The rain washed away the past
In Bristol, a cold autumn rain pounded against the rooftops, as if mourning the loss of summer.
The noise jolted Emily from a restless sleep. Outside, the world was dark despite the clock nearing seven. She lay in bed, staring at the foggy window where the downpour blurred the shapes of houses and trees, turning the street into a smudged watercolour.
How could she send her child to school in this? Maybe she shouldn’t wake her. The day before yesterday, Lily had a slight cough.
“Bitterly cold…” Emily whispered, curling tighter beneath the duvet.
She was used to talking to her husband in the mornings, but he was gone now. Only the habit remained. The heating hadn’t been turned on yet, and the chill seeped into her bones. She pulled the covers up to her chin, hoping for a few more minutes of sleep, but half an hour later, she gave up. Guilt gnawed at her—she had to wake Lily.
With a sigh, she filled the kettle, roused her daughter, and shuffled to the kitchen. The fridge was empty—no cheese, no ham for sandwiches. Emily spread jam on a roll instead. Lately, she hadn’t felt like doing anything, not even grocery shopping. The fridge had long been “orphaned.”
Once Lily was bundled in her thick coat, Emily shut the door behind her. She searched for her favourite scarf, the one with magnolia patterns, but when she couldn’t find it, she crawled back under the covers.
The rain deepened the loneliness that had clung to her for three months. Since James left. At first, they met to sort out the divorce, then even that stopped. He dutifully sent money for Lily’s upkeep, called her, took her out. But Emily avoided him, as if a single glance would shatter the fragile wall she’d built around herself.
She told herself she was fine. Smiled at colleagues, got a new haircut, even dyed her hair. But was she?
At first, she’d wanted to purge the flat of anything that reminded her of James. But time passed, and his things remained: souvenirs, his cologne, that ridiculous mug that read “World’s Best Dad.” Packing them away hurt, but the pain brought an odd relief. Feeling sorry for herself had become almost ritualistic.
Every time she tidied, she stumbled upon fragments of the past. The bracelet from the pier in Brighton, bought when they’d climbed up for a view but found a souvenir stall instead. The headphones he’d given her on Mother’s Day, joking, “Women love music more than diamonds, and these fit the budget.”
And the smell. His cologne haunted her. She found traces on her clothes, her scarves. Those moments were like plunging back into the past—family, dreams, laughter—but the scent always faded, and reality returned. No family. No dreams. Just routine: home, work, Lily.
She avoided friends. They’d been mutual with James, and without him, their company was unbearable. There’d be questions, pitying looks—
“Such a shame, you two were perfect together…”
Emily knew they had been. Perfect. But that was over.
She was certain James had someone new. That was why they’d split. His offshore job, which five years ago had seemed a blessing—mortgage paid, car bought—had ended up stealing him away.
She still remembered that call. An unfamiliar woman’s voice, dripping with false sympathy: “I’m so sorry, but your husband’s been cheating on you.” James hadn’t denied it. He’d sat on the sofa, his face in his hands, silent. Then he’d left for his parents’.
The next day, while Lily was at school, he came back.
“Emily, I can’t live without you. It was a mistake. If we start fresh, can you forgive me?”
“No, James,” she’d said, holding back tears. “We promised honesty. You broke that. Go.”
It had been quiet, almost businesslike. He explained things to Lily himself, moved his things out, and left for his next rotation. There, she assumed, was the other woman. Emily didn’t want details. That “well-wisher” had tried to say more, but Emily blocked her number. Why invite more pain?
For four months, she’d learned to live alone, proving to herself she could manage. She didn’t ask about James. No doubt he was happy with his new love.
But her in-laws were golden. Especially her father-in-law, Thomas Wallace. When she’d first met him, young and shy, he’d welcomed her immediately, drawing her into conversations, giving her small tasks so she’d feel at home. He’d always understood her better than most.
Emily suspected he’d persuaded his wife not to meddle, not to plead for their son’s forgiveness. They’d accepted the divorce and continued to see her and Lily as before.
That rainy evening, when the city drowned in grey, the doorbell rang. Emily, wrapped in her dressing gown, answered. Thomas stood on the doorstep.
“Hello, love.”
“Thomas! Come in.”
“Thought I’d drop by. Knew you were on the late shift today.”
She flustered. “Let me just—tea—”
“I’m not here for tea, love. Sit.” He sighed. “Got a story for you. James was six when Louise and I separated.”
“Separated? But you’re—”
“Back together now, aye. Even remarried, had our vows blessed. But we lived apart for years, even after the youngest was born. Simple reason—I fell for someone else. A lass at the factory, pretty thing. Thought I’d leave. Did leave. But I couldn’t stand life without my family. And James… he can’t stand life without you.”
“Can’t?” Emily laughed bitterly. “He’s got his ‘pretty thing.’”
“He’s got no one,” Thomas said firmly. “Quit that rotation straight after. Lives with us, but it’s like he’s haunting the place. You wouldn’t know, but he walks past your window every night. That scarf of yours, the one with magnolias? He carries it in his pocket. Saw him with it—nearly broke my heart. He’s suffering, Emily. Loves you. And Louise is beside herself, terrified he’ll drown his sorrows…”
Thomas fell silent, sipping his tea, but the weight of his words lingered.
“Right, I’ll be off,” he said, rising. “Your choice, love. Forgiveness is hard. Near impossible. But a man who stumbles once learns to cherish what he’s got. James has. I know it. Sorry for sticking my nose in. And… don’t mention I came, eh?”
Emily nodded.
Once he was gone, she lay staring at the ceiling. Forgive betrayal? How? Once a betrayer… The longer she thought, the clearer it became—she couldn’t. Living with him again? Too painful.
That night, after work, Emily returned. The rain lashed harder, vengeful. She helped Lily with her English homework but kept slipping up.
“Mum, what’s wrong?” Lily asked.
“Need some air,” Emily murmured.
“You’re mad! It’s pouring!”
“I’ll take an umbrella.”
By the playground, an old oak stood nearly bare. Beneath it, motionless in the downpour, was a man. Soaked, shivering, he clutched a magnolia-patterned scarf beneath his coat, his car parked uselessly nearby.
“James!”
At first, he thought the rain whispered his name.
“James!”
He turned. Emily stood before him. Every rehearsed word vanished.
“Come home. Let’s have tea. You’ll catch your death out here.”
“Emily, I—your scarf. Took it by mistake,” he stammered.
“My scarf? Good it’s found,” she said softly. “I’ve decided, James. Let’s try again.”
He didn’t know how to apologise, but his eyes held enough regret to make forgiveness ache in her chest.
“I love you, Em. Both of you. Thank you.”
Perhaps the scarf could be a truce. And the autumn rain would wash the rest away.
