A Little Rain

by Dee Winter

  I don’t feel drunk at all now. Talking to Etienne has sobered me up like a blast of cold fast air. I get more beers. Looking at the menu, I cannot choose. Steak and chips, burger and chips, scampi and chips, choice of Sunday dinners, one boring healthy chicken salad option. I ask Rob. He wants roast beef. Someone else has ordered scampi and I watch it come out of the kitchen in a basket and it smells oily, hot and lovely wafting past me, so I order that.

  Just as the football kicks off, people in the now crowded pub start coming to life. I shuffle back to the table clutching the drinks. I start to watch the game from the comfort of the squishy sofa but it’s not long before I’m bored. The play is slow and not a lot seems to happen, just a lot of passing so I sit and ask Rob what his plans are for tonight. He says again, to go round and see Ruby and Marcia at Mrs. Diaz’s place. “It’s good you’re seeing them.” I say, a little bit gutted that I can’t be there.

  “I saw Marcia last night. We went out. Mrs. D sat for us.”

  “What?” I say, shocked.

  “No, nothing like that. Just to talk.”

  “Where did you go?” I say quite taken aback, hurt.

  “Just out for something to eat, then we had a few drinks. She went home, obviously. I stayed in the pub.”

  “Oh...” I say, trying not to sound surprised. I thought he was staying in. “Where was Jamie?”

  “Never mind him.”

  “Seriously, where was Jamie?”

  “Seriously! Don’t ask again.” He says dangerously and stares hard into space, like he’s going over something in his thoughts. I don’t ask again.

  “So, the three of you are staying in tonight?”

  “Yeah, I think so, maybe.” he says, quietly, still in thought.

  “Oh,” I say again, still disappointed that I’m not going to be there. “Maybe I should cancel my date?” I say eager to free up my time so I too can spend some time with Ruby.

  “No.” Rob says a bit harshly, then softly adds, “You need a good night out. You ain’t going to have any fun with us. Ruby will be in bed. You should go out.”

  I know Rob has only my happiness at heart. Scared as I am, I do think it will be good for me to go out with someone new and fresh. A new soul whose life is a complete unknown. Who knows, we may be soul mates. If I don’t go, I’ll never know. Even though I’m uneasy about the whole date thing it’ll be good to just hear his story. The conversation about him being from France in itself should be enough to talk about. The memory of his accent glitters in my mind like space dust, though it was a little duller on the phone than I remember and certainly not as strong. The influence of substance may have altered my original perception. When I answered the phone, there were no shivers, not like before. I’m probably now just numb to all such shivers.

  But then I get shaky for real at the thought of meeting him again. What if my legs turn to jelly? What if my tongue gets tied? What if my brain shuts down? What if I faint? What if we have nothing in common? Actually, that bit doesn’t bother me. The fact that I fancy the pants off him does. It could have physical implications. I just remember that he was purely beautiful and stunning to look at. The whole air he had about him. Mysterious. Poised. Dazzling. Gentle. Not so much as a hint of aggression. No attitude. Absolutely no bad vibes. Though I was pretty messy in the club. He could’ve been anyone and I was not myself. I wonder what he will make of me sober but if I carry on like this I may soon be drunk. I watch the football to try and interrupt my non-stop thoughts but it’s the dumbest, slowest, most boringest game ever. It does not help me. I am not distracted and I just keep thinking about tonight. Rob’s no use either. It’s like he’s not here and is glued to the game too like most of the people here. It’s not even like I can wander about. It’s too busy and I’d be getting in the way. There are even kids sitting on the floor. No visible walkways.

  So I sit and mentally go through my wardrobe options of what I could wear tonight. Dressy. No. Casual. No. Smart casual. Ok, yes. Trainers. No. Builder boots. No. Combats. No. I don’t realise I’m thinking out loud until Rob nudges me and puts a finger to his mouth. I think I might have to go home and sort out what I’m going to wear right this second. “If you want something to do, go and get me some cigarettes.” Rob says when the ball gets kicked into the crowd.

  “Ok.” I say, happy to get my mind out of this chaotic place it’s stuck in and to take my thoughts elsewhere. When I stand up suddenly to leave, the blood rushes fast into my head causing me to sway a little and feel off balance.

  “You ok?” Rob says.

  “Yeah…”

  “You’re not pissed already are you?”

  “No,” I say and as I start to move forward. I tread bang hard on to someone’s foot. I didn’t see it. The table was in the way. “Sorry.” I say, but he’s not even listening, eyes glued to the wide-screen like every other corpse in here, apart from the barmaid who is carefully collecting up empties as she tiptoes through the crowd. I help her by picking up ours and taking them to the bar, but I cannot carry them all. One falls over with a clunk as I place them on the bar. I stand it back up, and then quickly make my way out.

  The air is moist and fresh and I spark up a cigarette. One man on the phone outside greets me by raising his eyebrows but I don’t think I know him. I look up to the damp grey sky and feel the tiny particles of rain speckle on my face. The air is tight and cold. I start to trot across the road to the shop. It seems a quiet enough so I just step out upon the tarmac and I am met with a startling blast of a car horn. BEEEEEEP! Oops. I didn’t see him coming. “Sorry!” I say, raising my cigarette in apology. The driver shrugs and waves me across. Outside the shop I wait for a minute. I finish my cigarette before flicking it to the kerb. At that moment my phone rings. “What?” I say, still a bit shaken up.

  “Get forty.” Rob says, so I buy two boxes. One to maybe share and one for him. He probably wants them for his cosy night in the evening. I jog back into the pub as the cellophane wrapping on the boxes gets speckled with raindrops. Evidently it’s now half time now as its bustling. People are up and moving about and the bar is now three deep in places. I don’t remember it being this busy before. Then I see that Rob is not at our table. Luckily no one else has sat there so I quickly move in to reclaim our seats. I don’t want to stand up in this crowd.

  Just as I’m sitting back down I hear raised male voices above the hubbub, like there’s going to be a fight. Maybe it’s just play. I know how boys like acting like they’re fighting, pushing and shouting, when really they’re just larking about. But I’ve seen it all turn nasty before. Suddenly I think, Oh God, Rob! I stand up so fast I nearly knock my drink over but lucky it just rocks a bit. I have to see. I look over. I see two guys and Rob’s there too, animated, but not fighting, but Rob’s in the middle as the other two shout at each other. Rob sees my head above the crowd and motions me to get down. I step down off the sofa seat and in what feels like a nanosecond Rob’s there.

  “What are you doing?” he says.

  “What are you doing?” I say.

  “Well, watching you, now you’re drunk. What are you thinking getting up on there?” He points at the sofa.

  “I not drunk,” I protest. “I didn’t mean to…” I trail off knowing my big fat nosey parker got the better of me. “What’s going on over there?” I look over to the space where they were arguing.

  “Nothing,” he says. Obviously I think it’s not nothing. He sees my disbelief and knows I’m not going to give in so quickly. He shrugs, “Just money, that’s all.”

  “I can believe it.” That’s all men ever seem to shout about.

  “It’s true,” he says as he keeps looking over the heads like a meerkat. I don’t think I can hear shouting anymore above the general noise. Good. I don’t want Rob involved in any trouble but I know what he does is his business. I don’t want trouble near me, especially when I’ve got drink inside me, battle fuel. I’m totally split when it comes to any fight. I can go either way, leapin
g to my brother’s defence fearlessly, unless he’s really picking on someone and if I’m brave, I may tell him to ease off. Usually I think it is best not to get involved. Sometimes I can just sit there chilled and shrug a fight off like it’s not even happening next to me. Rob is more than capable. But now all seems calm. I just stand and breathe. Rob is still looking left and right, above the heads.

  Suddenly, our food arrives, nearly a whole hour after I ordered it. I am happy to see it but gutted I did not get a roast dinner now. My basket of dry and shrivelled scampi and long limp chips looks positively sad next’s to Rob’s beautiful big plate of red in the middle roast beef, crispy potatoes, sweet roast parsnips, neat circles of carrot, broccoli I could do without and the shredded cabbage too. Then there are two giant Yorkshire puddings balancing on the edge, soaking up the puddle of rich and shiny gravy. The smell is just like heaven and I have serious food envy. I nibble on a lukewarm chip. I struggle to swallow one ragged piece of scampi. It feels like it scratches my throat on the way down. I’m still hungry, but I cannot bring myself to eat any more.

  I start to feel like I don’t like being here anymore. The atmosphere has changed since I stood on the sofa. It feels loaded with angst, cold and heavy like a thunderstorm brewing, and is making me feel more than a little tense. Every loud shout makes my head jerk in the direction it comes from. I don’t know why as I usually always feel safe when I’m with Rob but not now. Maybe it’s the drink, maybe I’m pre-empting something. Maybe it’s just the unstoppable fast running undercurrent of nerves rippling through me. Rob still has nearly a full pint of beer. My bottle is near empty. I try and eat some more of my food but it still feels like its sticking in my throat. Rob eats his quick, all gone in ten minutes.

  The football is finally finished after having gone on for an age. The home side have lost which does not help the already charged atmosphere. I see bad losers, grown men visibly sulking, getting angry at the television and shouting at the barmaid. It would maybe be funny and I might have laughed, but not now. I make the decision to leave.

  I look round to see that Rob is up and now engaged in some new semi-heated conversation with a grey-haired man, and I just don’t want to be here anymore. I should take his drink over. I think it will be ok where it is. It would have to be some fool that takes away Rob’s unfinished drink. I make a move. I pick up my carrier bag off the floor and it’s not hard to sneak out unnoticed. As I slide out through the door, I don’t feel a single pair of eyes follow me. I feel fresh air on my face and instantly relax.

  7

  Getting There

  The previous tension caused by the het-up atmosphere evaporates. The touch of cool, damp air on my face calms me. A few raindrops that land on my forehead and taste dirty in my mouth bring me back in touch with earth. This tiny bit of calm only lasts a few fleeting seconds as I remember my date. Oh-my-God. This day is like a dream. Maybe I have not woken up. In just a few little hours I have to go and meet him. I could not go, just go home now and stay there. But I need to live a little. Face and fight my fear.

  I really do want to see him again, if only just to look at his beautiful face. I want to see him again, maybe even get to touch him. His soul seemed iridescent. He sparkles like an inky blue night sky full of stars. But I don’t know if other people see it. No-one else seemed to staring at him in the club like I was. Maybe it was the drugs and I have to consider that I won’t see it again but I have to at least try. This is not like a lust I’ve felt before. I want to touch him but more than just physically. I want to connect with his soul and maybe one day I hope, be joined to it. He seems like a good soul.

  I shake my whole self, my head from side to side, shoulders up and down, arms in big circles, fingers little Mexican waves. I try and shake out all the nerves in me. I need to get a grip. I am going to see him and I will be fine. I am nervous to the point of terror but I will force myself to run on autopilot now. Flick the switch. Go. Block all these crippling thoughts. I will have a little drink to steady my nerves.

  I walk steadily on in the direction of home.

  Through the door and the flat is cold. I quickly turn up the heating and take out my phone. I have a missed call from Rob. Confused about how I didn’t hear it, I call him back straight away. He answers and I tell him that I’m home and about to start getting ready. He sounds a bit weird. Maybe he’s cross because I left without saying goodbye. He’s says he’s going to be late in tonight and not to expect him home. It’s just a quick call. Now I’ve got to get organised.

  I realise it’s getting late in the afternoon and I haven’t spoken to mum. I feel upset with myself that I almost forgot. I always call her on a Sunday to let her know I have survived the weekend. I know she worries. We speak more during the week when I stay over sometimes. I usually end up sleeping on the sofa. Her flat has only two bedrooms. Mum’s room and the bedroom for the twins. There isn’t really space for me. I used to sleep in mum’s room in her bed, but it got hard with her illness, her getting up in the night. She does not sleep well. At weekends too, when I was out, coming home at all hours, it just was not fair. I suggested I start staying at Rob’s, and it just continued that way.

  Another reason that I don’t speak to mum before Sunday is usually before then I’m too high, stoned, drunk, sleepy or maybe even unconscious. Sometimes I’m working. I hope she doesn’t know all of what I get up to but I think she has an idea. She knows the sort of crazy hours I keep, the all-night clubbing, the drinking, the hangovers and of course the part-time job. She knows the pub. It’s not far at all from her flat. She’s so close, she says, she’s thankful to hear the bell ring at chucking out time. I don’t believe this. She says she definitely hears the singing, shouting, and screaming when it is past chucking out time and the drunks are all staggering and fighting their way home. Before I call her, I turn up the heating a few more degrees and then take hold of my mobile again and phone her.

  She sounds tired but happy to hear from me. She quietly shares the excitement of my upcoming date. She tells me it will all be fine but be very careful, sensible and be cautious and not to do anything stupid or dangerous. I tell her ok but I make no promises so I can break none. I don’t tell her what happened last night. I tell her I will come and see her tomorrow, after college. This is a promise I will keep. She offers to have me round to dinner. I say yes, gratefully. I haven’t eaten a proper meal at a table for a while. It must be over a week. She says she will cook sausages with real mashed potato and baked beans. I say that this sounds lovely and ask her to put lots of butter and milk in the mash. I say I’m looking forward to it. I tell her I love her, and will see her tomorrow. She tells me again to be careful. Call over, now I really have to get moving.

  Now the place has warmed, I head to the bathroom and jump in the shower. I turn it up as hot as I can stand it and wash away the dirty pub smell using Rob’s shower gel that says it is uplifting. I’m not sure how it can be. It just smells of lime and mint. I wash my hair too and de-fuzz everything that needs de-fuzzing. I use Rob’s shave gel and razor to do this. I carefully wash away all the speckles of evidence and every last drop of the blue-tainted foam down the plughole.

  I jump out of the shower and wrap up in the biggest, softest towel on the rail, like a sheet and bigger than me. I head back to my room and realise that the clothes I have here do not leave me with much choice. I don’t own many that clothes like I know some girls do. Demi for example has loads stashed away in two floor-to-ceiling wardrobes and she is younger than me. Marcia too has cupboards, shelves and drawers absolutely full. Mum has enough to start a jumble sale. I don’t have nearly so many. A couple of pairs of jeans. A smart pair of trousers. Clubbing gear. Combats. Two skirts maybe. A few t-shirts, jumpers, vests and hoodies and that’s about it. Fashion has never really been my thing. I would rather just be comfortable and not stand out too much. I wear make up for my confidence and not to impress other people. I start from the bottom up. I will wear my smartest black knee high boots that
by luck are here as I wore them out last Saturday. I cannot wear my suede boots now. They are still filthy after last night. I could wear my trainers, but this is a date, so some is effort required. The boots are not particularly comfortable. They have a three inch and a half inch heel which is high enough for me. Working up, I suppose my black denim skirt is best. It is a bit short but not obscenely so. Not so short that people will stare, I hope. I put it on. It’s a bit tight but does up just about when I breathe in. The denim digs in a bit. I think maybe it would be more comfortable without pants but think it unwise to wear a miniskirt with no knickers. I decide against this and find the only clean pair I have at the flat, an unflattering greying pair of ladies boxer shorts. These will have to do. I pull on a pair of tan tights too. It’s cold outside after all. Up top I just go for a long sleeve, dark green low cut top and a chunky silver chain. I wear my black waterfall cardigan too. I look in the mirror. I look fine. I find some big silver hoop earrings to finish and I’m done.

  I put a little more makeup on than usual. A full face of foundation. Solid blocks of cream shimmer eye shadow with a dark brown socket. Kohl pencil on my brows and under my eyelashes. Deepest black mascara, layer upon layer, thick as I dare before it clumps together like dead spiders. Lots of gold bronzer too so I might look sun-kissed in winter. Baby pink lip gloss for a bee-stung effect and finally a finish of perfect sweeps of black liquid eyeliner across the top of each eyelid, Cleopatra-style. I find myself ready and I’ve still got time to kill.

  Suddenly, sharply, the nerves kick in again. I feel scared and think I’m not going to go. I can’t remember eating anything substantial today. Even though I’m always hungry the thought of food now makes me feel a bit sick. Maybe I just need a drink. I go to the kitchen to look for a beer but find instead a lonely bottle of blue alcopop. I pop the lid off. I start to drink the sickly sweet syrup but know one is not going to be enough so I head out to the corner shop, I have time. It’s only a few minute’s walk away. I leave the now half empty bottle on the kitchen worktop.