Rainy Days Read online

  Liam, meaning protector.

  And that’s what I’ve been doing since I was born. I’m 29 years old, and I’ve spent all of this time defending my brothers, my friends and those weaker than me.

  At school, I was always getting into trouble. My primary occupation was hunting down bullies: those who pick on the next guy just because he’s more fragile, more timid, defenseless. I spent more time in the Principal’s office or in detention after school than I did in class.

  No, I’m not a tough guy, courageous or even a beacon of justice. I’m just a guy who doesn’t like assholes and enjoys putting them in their place.

  I became man of the house too soon: at 16 years old, I was already taking care of all of them. My father was a useless drunk who’d do anything to avoid a bit of work and who disappeared one day and whom no one misses. He wasn’t a bad man, but he was good for nothing and he spent his money and energy at the pub with his friends rather than providing for his family.

  My mother always tried to give us everything we needed. She split herself between two jobs to send us all to school, to buy us clothes, books and some little extras when the tips were good.

  I quit school early, thinking that she’d have less problems if I didn’t go to college, giving someone else the chance to go, someone who earned it more than I did. I helped her the best I could: doing little evening jobs in the neighborhood, home deliveries, being a car-wash boy. Indeed, doing anything that would allow me to bring home a bit of money at the weekend for our family.

  My little brother Neil was a good guy. We were inseparable. When we were kids, he followed me everywhere. I was his idol. He was frequently the target of bullies at school and I took care of him. I made sure nobody bothered him.

  For me, music has always been everything. I’ve been playing since I was six years old and my dad gave me my first guitar. When he was still a father.

  I put a group together of neighborhood kids: my best friends, Aaron, Jason, Patrick and obviously Neil. I was the one who started in music. Even though I was the one who introduced Neil to my world, and even though he was the youngest and most inexperienced, he became the front-man we needed. He was hands-down the best of us and now I’m the only one left.

  But I wasn’t able to take his place, I’m not up to the task, but I made a promise, I made him a promise and I promised myself and I’m not going to go back on it.

  He’s not here any more and now I’ve got to fix things. I spent every moment with my friends since the age of ten. We shared passion, loneliness, and the fear that the only place in the world for us was the basement of our house. And it was within those walls where we grew up, and our friendship bloomed day after day, becoming one with the music. We had ambitious dreams and big ideas to chase after, and we did so.

  Then, it all ended one rainy night at the end of summer.

  One damned mistake.

  Our lives stopped, leaving us on standby, but I’m the one who pulled out, I’m the one who left, who abandoned everyone, who put himself before everything else.

  I hid the pain under the dust, I held my tears and the suffering for what I had lost. I transformed all of it into rage and frustration and turned these feelings into energy, courage and determination. I funneled all of my emotions and myself into the music.

  I didn’t have anything else left.

  I grabbed the first chance I got and I threw myself into it without regret. At least that’s what I told myself for two years, but it was just an illusion, a life wrapped up for me by someone else.

  It’s not what I really wanted. Not like that. Not without him. I made one mistake after another and I thought that I had just about reached the end. Almost hoped I had. I would have done anything to not remember, to not see her in front of me every fucking night.

  And yet here I am. Once again, it hasn’t gone like I had hoped.

  Another mistake, Liam.

  Seems like I can’t avoid it. I made a mistake that time, and then I made another mistake, but I swore to myself that I would not commit any more errors.

  Rain

  I was born on a rainy day, one of those typical dark and ominous Irish days where the wind blows at 130 km/hr and the rain falls sideways, cutting your face. I was born after a race against time to make it to the hospital with an urgent C-section. I was born seven years after the arrival of my brother, Aaron.

  Father said that I was a blessing from heaven and that these two things combined together were the source of my name: Rain. It’s obviously not a typical Irish name nor is it a family one, but my family didn’t care, in this case they did well to leave tradition by the wayside.

  My parents haven’t been around for a few years and I don’t remember much about them.

  It’s just me and Aaron.

  Aaron is a musician. He put together a group with his childhood friends, but it seems like things didn’t really work out for them and that for now, they’ve set aside their musical dreams to dedicate themselves to this place. I work here too. More than anything, I lend a hand, but I’m not that good. I know how to pour the beer but I’m a disaster at table service. I knock over glasses and bottles, frequently on customers who aren’t very happy. I also have trouble remembering the orders, so both me and Aaron have agreed it’s best for me to work at the counter.

  I haven’t always worked here. Before, I used to be a teacher. I worked in an elementary school, but I don’t remember much about that period of my life.

  My life is very simple. I live with Aaron, Jay and Patrick in a fabulous villa 500 meters from Only4You, the pub that the guys opened a little over a year ago. I have a loft all to myself on the second floor, which the boys do not have access to, and a terrace with a sea view just for me.

  During the day, I don’t do much, I go for a walk, get a coffee at Caira, a coffee house a few meters down from the pub. I read a book, try to cook something, even if it’s not always a success. Jay is usually the one who does the cooking, at least he does when he’s at home, or else we order takeaways or get something at the market.

  We live in Howth, a village on the sea. It’s a nice quiet place with little outside traffic, especially in the winter—far from the chaos of Dublin. I like living here because I know every street, side street, every store and every last person who lives in this city. It would be difficult for me to lose my way.

  It’s Friday night, and like every weekend in a little while people will be out spending every last cent of their salary. I glance at my watch and realize that it’s already 2.00 p.m. and I’m running late for opening. I grab my takeaway coffee cup, put the book I was reading in my bag, and hurry out of the coffee house.

  It’s raining, but I don’t care: I love rainy days.

  I walk slowly towards the stop light to cross. I stop at the red light and push the button so that it’ll change within 30 seconds and I wait. Other people are always hurrying about. They run and cover themselves the best they can, but not me. I just take it easy. I lift my head towards the heavens and let the drops of rain caress my face. It’s such a sense of freedom they give me, of peace, which I need. Distracted by the rain, I forget about the traffic light and I start to cross the street when a motorcycle is about to run me over. I freeze in the middle of the road, petrified with fear, until two strong arms lift me off the ground where I’m standing and bring me back to the sidewalk holding me there forcefully.

  I go rigid in that tight spot, breathing rapidly from the panic or the near miss, and because of the shock of finding myself in the arms of a stranger when a voice whispers in my ear: “Everything’s alright, you’re safe.”

  I relax my muscles while the stranger’s grip slowly lightens up, letting me ease down and get my feet back on the sidewalk. I stand straight and turn around while the person’s hands remain on my hips, keeping me steady.

  And I have to completely turn my head to the left in order to make eye contact. He’s at least 30 centimeters taller than I am. Solid, with shoulders as big as my bedroom clo
set. His sweatshirt is just big enough to contain his muscles that bulge out under the soft fabric. He’s wearing a Leinster hat pulled down over his eyes. He’s got a long red beard which is very unkempt, and has chiseled facial features, and two eyes on high alert, I’d say they were almost scared.

  Two eyes I hope I won’t forget.

  I slowly release myself from him and take a look around. I notice some people have stopped to look at us, asking themselves what must have happened. I smile at them all and nod to let them know I’m all right. The motorcyclist that almost ran me over has stopped at the side of the road. He also wants to make sure nothing serious happened. I give him a humble grin, an apology, and he shakes his head mumbling, Stupid idiot, I seem to understand. Then he puts his helmet back on and speeds off.

  I turn around again to look my savior in the eyes and all I can see is his back as he walks quickly away from me.

  The rain continues to fall as it has this whole time, which seems to me like an eternity, when it occurs to me it’s just been a few minutes. A few minutes and I could have died. Another time my life was put at risk, just because of a distraction.

  A stupid distraction.

  Liam

  Ten minutes later I’m in front of Only4You. I walk a few paces behind her, gripped by a profound sense of agony, holding my breath to try and contain my emotions.

  I hadn’t seen her again this close up for a long time. All these months I have kept my distance to avoid getting dangerously close to her. She seems to be the same person, but one look was enough for me to understand it’s not true.

  Is it possible she didn’t realize the light was red? Is it possible she was just distracted?

  That was my first thought, but then she looked at me and I saw someone who was lost, confused, almost detached, as if she didn’t know where she was.

  As if she didn’t know who I was.

  God, she was about to get run over by a motorcycle! How can they leave her alone like that?

  In front of the pub, she tries pushing the door, but has a bit of difficulty. Someone from the inside comes toward her to open it and I see her smile just slightly, embarrassed.

  I’d like to go in with her, to talk, to try to make her understand—but what am I supposed to do, go in and introduce myself in front of the guys as if nothing has happened after all that has happened?

  Before going in, she faces my way but without really looking at me. She takes off her hat and shakes her head, letting the water run down her back. And then I see it, it’s there and it always will be. The sign she will carry with her for the rest of her life and will remind her of what no longer is and, more importantly, will remind her of me.

  I turn and escape quickly. I shouldn’t have seen her, I should not have come here, I should not have followed her every day, step by step.

  You see I started doing this three months ago, when I first set foot back in Ireland. I know all of her habits, her schedule, her favorite places. I know what time she starts work and what time she gets off. I know when her break is, what she eats and how she prefers her coffee. I even know the title of the book she’s reading and I went out and got myself a copy.

  I’m a stalker, one of the worst. I cannot get her out of my head. I can’t think about anything but her.

  Worse still, I can’t go back and make everything right and I can’t go ahead, forgetting about the pain I’ve caused. I can’t do anything but look at her from a distance and remember. Remind myself that I no longer deserve anything or anyone. And that if I’m not a ghost, I’m the shadow of a man who used to be a brother, a friend, a musician, but now knows that he’s nothing.

  That’s what I am.

  I can’t do anything but hurt myself, because that’s what I deserve, and to reap the fruit of my pain that I have sewn with total disrespect for myself as a person, because that’s the only thing I’m able to feel.

  Rain

  “Here I am Aaron. Sorry, I’m late,” I tell him and hurry to get into the pub and take off my rain-soaked jacket.

  “Hi, Rain, but—you’re all wet. Go dry off. That’s all we need right now, is for you to get sick.”

  “I’m fine, it’s just a bit of rain,” I say, giving him a kiss on his cheek while he’s bending over behind the bar, reordering some bottles.

  “Where’ve you been?” he asks me, even if he already knows the answer.

  Every day I spend at least a few hours outside to get some fresh air, but today, since it wasn’t great weather, I hung out in the village coffee house, where they make my favorite drink: Frappuccino with a dusting of vanilla.

  I smile at him because it’s not necessary for me to respond. Then I get started setting the chairs up around the tables before sitting down on a bar stool behind the counter, and pulling out a book I’ve been working on before the first customers show up.

  You see I love reading, it’s my biggest passion. I’ve got 100 different titles on my bedroom bookshelves. Aaron says I’ve already read them all, even if I don’t remember most of them, so I started rereading them. A bit for curiosity and a bit because it’s good for me. It helps keep my mind active and my brain vigilant.

  They told me that two years ago I was able to read a whole book in a single night, but now that seems entirely impossible. I’m slow and I have a hard time concentrating on the words. I frequently have to go back and read the same passage at least two or three times before my mind really understands its significance. I don’t get downhearted about it, I just go on with my reading. Every day I am regaled with a new life where I can immerse myself, lose myself or find a part of myself, a part that was lost a long, long time ago.

  “Always with your head in a book, huh?”

  Aaron gives me a gentle nudge on the nose while he opens the fridge under the counter to grab a beer.

  “Are you going out?” I ask, cocking my head to the side as I await his answer.

  “Delivery’s arriving,” he replies, “just like every day—” He stops himself abruptly.

  I imagine I must ask him the same thing every day and that he probably tells me the same thing every time, trying not to show his frustration.

  “Sorry.” I immediately lower my glance, going back to the pages of my book, even if I don’t start reading.

  Stupid.

  I should write it somewhere so I don’t assault him with all my questions.

  By way of answering, he comes close to me, takes the book out of my hands. He looks at the title, his mouth makes a frown and his brow furls. I know what he’s thinking. I’ve been reading the same book for at least two weeks.

  I’m too slow.

  I should stop trying.

  Aaron must have understood my thoughts, because he comes near the counter and caresses my face with the back of his hand. Then he smiles, and in his eyes I see compassion, pity and worry.

  It’s always the same mix of emotions.

  I grab my book and slam it shut and put it away under the counter. I get up and go in back, with the excuse that I have to tally up the bar. I close the door and lean up against it and then slide down to the floor.

  And that’s when I hear them talking.

  “She’s never going to get better.”

  “She’s fine, Aaron, she’s here with us, that’s what’s important.”

  “I know Jay, but I can’t—I can’t do it.”

  “You have to, for her.”

  I sit on the floor and hug my legs, rest my head on my knees and let the tears flow in despair and commiseration.

  3

  Liam

  I’m on the other side of the street, in front of Only4You, torn between closing this distance that separates me from her and turning on my heel and letting it go for today.

  “Liam?”

  Shit.

  I turn around slowly.

  “It’s really you—”

  Jay hasn’t changed at all. The years don’t seem to have passed for him. He still looks like a little kid, even if the same amount
of time has passed for him too. I note with pleasure he’s getting his first bits of facial hair coming in.

  “Jay,” I greet him, forcing myself to smile and give the impression I’m happy to see him. Not that I’m not, but I can’t help feeling guilty, remembering what kind of man I am.

  “When—”

  “I’m just passing through.” I cut it short, pulling the last drag on my cigarette and then stomping it out with my foot. “Not stopping long.”

  “How’s it going, man? I haven’t seen you—”

  “Yeah.” I nod. “Been a while.”

  “Too long.”

  There’s the sound of a voice over my shoulder. I slowly turn around and find myself in front of Aaron.

  “Still here?” he challenges, looking me right in the eyes.

  “I saw her.” The words come out without my even realizing it, while Aaron tightly closes his eyelids before answering.

  “Not here,” he says, looking around. “Let’s go in back.”