and uncomfortable that various parts of our bodies have gone numb as we try to sleep, we finally decide to throw the duvet onto the floor and sleep on that. I fumble my way to the wardrobe with my arms stretched out in front of me like a zombie trying to find my way in the darkness. I drag a couple of woolly blankets off the top shelf and toss them to Nate who creates an impressive makeshift bed in the centre of the floor. I’m just about to praise his handiwork when I crack my toe off the corner of the wardrobe as I turn around.
‘Bollocks,’ I cry. I grab my foot in my hand to hop up and down on the spot, trying not to scream and wake the whole house.
‘You okay?’ Nate asks, but I can detect the snorty giggle that he’s trying to hold in.
‘It hurts,’ I bark, still hopping.
‘Come here,’ Nate says, ‘I’ll rub it for you.’
I slowly drop to the floor and tuck myself under that blanket that, despite the darkness, I know is yellow and red patchwork. I remember it from all the picnics we had in the garden over the years. Nana was obsessed with picnics when we were kids. I used to wonder why she loved them so much even in the autumn. I understand now. They reminded her of Sketch.
‘Jesus, these things are like ice,’ Nate squeaks, finding my feet.
‘I’m cold,’ I moan.
Nate massages my calves and ankles, and I sigh gently, realising my body is just as exhausted as my head.
‘I’m sorry, Holly. I’m so sorry,’ Nate whispers as his fingers softly circle my ankle bone. ‘If I could turn back time, I would. I’d be better. I’d do better. I’d be there for you.’
‘You are here for me now,’ I say, dragging the back of my hand under my nose as I sniffle roughly.
‘I never should have gone to Ibiza,’ Nate admits softly.
‘No.’ I swallow. ‘You shouldn’t have.’
‘But I didn’t know what to do. I couldn’t cope. I didn’t know how to help you. I tried at first; honestly, I did. But you wouldn’t discuss the baby being sick. You just shut me out. I felt like you didn’t even want to be around me at all. That’s why I left. I didn’t know what else to do.’
‘I couldn’t discuss it, Nate. My heart was breaking. I couldn’t think straight.’
‘I know.’ Nate sighs. ‘I know that now. I just … I guess I needed space too.’
‘Ibiza is thousands of miles away. That’s a lot of space. You could have just gone to the pub for a couple of hours like a normal person. That would have been space too, you know.’
‘I know. I know. Ibiza was a stupid idea. I know that now. I wish I’d been there for you. I feel like the biggest bastard on the planet right now, Hols.’
‘And so you should,’ I snap, my pent-up anger and frustration bubbling to the surface. ‘You just up and left when I needed you the most. I mean, seriously, Nate. Who does that?’
‘I didn’t know what else to do.’
‘So getting drunk out of your mind with your brothers in Ibiza was the best solution you could come up with?’
‘Yeah, actually.’ Nate stiffens, letting go of my ankle so he can fold his arms across his chest. ‘At the time, it was. But I didn’t enjoy a second of it. My brothers wanted to drink and party. They wanted to enjoy a guys’ holiday. But my head was all over the place. Every night when they hit the pubs and clubs, I went for a walk on the beach. The sea air was good for my head. It really helped to be alone for a while, you know?’
‘I know what it’s like to be alone,’ I snap, folding my arms too. ‘But it didn’t help me. It made everything ten times worse.’
‘Holly, I really am sorry. I didn’t know any other way to fix things except to give you space. We wanted different things. I desperately want to keep the baby even though I know how sick the little one is, and well, you don’t.’
‘It’s not that I don’t, Nate. I can’t. I can’t keep it, not if it means watching it suffer with no chance. It’s fucking cruel.’
‘I know. And I’ve no right to ask you to go through with a pregnancy when you feel that way. But it’s my baby too, and I can’t change how I feel.’
‘So where does this leave us?’ I cry.
Nate shakes his head. ‘I love you, Holly. So much. And I will be here for you whatever you decide, but I have to be honest too. I have to tell you how I feel. I can’t keep it bottled up. That’s just not me.’
‘Okay.’ I swallow, his words driving into my heart like an arrow. ‘I appreciate your honesty.’
‘You appreciate my honesty?’ Nate echoes, making no effort to hide how much he disapproves of my choice of phrase. ‘Jesus, Holly. This isn’t some board meeting where you need to be on your best politically correct behaviour. This is our future. Our baby, for God’s sake. Can’t you just say what you feel?’ Nate pauses, and I know the crack in his voice mimics the crack in his heart. ‘I’ve said my piece. It’s your turn. Tell me how you feel. Stop shutting me out.’
‘What the hell do you want me to say, Nate? Words won’t fix anything.’ I sniffle.
‘Try, Hols. Just try.’
I straighten my back until I hear it crack. I suck air through my nose and hold it inside until it’s crushing my chest like a dead weight. Finally, I force it back out with bitterly, and angry words tumble after it uncontrollably. ‘Do you know what I want?’ I tap my fingers roughly against my chest. ‘Do you know what I fucking want?’
‘Tell me, Holly,’ Nate encourages gently. ‘Just let me in.’
‘I want it all to stop. I feel like my heart is breaking. Actually breaking. It hurts right here.’ I dig my nails into the bony part between my swollen pregnant breasts as if I can point at the right spot and Nate will see the pain. ‘I don’t want to feel like this anymore. I hate what all this anger and sadness is doing to me. I hate what it has done to us. I never should have pushed you away. It’s not your fault our baby is sick, but I took everything out on you. I’m sorry, Nate. I’m so sorry.’
Nate takes my hand in his and drags it to his lips. He kisses the back of my hand gently.
‘I want to rewind everything,’ I say. ‘I want to go back to when Ben and I were kids. When Nana was younger and healthy. When we’d play, chasing each other in the garden until our knees hurt. When we’d eat apple tart until we felt sick. It’s over, Nate. It’s all over now. I won’t cope without her. I just won’t.’
Nate gathers my head to his chest and runs his hand gently over my hair. ‘Shh,’ he whispers. ‘Shh, baby.’
‘Everything will be different,’ I explain, sobbing uncontrollably. ‘I’m losing my grandmother, and I’ll lose my baby too. I’ll have nothing.’
‘You’ll have me.’ Nate bends his neck to place a warm kiss on the top of my head. ‘Holly. I don’t want to lose you, but I don’t even know if I deserve to have you back.’
I drag my hand under my nose and sniffle unattractively again; it’s becoming a bad habit. Nate ignores my snotty gesture and gathers me tighter into his arms. ‘What can I do, Holly? What can I do to make this better?’
‘You’re here, Nate. You’re already making it better.’ I answer without hesitation. ‘I need you. I always needed you.’
I reach under the covers and find Nate’s hand. I slide my fingers between his and guide his hand up onto my tiny bump. ‘Be here for both of us. For however long that may be.’
Eighteen
I jerk upright and rub my eyes in a blind, twilight state somewhere between sleep and awake. Waking unexpectedly, I take a moment to realise that the neon blue glow lighting up the bedroom is not normal.
‘An ambulance,’ I blurt loudly, and Nate stirs, groaning sleepily in protest to being woken so suddenly.
I race over to the window, bouncing from one foot to the other as the cold of the old timber floor drives up through the soles of my feet. I grab the curtains and fling both sides open at the same time. I let go of the flowery fabric, and my hands cover my mouth, smacking my skin with stinging force. My suspicions are confirmed. An ambulance is waiting in the front drive with its back doors open—ready.
‘Oh, no. Oh, God no,’ I yell, backing away from the view outside the window.
Nate wakes fully, and I suddenly feel his bare, warm chest press against my back and his arms fold over my shoulders, steadying me as we both stand and stare outside.
The blue lights flash persistently, but there’s no siren.
I break free from Nate and hurry into the hall, almost skidding on the tiles as I meet a paramedic in a bright green uniform at the bottom of the stairs.
‘My grandmother?’ I panic. ‘Where is she? What’s happened?’
He looks at me blankly, but the corners of his lips twitch, and I don’t know if he wants to smile or frown.
‘Holly,’ Nate says, suddenly behind me. ‘Here, put this on. It’s cold.’
I can’t move. I’m frozen to the spot. Nate drapes his favourite hoodie over my shoulders to cover my baggy t-shirt. He helps my arms in as if I’m a child he has to dress.
‘My grandmother,’ I repeat, my eyes locked on the paramedic who politely meets my gaze. ‘Is she ... is she ...?’
‘We’re taking her to Saint Patrick’s Hospital in the city,’ the paramedic says as he disappears out the front door towards the open ambulance.
I watch at him closely as he hurries away. He’s about my age, a little older, I think. And he’s soft spoken and professional. He doesn’t look like someone who sees death regularly. He doesn’t look like someone who gets called to the houses of the elderly in the middle of the night and watches them slip from this world into the next. He looks normal. Just like me. And for a moment, I want him to break from his professionalism and tell me that he has a grandmother he loves just as much, and that even though this is his job, he hates it because special grandmothers should live forever. Nothing should ever take them away from you. Nothing. Not even young paramedics in bright uniforms just doing their job.
‘Holly, your mom’s up there.’ Nate gathers my attention, tilting his head towards the top of the stairs, and I follow his stare.
My parents are standing on the landing outside my grandmother’s bedroom. My mother has one hand wrapped tightly around the railing and the other hand is across her chest holding her fluffy pink dressing gown closed. She stands hunched, her head low and pointing towards her toes as if she’s a human question mark. I’ve never seen my mother so dishevelled and vulnerable. Suddenly, my mother appears as old and frail as Nana. My father stands behind her, rubbing gentle circles into her back, but her face tells me she’s not even aware he’s there.
‘Mom,’ I call out, the way I used to when I was a little girl and I’d fall and cut my knee and the only comfort I wanted was a hug from my mother.
‘Holly.’ My mother raises her head, noticing me. ‘They’re taking her to the hospital. They’re taking her now.’
‘No. No. They can’t.’ I breathe. ‘Nana doesn’t want this. It’s not what she wants.’
Nate’s arm slips around my waist, and his fingers span my hip, keeping me warm and steadying me.
‘Your grandmother has taken a bad turn.’ My father coughs in his best attempt to be calm.
‘I know how sick she is, Dad,’ I snap, unfairly. ‘Don’t we all?’
Everyone’s eyes drop to the floor and no one acknowledges what I’ve just said.
‘That’s it, careful now. Careful,’ Marcy’s voice carries out the door of my grandmother’s bedroom and travels down the stairs to reach me like a gentle hug.
The young paramedic dashes back inside, carrying a metal oxygen cylinder under his arm. He brushes past me and takes the stairs two at a time. Seconds later, he reappears at Nana’s bedroom door. Marcy is there too and another older paramedic. They carry my grandmother out of her warm, safe bedroom, taking care not to tip off the doorframe as they negotiate their way out the door.
My mother omits an odd noise as they pass her—shrill like an animal caught in a trap—and she turns her face into my father’s chest because she can’t bear to watch them go. My mother’s vulnerability startles me, and my knees buckle, but Nate grabs me, and I fall into him instead of onto the floor.
I can’t take my eyes off my grandmother. She lies peacefully on a flexible stretcher that seems to hug her frail body like a giant inflatable. She’s strapped in with her hands by her side, and I notice that her baby pink nail varnish sparkles under the low-hanging hall chandelier. Her eyes are closed and the lines across her forehead seem softer and less pronounced than they were a few hours ago when I kissed her good night. I wonder what medication they gave her upstairs. Something strong, no doubt. And I slowly accept that without bucket loads of pills, Nana would be in terrible pain.
The paramedics make their way down the stairs with seemingly little effort. They almost make the difficult task appear mundane. Marcy follows them. And my parents follow too, remaining a couple of steps behind. My father keeps his arm wrapped around my mother’s shaking shoulders to steady her. Telling her without words that he will always be there. If he lets go, I have no doubt that my mother would crumple and tumble all the way to the bottom step.
‘Mom, please,’ I say. ‘Don’t do this. Don’t take Nana away from her home.’ I know if Nana leaves now, she will never come back.
‘That’s enough now, Holly,’ my father says angrily.
‘This way, Blair,’ Marcy says as she guides my mother into the back of the ambulance next to Nana.
‘Aren’t you coming?’ My mother wilts.
‘Three’s a crowd.’ Marcy shakes her head gently. ‘She’s in good hands, Blair. These guys know what they’re doing.’ Marcy smiles brightly at the older paramedic, and I can tell they are friends.
They’ve probably met many times under similar circumstances. It’s all part of their job, I guess. But Marcy has a way of making us feel as though my grandmother is the most important patient she has ever cared for. And maybe it’s because she is. Nana is special.
‘I’m here, Mom. I’m here,’ I hear my mother say before the older paramedic closes the ambulance doors and they drive away.
The familiar sound of tyres rolling over the pebble stone driveway crunches loudly. The sound I used to cherish when I was a child scrapes against my heart like a rusty nail now as we stand like poignant statues and watch them drive away.
‘Go on home, Marcy,’ my father says gently, breaking the silence as he and Marcy stand side by side on the front porch. ‘You’ve been wonderful. We’re very grateful.’
Marcy turns and shakes my father’s hand. Her grip lingers long enough to let him know that her fondness for my grandmother goes past professional. They’ve become friends.
‘I’ll be in touch,’ she whispers.
‘Of course.’ My father nods as they part. ‘Of course.’
The wobbly porch step groans as Marcy steps down. She ignores the hazard and turns to catch my eye. Her lips are curled into a warm smile, but her body language is unsure and sad and contradicts her attempts to seem cheery. ‘Take care of yourself, Holly, won’t you?’
I swallow. I can’t manage words, but I can just about manage a smile as she gets into her car. My heart is so heavy I’m almost certain I can feel it rattle around in my ankle. Marcy is saying goodbye, I realise. She doesn’t think Nana will be coming home again. Maybe she’s right.
‘Hols, love, get yourself back to bed.
It’s late,’ my father says; his eyes are on the back of Marcy’s compact, blue hatchback as the wheels toss up some loose driveway pebbles as she drives away. ‘It’s very early.’ He shakes his head. ‘Get some more rest if you can.’
He closes the front door with a gentle click, and my heart aches. His sad eyes are torturous to witness as he struggles to be the brave, composed head of the family.
‘Can’t sleep,’ I protest, rubbing my bloodshot eyes.
‘I’m going to get dressed and follow your mom and Nana to the hospital now,’ my father explains. ‘I’ll call you if there’s any news. Seriously, Holly, you look exhausted. And your mother worries about you. Go back to bed.’
‘C’mon, Hols.’ Nate slides his arm over my shoulder and turns me away from the door. ‘Your dad’s right.’
My bare feet shuffle along the floor tiles, numb to the cold. I turn on the bedroom light and make my way to the pile of duvet and blankets on the floor that definitely no longer feel like a bed or anywhere I want to lie down or rest. As I stand next to the spot, I’m disgusted that I slept there at all and not upstairs in the chair next to my grandmother’s bed. My head flops forward, weary and too heavy for my neck to support. My father is right; I am tired. So tired. But I don’t want to close my eyes. I might fall asleep, and I’m terrified of what the world will look like when I wake up again.
‘Coffee?’ Nate asks, and I spin around to find him getting dressed with one leg in and one leg out of his jeans.
‘Coffee,’ I echo and nod.
I pull on a pair of slightly big yoga pants that my mother leant me and hurry into the kitchen. Within minutes, I can hear my father race down the stairs, and I catch him just as he reaches the front door.
‘Dad,’ I call out.
He turns around and flashes a gummy smile my way when he notices the flask with steam coming out the top in my hands.
‘Nate thought you could use some coffee while you’re driving,’ I say, walking over to pass him the silver thermal flask. ‘Be careful,’ I warn. ‘The handle is a little wonky.’
When It Rains: The bittersweet romance you won't want to miss Page 14