The Rain by Virginia Bergin Read Free Book Online

clawing at her face, at her
head. I couldn’t look away, somehow. Something white landed on the grass next to her; I saw it was a box. A small white medicine box of tablets; the instructions, come loose, fluttering down
after it. My mum must have flung it out. I saw Mrs Fitch pick it up. She looked up at the window – not the one I was peeking out of, but the upstairs one – Mum and Simon’s room.
She looked up and in the grey light I saw the ghostly red running on her face, the skin torn away already where she couldn’t help but scratch.
    I let the curtain drop and buried myself in my bed. I tried not to listen to it all: the murmur of the scary bossy voices on TV; the sirens – not so many now; and the car horns, also not
so many. Mrs Fitch, groaning again. Why didn’t she just go away? The pitter-patter of the rain. Such a quiet sound you shouldn’t have been able to hear it, but once your ears caught it
they couldn’t seem to let it go. Then Henry started bawling, having a right old screech – and that was a good thing. It drowned out every other sound, and it was a noise I knew how to
deal with; I wrapped a pillow round my head to muffle the brother-brat out, and fell asleep.

CHAPTER FIVE
    When the next morning began properly, it began like a lot of mornings have begun since then. For a moment, I thought everything was fine. For a moment, I’d forgotten.
    And then you remember.
    I woke up thinking about Caspar. I’d been dreaming about him, but not how I’d seen him last, lying in the back of Zak’s mum’s car. I dreamed we were playing a gig
together. It was brilliant. We were brilliant.
    I’ve got to tell you now that even if the entire world hadn’t totally ka-boomed, this could only ever have been a dream. That guitar lesson I didn’t want to go to? It
wasn’t just because it was raining – it was because I was rubbish. I’d only started up with it because I thought it would impress Caspar. OK, and I thought I’d turn out to
be brilliant at it, but I wasn’t: I was rubbish.
    And, by the way, I was rubbish at singing too, but I sang all the time (in my room, or with Lee), hoping that if I practised enough I’d suddenly, miraculously, become brilliant at that
too.
    Dreams – good ones – are beautiful things.
    (And sometimes they come true. I should know: I kissed Caspar McCloud.)
    Anyway, for a couple of moments before I opened my eyes, I was in heaven. And then I woke up in hell.
    I stretched and felt floorboards under my legs where my bed should have been. The cushions had slipped about. I dunno how Dan manages it; he’s like a hamster or something, building his
little nests. I’d had the worst night’s sleep ever, tossing and turning – and even before I attempted to get up I kind of knew I felt like rubbish and then I remembered
why
I felt like rubbish.
    Caspar. Oh my: Caspar.
    I reached up and felt my chin – yeurch! Seemed like overnight it had turned into a kind of giant scab. I felt my nose; that didn’t feel scabby – but I’d need a mirror to
be sure. If I didn’t look too much of a horror, I’d get the train to Exeter and look for Caspar at the hospital – or get Simon to take me. I had some wicked foundation to deal
with the face situation . . . no, I didn’t. That was in the barn with – MY MOBILE! I HAD TO GET MY MOBILE. Get my mobile – which would mean seeing my friends too, which was great
– get my foundation. Go see Caspar. Get a shower first – no: check the net, then shower. Sort outfit, do temporary emergency make-up with items from the reserve make-up supply. Possibly
have to do emergency mascara borrow from mother; definitely emergency perfume borrow (aka ‘steal’; she had a bottle of this really nice stuff I wasn’t supposed to use and the last
time I’d borrowed a bit she’d gone mental – even for my mum – when she’d sniffed and twigged I’d used it). Ask, then borrow; or just borrow? Just borrow. It was
an emergency.
    MY