Salena Austin missed the sunshine, but she’d never tell her mother that.
She sighed at the rain, which lashed against her kitchen window, and waited for the kettle to boil. One would think, with all this water, the plants and grass and trees would be content. Instead, they shivered in puddles of mud, scrawny children picked last for sport on a cold morning.
At first, the drum of the droplets upon the glass cured her insomnia. The hush and shush of the downpours lulled her to sleep. But over time, the pitter-patter had grown monotonous. An irritation, a blight. Now, Salena wished the rain would ease up and the Sun would nudge some of the clouds aside — for only a moment.
But no. It never did, and it never would. This was Litwich, and here the droplets fell without cessation. ‘The Most Haunted Town in the Country’ boasted the welcome sign. In Salena’s opinion, someone ought to daub ‘Hope you like it wet!’ beneath in spraypaint. But the rain would wash it away before it dried.
The kettle thundered to a boil and then clicked off. Salena didn’t even hear it.
She had to be a good daughter, now. She’d never been one whilst her mother had a pulse. That’s the thing about death, which nobody realises: it’s lonely. Lonely for the bereaved, yes. But also lonely for the dead. Like a party at which you know neither names nor faces and must stand alone. Awkward, cheeks red, too shy to strike up a conversation with a stranger.
No, no, ‘had to’ was the wrong way to phrase it. Selena wanted to be a good daughter. If asked whether it came to little more than an attempt to wash her hands of guilt, she’d give a startled look. She wanted to think of herself as the good daughter, yes. But she also wanted her mother to think of her as a good daughter, too. Absolution, forgiveness. To break free from the clouds and arrive in a golden beam of light.
Her mother — Wynne to her friends — had died three years prior. Salena had arrived in time to see the plug pulled, and almost missed that. Nobody else attended, for Wynne had no other children. All her siblings had long since passed. She’d never forget the look the nurses gave her when she arrived. “She waited for you,” one of them said. Didn’t even try to conceal the venom in her voice.
“She waited for you, and you never came.”
© Joshua Insole 2021-05-26