A Little Rain

by Dee Winter

  As I trot quickly to the shop, I get sweet smiling looks and a whistle from a couple of guys I pass and my confidence soars. I buy a couple more blue drinks, a loaf of white bread, milk, cheese puffs, cigarettes and peppermint gum. As I start walking back, I notice the kebab shop. Kebab is not my favourite food but I think sensibly, not eating properly all day and then drinking on an empty stomach is not good. I think of last night and the trouble I got in, not even being that drunk at all. I get some dinner. I order chips and pitta with lots of salad. Extra cucumber, tomato, a little red cabbage, lettuce, no onion, mayo, a little chilli sauce and one big green chilli, which I never ask for but always get and will never eat. I wander back to the flat eating chips as I go.

  As I get to the garden gate that never shuts, I look up, surprised to see someone standing on the stone steps that go up to the flats above. I see a woman with her back to me. She has fair skin and a mass of white blonde dreadlocks. Looking closer, I see they’re plaits with delicate pastel colours twisted in, mainly pinks, greens and yellows. Her ears glitter with piercings. She’s carrying a big brown woolly jumper. Her upper body is covered by a huge tattoo, spreading everywhere, a mix of purple and yellow stars and red fire and a big green dragon. It could be a lizard but I think it has wings. Her clothes are plain, blue jeans so faded they are white in places, in shreds at the knee and round the hem, a shirt that probably was a colour once but has also faded to nondescript grey, a paisley print purple scarf tied as a headband and dungarees so big and baggy I cannot see her feet. She looks amazing. I realise then she’s not alone as she moves. I see her other hand holding onto something, an inch-wide leather strap. Without warning a brown and white burst of energy comes bounding through the open door at me, wild and barking. She holds the lead with both hands now, pulling it shorter and takes a few steps back to shut the door behind her. She stares at me hard. Her eyes meet mine and something shivers inside me but I feel scared of the dog. I look up her briefly. She’s still staring, looking uncomfortable. The dog is still going wild and I’m forced to watch it intently. I’m a little in shock, having had a life flash before your eyes moment, thinking I was about to get mauled. The rabid-looking thing bounces around her ankles barking still, now trying to bite off its leash.

  “I’m Heather. I don’t think we’ve met. We only moved in recently. Nice to meet you.” I shake my head in agreement, still staring at the dog, frightened. I don’t look up at her.

  “I’m Ella,” I say, still looking down, “I live here with my brother Rob.” I point at our door.

  “Yes,” she says, “You will have to introduce me.”

  “Ok,” I say, thinking that’s kind of inevitable being neighbours, and also thinking he is going to hate your dog even more than me if it makes any sort of barking noises, ever.

  “Say Ella.” she says, just as I am hoping she will just take the dog away, “Why don’t you come up for tea sometime? You’d be more than welcome, you and your brother. Just come up and give me a knock. It’s Flat B.”

  I look up at her again. Her glowing light brown eyes are still staring, and she now looks even more familiar but from where I cannot place. She smiles and lessens her grip on the dog’s lead and it scrambles down the steps so fast it almost falls. She chases after it down the stairs, through the always open gate and up the street. She looks over her shoulder. “Do drop in and see me!” she says and I watch the dog, and her mass of dirty blond hair and denim, disappearing up the road.

  I shrug my shoulders and feel strange but a little smiley. I even laugh a little. It’s nice to know the neighbours. I don’t like the dog. We knew that someone had moved in. Rob was disturbed when he was trying to sleep during the day. There was a moving van and people going backwards and forwards and there were a lot of scraping and banging noises. He hadn’t seen anyone yet to say ‘Hello’. He was still sulking about the lost sleep rather than wanting to go and introduce himself. I am happy to break the ice but Rob may not be joining me for a cup of tea. I’m not going to be the one to tell him she’s got a dog. I am looking forward to it, although I don’t really like any dogs, especially wild ones like that. But Heather seems genuinely nice. I like it that she’s a bit different and fresh. I hope we can be friends. It would be nice to have a new friend and next door too. It could be great. I will most definitely take her up on her offer. Then I suddenly feel more excited about that than I do about my imminent date. Back in the flat I quickly finish my drink left in the kitchen and start to check my bag has everything that I need for tonight. I pull out from deep within the cupboard my fur coat. It smells a bit musty. It hasn’t seen the light of day for a while. I give it a shake and spray it with perfume. Then I’m all ready set to go. A quick time check shows I still have a mind-numbing half hour to spare and I still might be early if I leave then. I wait, pacing around the flat, boots hurting, digging in me already. I switch on the TV, sit down and smoke a cigarette and start to drink my second drink.

  My phone beeps just as I’m closing my eyes, counting slowly up and down, trying to get relaxed. I don’t go to it immediately. I don’t care if it’s Benny. If it’s Rob, I’m not too bothered either, someone else, who else... It might be Etienne cancelling, I suddenly think. Curiosity bites and moves me over to my bag. It’s mum.

  She’s texts, Be careful! Love you xx. I’m happy to hear from her. I love my mum so much. Mum and my brother are the only people on Earth I would trust my life to. I know that they would always be there for me at any time, any place, no matter what. Look at last night, ok it was my own stupid fault I got stuck in the middle of danger, middle of nowhere, middle of the night and Rob still came and got me. Mum would have helped if Rob didn’t, she would’ve worked out something. I certainly would not have wanted to wake or worry her at that sort of hour. She always says take care. She always says be careful. I know she means it. I did not listen. Now I will, I say, I will, and then I will probably go and be reckless as usual.

  The minutes tick by and finally, at last, it’s now time for me to go as I check my phone. I pull on my coat, and feel warmer already. I quickly step out of the flat and rattle the door to check that it is shut and then I step out on to the street. I can smell strong spices, maybe one of the neighbours is cooking a curry. I check the time again. It’s a five minute walk to the train station and my train is due in four. After having so much time before, I have still now managed to run late. I need to do more than just walk now. I break into a gentle jog. I don’t think I would be able to run anyway in these boots. I might have to. The train will not wait for me.

  Now my heart’s beating fast like I’ve taken some type of natural high. This forced upon me exercise makes me feel exhilarated. However I soon feel dampened when I get on the platform I see my train is delayed by twelve minutes. I stand and just stare at the sign in disbelief. There are quite a few people on the platform already. I feel eyes looking at me. I give people cold stares back. Don’t look at me now. I wonder why they’re looking. Maybe it’s because I tutted loudly. Maybe it’s the skirt. Maybe it’s the blue alcopop in my hand. The minutes tick by slowly and I stand back against the wall and light a cigarette discreetly, knowing I’m breaking the law, again. I can’t see the harm though, this is the open air. I feel worried now that I’m going to be late and he’s not going to wait. All my efforts wasted. I think about turning back towards the exit gates and just going home. I think no. He will wait, he’ll be there. I feel frightened still, but excited by what lies ahead.

  Eventually the train arrives and I feel all stupid and scared again. This really is happening. My first date. I step onto the train that smells unpleasantly of damp clothing and body odour. It’s just a few stops to the underground, then a few more stops to my destination. As soon as the train pulls out of the station I feel my nerves attacking me again. I certainly can’t smoke now. My drink is finished. I drop the bottle in the bin behind my seat. It lands with a clunk.

  There’s no turning back now. Then I think I can turn back any time.
I know I’m being silly. Even when I see him, if it’s all too much, there’s nothing to stop me turning on my heel and heading home. Even if I summon the nerve to get there and speak to him I can still make an excuse and leave. I text Rob and ask him to text or call me in an hour so I can pretend some emergency is going on and make my escape if I need to. I don’t want to lie. I do it too much already. It’s a bad habit. But if I lie to Etienne from the outset, what chance have we got. Lying can be good for only a few reasons. One, to protect yourself. Two, to protect others. And maybe three, for personal gain, which is the worst reason of all.

  Etienne. I don’t know him but I care for everyone a little bit. Until they give me a reason not to. But there’s something about him I’ve fallen for already. He has potential. I make a promise not to lie to him or try not to at least. My stomach flips again and I realise I’m excited now. I’m looking forward to seeing him. I am ready for this. As I change trains onto the underground I realise I’m about halfway there and excitement burns bright, like a dancing candle flame. I’m still a tiny bit scared too but I’m confident, hopeful even, this is going to go well. I feel I can’t be looking too bad. I have seen people looking at me in what I hope is a good way. Maybe I imagine it. I have had a few drinks. I don’t seem to be as drunk as I scientifically should be. I feel fine. Remember girl, you have college to go to in the morning, the sensible voice in my head says. Go careful.

  My final destination is now one stop away. I start to panic again and as the doors of the train swing open for the penultimate time. I almost get up and get off. A wave of terror engulfs me and it takes all my willpower to stay seated. My legs are like tightly coiled springs. I have to hold on to them with both hands under my knees, as I don’t trust them not to catapult me off the train involuntarily. Then the doors are closing, beeping loudly, making me jump. My mind then must go blank for a minute or two because next thing I know, I look up and we are at my stop. But my body has locked solid. My feet numb. I can’t move. It takes herculean strength now to pull my body up. My brain just about gets the upper hand and in the dying seconds and I’m up and out of the doors, just as they’re closing.

  But on the platform and I’m frozen again, unable to move, like an unfortunate misplaced statue. I feel like a total idiot as people push by me annoyed, trying to get past. I’m in the way, but I cannot move. Sensible head says loudly, MOVE! You have to move! You can’t just stand here and do nothing. I think they will send someone in a white coat to come and get me if I wait here too much longer. Truth is I don’t know what to do. I manage to get my feet to move a tiny little step forward. Then another person jolts into me quite hard from behind and I am forced to move forward and then I just compel my legs to keep on walking, fearing I will only get bashed into again if I don’t. I make determined solid efforts to head towards the yellow signs that say Way Out. I solemnly shuffle myself into the next available lift again smelling of stale sweat and cheap perfume and it takes me up and opens out into the fresh air.

  8

  First Date

  As the cold hits me my brain wobbles about in my head and I feel like I’ve stepped off a fairground ride. The ground moves beneath me though my feet stand still. I’ve let go of the steering wheel and I’m now the passenger. I don’t even look to see what time it is. I don’t know if I’m early or late and really, I don’t want to know. This is an out of body experience, like a dream. I feel like I’m floating slightly, like my shoes have cloud-lined soles.

  There are so many people, so many faces. I can smell someone smoking nearby and I instantly crave a cigarette. I can also smell food, hotdogs with onions and sweet donuts maybe cooking nearby on a corner but I cannot see. All I see is people. My eyes leap from face to face. There are lots and lots of young men waiting outside the station, average height, brownish hair, light skinned, all looking pretty much the same. Fearful, I shut my eyes and realise I cannot see the picture of his face clearly, or his self as a whole in my mind. I am worried. What if I don’t see him? How long do I look for? Then, I think he might see me first and take me by surprise. I don’t want a shock so I withdraw. As I step back I tread on someone’s foot again, I say sorry. They don’t even notice. I light a cigarette and try to be calm. Step off my cloud. This is real. From the safer distance I watch the waiting faces. It seems so many other people are waiting too but I cannot see him. I relax a little against the cold wall. I think he’s not coming. I’m being stood up. I don’t have to be here. I can go home.

  Then my world starts to rock again as I see him coming. Unmistakable, his shimmer remains. I feel I want to run away before he sees me but my feet are glued to the floor. He has seen me. I try to, but cannot move. But as I watch him approach, like some highest rank of angel, I realise I don’t want to. He comes and says “Hello,” kisses me on both cheeks and he smells beautiful, like the soft forest floor and of winter spices and warmth.

  I am lost for words. I just look at him with the biggest smile, feeling like it stretches the broadest width of my face. He smiles back. Beautiful. We just look at each other for a long time, and then somehow words find me, “So, do you want to go for a drink?” I have no idea where to go but as we start to walk, I realise I don’t care. I’m just happy to be here, walking beside him. After a few moments, he gently takes my hand. His touch sends vibrations through me. He leads me into a bar across the road and down the street. Immediately I notice that it’s quite a classy place. Floor to ceiling frosted windows, a glass and metal door, with a man with a dark beard, woollen hat and long coat standing next to it. He opens it for us. I’ve definitely not been here before. As we go in I see a lot of solid wooden furniture, heavy red velvet curtains and lots and lots of candlelight. I hesitate inside. I don’t feel comfortable. I fear when they see me, they might ask me to leave. The walls are darkest red and purple. It’s quite smoky. It reminds me of a club. It has so many tea-lights it positively glows. There are co-ordinating fabric drapes, and square prints of modern art. Wrought iron chandeliers hang from the ceiling. There are matching velveteen cushions on most of the sofas and I fall in love with the elegant leather-bound studded heavy chairs that I would struggle to even move. Even the staff look beautiful, well they do from where I stand in the candlelight.

  Etienne leads the way. As we start to approach the bar, I notice an eagle-eyed pretty blonde already waiting to take our order. He asks me what I want to drink and I don’t know what to say. I think what your average girl might answer, “Oh, white wine please. Thank you.” I don’t really like wine but it doesn’t feel ladylike to say beer. The thought of spirits turns my stomach and I doubt this is the sort of place that will sell alcopops. But as soon as I’ve asked, I wish I just said what I wanted.

  Just as I’ve chosen a table and I’m sitting down, getting comfy he comes over with the drinks. I thank him again. I take a sip of warmish wine. It’s horrible, dry and musty, tasting like vinegar but I can’t ask for something else. He’s bought a whole bottle over in a tall chrome bucket and has a glass for himself too. Maybe I could just leave it for him to drink, but that might be rude. I would not hesitate to say something if I was in the pub with my brother but not now, this is me on best behaviour. Rob would say, “Be yourself. What’s the point of pretending otherwise.” He’s right, it’s true. But I would rather just sit here, say nothing, drink the poison and not make a fuss. I am happy just to talk, but he speaks first.

  “Were you waiting long?” His accent sparkles in the dusky room, obscure tribal beats playing in the background. No crowd noise. No narcotics. I like it.

  “No, not really,” I say, and so it continues. We talk a lot. He tells me he came from north of the river, on the underground. It took him nearly an hour to get here. He lives in a quiet leafy street. He says it’s nice, but dull. I tell him a bit about my exciting weekend. I don’t dwell on the negative, only the good parts. I don’t go into too much detail of last night. We then talk about films, music, weekends, work. He tells me he’s a chef in a hotel. A ti
ny part of me almost dies and invisible arms reach up and touch the sky. A twin soul maybe. Although I’m a little disappointed when he tells me he doesn’t like his job. He says it’s basic and badly paid. He does a lot of chopping, peeling, and preparing. I tell him still, I like food, a lot and that I would love for him to cook for me sometime. I feel thirsty and my mouth is dry from talking so much. I gulp down more of the horrid venom, trying to keep my face straight, like really it tastes ok but I don’t want to give that impression. I don’t want him buying another bottle. The faster this one is finished, the quicker I can get something else. As I drink some more I feel muscles in my face scrunching up involuntarily but the more I drink the more bearable it becomes. Etienne gets up to go to the toilet. I take the opportunity to light up a cigarette. I’m desperate to taste something different, too tense earlier to do it in front of him.

  I look round to the bar while he is gone and see a waitress going from table to table taking drinks, like in a restaurant. Suddenly I feel hungry again and start to wonder if they do food. I see a long folded purple card with gold print at the end of the table. I look more closely and see fancy thing. Olives. Rustic bread and oil. Mozzarella with sundried tomatoes. Deep fried squid. Squid?! I have never eaten that. I am intrigued and maybe even want to try it. I pour myself a second glass of wine which tastes a little bit better than the first. It still makes me feel a bit sick. I wonder if really I should drink any more. I take a big gulp. As bad as it tastes, it does make me feel nice. I feel different, like I’m smiling without trying to, though I’m not sure if that’s the wine or just because of Etienne. I’m glad I have made it this far.