Beat the Rain Read online

  “You sure you don’t want any of your casserole?” he shouts through. She doesn’t reply and for a second he thinks she hasn’t heard, but then she appears in the doorway, arms back, chest thrust slightly outwards.

  “Don’t shout down the corridor like that,” she says. “I hate it when Gavin does that. Why can’t he just walk in the other room?”

  “Sorry,” Adam says in spite of himself, his Britishness coming through with an apology when in reality he wants to tell her to stop being rude.

  “I’m glad things are okay with you two,” Imogen says, leaning against the doorframe and twirling her hair in her fingers. If Adam wasn’t so out of practice, he’d swear she’s flirting with him.

  “We’re fine, Imogen,” Adam starts, and then, “Why, has she said something to you?”

  Shit. He’s let his guard down, shown the Louise and Adam united front he’s been presenting now has a chink in it.

  “No,” Imogen says, stepping forward. “She only ever has good things to say about you.”

  She is flirting. It’s not that Adam isn’t flattered, but Imogen? She’s such a…well…he’d never thought of her that way on account of her being so…abrasive.

  “And you and Gavin?” Adam asks awkwardly, stepping back a little. It’s a genuine question, not one designed to upset her, but designed to remind her she has a husband. Immediately, he sees a change in her demeanour. Looking slightly unsettled, she steps back again, any trace of potential seductress disappearing in an instant.

  “Actually, I won’t have that glass of wine,” she says. “Best get back. Gavin will be wondering why I’m so long.” She puts her bag on her shoulder and leans in to give Adam another kiss on the cheek. “Tell Louise I’m looking forward to dinner in a couple of weeks.”

  “Will do.” Adam nods as the oven timer goes off. “You sure you won’t stay for some? You’re welcome.”

  “No, it’s fine. I need to sort Timmy out, I’m sure he won’t be in bed yet with Gavin in charge.”

  “Okay,” Adam says, feeling a little bit sorry for her in spite of himself. “Thanks for the casserole, Imogen, I appreciate the thought.”

  * * *

  Once upon a time, Adam would have had a friend to call and talk things through with. He used to have friends, real friends. Or maybe that was just Tom, maybe Tom had friends and Adam went along for the ride. Whatever the truth, now he only has couple friends, which mostly means they aren’t friends at all: they certainly aren’t people he could talk this through with, they’re all too close to Louise. It strikes him all of a sudden that none of their mates are his friends primarily. When did that happen? When did he lose himself to being the other half this entity ‘Louise and Adam’? He supposes that’s always been his role, when he thinks about it. Before marrying, he was half of ‘Tom and Adam’. He’s always been part of a two, second in command. He’s never just been Adam – he wouldn’t know how to be if he tried. But right now, he’d do anything to have Tom back, someone that was there for him entirely, someone who’d offer him advice on Louise based on no other agenda than helping his brother out, just like Adam had always done for him.

  He remembers the day after they’d both met Louise in the café – two brothers, sitting on Brighton’s pebbled beach. Adam’s mind had been filled with this impossibly perfect girl in the newsagent shop, a girl who had noticed his brother, not him. Both brothers had closed their eyes against the autumn sun, enjoying an unexpected reprise of summer, both picturing nothing but her face. Adam remembers the gentle waves underneath the music that played behind them, coming from one of the seafront bars. Earlier that day, Tom had insisted on going swimming in the sea.

  “Come on, Ad, what’s wrong with you?”

  “It’s probably full of sewage. No way,” Adam had replied. Tom had ignored him, running down the pebble beach letting out tiny yelps as the pebbles pressed into his heels and the balls of his feet. Adam sat alone, remembering Louise’s face in the newsagents, replaying that moment of connection she’d had with Tom over and over again. Why couldn’t it have been him?

  After his swim, Tom had said, “What if I never see her again?” He’d leant up on one shoulder and looked down at Adam’s face. Adam had opened his eyes, letting his own thoughts dissipate, forcing Louise from his mind, knowing that his brother had already made ‘contact’, that he had to stop thinking about her. She belonged to Tom already, not him, he had to give up on the idea of her for his brother’s sake.

  “Brighton’s not such a big place, you’re bound to see her again,” Adam had said.

  “She might not even live here,” Tom had moaned, lying back down and sighing heavily.

  “Oh for fuck sake, Tom, it’s too late to worry now anyway, you didn’t get her number. Stop going on about it.”

  “Thanks for the sympathy.”

  “Just go and get us a pint, will you. And stop moaning.”

  “You go and get it, I always have to go.”

  “You’re better at getting served quickly than me,” Adam had said, leaning up on his own elbow. “Go on…you never know, maybe she’ll be in the pub, just waiting for you.”

  She wasn’t, of course, it had been nearly two weeks before Tom had met Louise again. After that, they’d barely been apart until his death. And then Adam had swooped in, all knight in shining armour, not thinking of the consequences, sure he could make her happy. But now he’s questioning everything he’s ever believed.

  Chapter Eleven

  Louise is drunk now, enough to be eyeing up the hot-but-too-young-for-her wine waiter in his tight black trousers. Maybe that’s why she lied to Adam after all. He’d probably think she was having an affair or something if she told him the truth – and while she has had affairs – a few, in fact – that’s not what this week is about for her. It’s about space to breathe, not sex.

  She does feel guilty about sleeping with other men – she’d never even contemplated being unfaithful to Tom, but who knows what would have happened if he’d lived. They hadn’t had a family like she and Adam have. The first time was about a year ago. It was a guy called Alan, the married delivery man at the café – it amounted to nothing more than a rushed fumble in the store room every now and then, but it made her feel that little bit more alive. The sex wasn’t good and she had no interest in Alan at all. But someone wanted her, someone saw her as an object and for a few grunting moments, she felt like a woman again, not a failed wife and mother.

  Weirdly, she never equated it with her marriage or family life. It was something she did in her own time that had nothing to do with them. It was something she needed and actually, she felt like it made her more able to love them.

  Alan was replaced by an electrician called Steve, was replaced by a handyman called Noah, was replaced by a student called Toby. It didn’t matter who, if she was honest. It was a transaction; they got something they wanted, she felt something she needed to feel. She does love her husband, that isn’t the point. But he is so…sexless nowadays. She’s lucky if she gets a quick grope on her birthday, let alone any other time.

  Louise can’t remember the last time she and Adam had sex. It’s not fair to blame him, life is different now they have children. But she can’t help feeling that somewhere along the way, they lost their mojo and they can’t get it back. Somehow, Adam became a father to her children, not a lover anymore.

  “I’m sorry, love, I’m knackered. I was up all night with Matthew last night, he’s got an ear infection, bless him,” or, “D’you mind getting yourself off tonight, I’m shattered. Had to make Maria’s nativity outfit for her school play – she’s an angel. Took me half the bloody night and I’ve got the publisher pushing me on my next book and I’ve got no idea…”

  There’s always an excuse. A reason. They all sound plausible but all Louise hears is, “I’m not interested in you anymore. I don’t find you attractive; you’ve put on weight since the kids; your tits are saggy.” Sometimes, she wakes in the middle of the night and realises he
’s lying next to her wanking. He isn’t too tired for that, apparently.

  So sometimes she goes elsewhere for it and after an initial period of guilt, she has reconciled herself to it. Why shouldn’t she get what she needs? She’s a lot happier and that means the family is a lot happier. But this week isn’t about sex. She isn’t going to make a play for the wine waiter. This week isn’t about anyone else. She’s here to reflect on things and help clear her head.

  * * *

  Louise and her father visited her mum once, in her new house with her new boyfriend. Louise had cried and clung to her father in the hallway, terrified and not sure why they were there, worried he was going to leave her there with her mum and this strange man.

  “You’ve turned her against me,” she remembers her mother screaming. “I’m young enough to have more, you know. I don’t need her.”

  Her dad had bundled her up and cuddled her and they’d left, climbing silently back into their car on the suburban street.

  “Just you and me, little one,” he’d said quietly as they drove away. “That okay?”

  “I love you, Daddy,” she’d replied, swallowing and burying her feelings deeper and deeper and deeper until she didn’t even know they were there anymore – something she became proficient at. She wasn’t even eight years old and she’d learnt not to feel. Sometimes that was the only way to cope with life.

  Louise has a lot of happy memories from childhood, it wasn’t all bad. In many ways, it wasn’t bad at all. One warm spring day, for example, her dad told her that while the chips were in the oven, she was allowed to play in the back garden. It was a magical, messy, overgrown playground for a child. Before her mum had left, it had been pruned and planted, cared for and beautiful, cherished and adored. Louise’s dad used to harvest runner beans and in summer, they ate them with every meal. One of the things Louise remembers about her mum was that she loved runner beans and chicken in breadcrumbs. But the garden had become a tangle of ragged weeds and bushes after she’d gone. Grass pushed up through cracks in the paving stones, creating an uneven walkway for anyone unlucky enough to transverse it.

  This particular day was about two years after her mother had left and life had actually been pretty good. Even Narinda had stopped bullying her a bit after Louise had won the long jump in the school sports day. Louise had been pottering around the back garden, picking long blades of grass from the edges of the lawn to create a grass bouquet when she saw the new next-door neighbour over the fence. She must have been in her 80s, a dandelion glow of a woman with enormous topless breasts sagging over shining yellow bikini bottoms. As the woman pottered around, watering plants and singing, she was smiling quietly to herself. Eventually, she looked across the garden fence to Louise.

  “Hello, little one,” she’d said.

  “Hello,” Louise had replied, staring down at her feet.

  “Here,” the topless old lady had said softly, holding her arm out and offering her a small purple flower. Louise leant over the fence and took it, smelling it like she’d been shown to do.

  “A beautiful flower for a beautiful girl,” the old lady said. And Louise’s heart had smiled a little.

  Louise spent a lot of time talking to the old lady in the back garden. She was so relaxed and happy, like nothing in the world worried her. That was something Louise had never experienced before. Her dad was always pre-occupied, always slightly absent, like there was a part of him that should be elsewhere. He loved her, she knew that, but there was something missing in him, something that caused him pain and she didn’t understand what it was. And her mother…well, her mother wasn’t there. And Louise herself was never quite relaxed. If she wasn’t worrying about her dad, she was worrying that Narinda would start a bullying campaign again, or she was remembering Lucy the suicide babysitter, wondering if it was her fault, like her mother said it was. Louise was always slightly edgy and jittery inside. It became part of who she was – but she hid it well. On the outside she was composed and calm. But the old lady next door seemed to exist in the moment, like nothing outside of her garden mattered – her calmness seemed like it was real and it fascinated Louise.

  “Why so troubled, little one?” she said one day, still wearing only a skimpy pair of bikini bottoms and a hair clip.

  “I’m not troubled,” Louise had said defiantly. She’d wanted to seem relaxed and happy, too.

  “That’s good then.” The old lady had smiled. “Someone your age shouldn’t have troubles.”

  These are the years Louise remembers fondly. She had her dad and Mrs Harris the next-door neighbour to talk to. She didn’t necessarily have close friends at school, but she didn’t have enemies either as the bullies had moved on to other targets. And then, when she was 16, everything changed. Thinking back, Louise should have known something was up when her dad got home that day. She’d wanted to tell him about her exam, but he’d seemed distracted and disinterested, so she’d rushed round the side into the back garden so she could tell Mrs Harris instead. It was like slow motion as he ushered her back in the house and sat down at the kitchen table, offering her a glass of acidic orange juice.

  “I’ve got cancer,” he said simply. In less than ten weeks, he was gone. Louise was alone again, completely, utterly alone. No time to process it all, no time to grieve, nobody to care for her.

  * * *

  Louise walks down the corridor from the hotel bar towards the ladies’ toilets. As she starts to push the door open, she sees the wine waiter coming towards her, carrying a tray with snacks on for some guest or other. He’s blonde, blonde in a way not many adult men actually are but it looks natural, not dyed.

  “You okay, madam?” he asks, a wide smile on his face.

  “Yes, yes I’m fine thank you.”

  “I’ll bring you over some bar snacks if you like,” he says, leaning momentarily on the wall as he speaks to her, balancing his tray on his right hand, hips pushed slightly forward. Is he flirting with me?

  “Right,” she says, a little flustered. He smiles, seeing her embarrassment but not moving. She pushes the door open fully and goes into the toilet, ignoring the smell of bleach and heading straight into a stall. After she’s been, she washes her hands and fixes her face in the mirror, wiping the smudges of makeup where she’s been crying away and studying her face.

  Why shouldn’t he flirt with me? I’m all right. I’m not ancient, it’s not like I’m over the hill. It’s not like I’m untouchable, is it? Why shouldn’t he find me attractive?

  The toilet door opens behind her and she glances around, expecting to see one of the other women from the hotel bar; maybe one of the girls on a work conference or the older lady, away from a weekend with her husband. Instead, she sees the wine waiter. At first, he doesn’t come in; he opens the door slightly, enough so that she can see it’s him. He waits a few seconds, perhaps to see if she’s going to be indignant or that she’s going to complain but she does none of these things; she stands quietly, unmoving, heart beating furiously.

  “You’re beautiful,” he says, still not stepping into the toilet. Still she doesn’t say anything, doesn’t move. She stares at him, at his youth. How old can he be? Twenty, maybe? If that. She’s not sure if he’ll be handsome when he’s older, he’s got a look about him that suggests he might not age well, but he’s young and somehow that makes him intensely appealing to her. That’s the other thing about having children she hadn’t expected – they make you feel old overnight. She’s still young but she feels older than she should. And yet here’s this young guy, showing some interest in her, telling her she’s beautiful and all of a sudden she needs that, she needs it more than anything else in the world.

  He pushes the door open a little wider, glancing behind him as he steps inside.

  “Is this okay?” he asks, as he takes the first step. She nods and doesn’t say anything, she’s not sure she could, her heart is racing so hard, she’s not sure she could say anything sensible anyway. And then he’s on her, lips, tongue, han
d, straight up her dress, no niceties, no hanging around, just up there, tongue in her mouth, finger inside her. As one unit, they shuffle across the toilet and into the cubicle and he slams the door behind her, unbuttoning his trousers to release himself. She doesn’t even see what his cock looks like, but she feels it, short and wide, as he enters her, as she wraps her legs around him, her back hurting as it pushes up and down against the wall of the cubicle. As he thrusts, she turns her head sideways, staring at the white china toilet, at the toilet brush, probably flecked with the faeces of numerous guests. What is she doing? Why is she doing this? It’ll only make things worse. He finishes quickly, before she can even think about changing her mind and stopping it herself. Before she knows it he’s doing his trousers back up and she’s wiping herself with tissue, pulling her knickers up and leaving some tissue in there in case of leakage and straightening her dress out. She walks back over to the sink as he moves towards the toilet door.

  “You’re on the pill, right?” he asks, as he steps back out. She nods. “Okay, great,” he says, flashing her a smile. “I’ll bring those snacks over in a minute.” As he shuts the door and leaves she starts to cry, the sobs coming from somewhere deep inside, their waves encompassing her entire body.

  * * *

  Louise heads back upstairs to her room, unable to stop sobbing, filled with self-loathing. She showers, cleaning herself and calming herself before standing naked in her hotel bedroom mirror, cupping her breasts. She didn’t even breastfeed and they still look like tennis balls shoved into a pair of old tights. She’s still young, her body shouldn’t look like this. So…lived in. But she’s still desirable, she’s got to convince Adam of that again. She shouldn’t be looking elsewhere, she should be concentrating on him, trying to work out how to get the spark back with him. She’s been sitting in this hotel room, or the hotel bar, or walking along country lanes, thinking and pondering for nearly a week now and she’s been missing the point entirely. She envies the people who seem to clearly know what they want and how they feel. For her, life’s never been like that, her interior life is a mix of emotions all bundled up together like entwined balls of wool – she has no idea where any of them come from or where they lead to or which ball of yarn dissects another. There’s no cohesion to her emotions, no right or wrong, no clarity. But now she knows what she has to do. She has to try and get the spark back, she has to at least try. Because Adam has always been there for her, even before Tom died. She confides in Adam in a way she never did with Tom. He knew all about how she’d behaved after her dad died in a way Tom never had. She’s always been able to open up to him. Why shouldn’t she now?