Just In Case It Rains
In the kitchen drawer, tucked beneath spare AA batteries and a packet of hairbands, there sits a piece of paper folded in quarters. Claire holds it not like a note, but like a tool: she presses it flat with her palm so the edges dont tremble, and she reads it not with her eyes, but with her whole bodyas someone would before following instructions for a crucial device.
At the top, written in blue biro, the words: Just in case it rains. Below that, a list. Not be strong or pull yourself together, but tiny, reliable actions.
1. Glass of water. Then tea. Sit for two minutes.
2. Breathe: in for four, out for six, ten times.
3. Call one person from three. Say: I need five minutes, just listen.
4. Write down three next steps. No more.
5. Delegate: ask, pay, postpone.
6. Walk the route: from home to the pharmacy, around the school, then back.
7. Say one honest sentence at home, without blaming.
The list appeared after she lost her cool in a supermarket two years ago because the till froze, and someone behind her clicked their tongue. She ran outside, didnt buy anything, and spent half a day unable to explain, even to herself, what happened. At her first session with the counselor, the question was: What do you do when it overwhelms you? Claire answered, Nothing. I try not to feel. She realised that nothing was an action in itselfthe most damaging kind.
Today, she takes out the paper, not because things are already bad. Mostly to check its still theremeaning her anchor is nearby. She folds it back up, smooths the creases, puts it away, and shuts the drawer.
On the table sits a container of pasta and her sons school lunchbox. Claire checks that shes packed serviettes, an apple, and a small bag of biscuits. His coat hangs in the hallway, his homework diary rests on the shoe cabinet. Everything is ready, and that makes her more jitterylike before a trip, when it seems impossible not to forget something.
Her son, Oliver, appears from his room, zipping up his jacket.
Mum, Ive got a maths test today.
I remember, Claire says, giving him a smile hiding her silent hope: please, no surprises.
Her husband, James, is already sipping coffee, eyes locked on his laptop screen. He works shifts, and today hell be stopping by the garage for car parts before heading to his site.
Can you drop me off? Claire asks, pulling on her trainers.
Wont manage, I have a nine oclock meeting, he says, not looking up.
Claire swallows the familiar irritation. Wont manage feels a bit like dont want to, even though she knows it isn’t true. She picks up her bag, checks her keys, bank card, phone charger.
The lift arrives fast, but on the ground floor the doors jerk and stall. Claire presses the button again. Silence.
Mum, are we stuck? Oliver looks at her with a grown-up seriousness.
No, hang on. She presses open, close, then the emergency button. The lift sighs and starts moving.
She feels a surge in her chestas if someone poured boiling water inside. Nothings happened, but her body is ready for disaster.
Out on the street, she sees the bus pull away. People wait at the stopsomeone grumbles into their phone, someone else stares into space. Claire checks her watch. If they wait for the next one, theyll be late.
Well walk to the tube, she says. Quickly.
Oliver rushes alongside, trying to keep up. Claire grips his sleeve so he doesnt dart into the road. Her mind is stacking the list: school, then office, then conference call, then
At the station entrance, her phone vibrates in her pocket. The schools number.
Mrs. Bennett? The secretarys voice is polite and clipped. Oliver doesnt have a note to excuse PE today. He says his knee hurts, but without a note we cant
Claire shuts her eyes for a second.
It does hurt, we saw the doctor, the notes at homeI forgot to put it in. Can I send you a photo?
Photos arent accepted. We need the original.
Ill bring it after work, Claire says, her voice tight. Or I can ask my husband.
By twelve, the secretary cuts in.
Claire ends the call, feeling a knot form inside. By twelve means shell have to dash out of work, the day her reports due.
Oliver stands beside her, watching.
I didnt mean to, he says.
I know. Off you go, its alright, Claire answers, though alright isnt anywhere close.
She walks him to the school gate, gives him a kiss on the crown of his head, heads back to the tube. The carriage is crowded; someone steps on her toe, someone else laughs loudly. Claire clings to the rail, trying not to dwell that the days barely begun.
At the office, the scent of coffee and printer paper greets her. The colleague at the next desk looks up.
Claire, clients on the line. Wheres the final file? Theyre getting fidgety.
Claire sits, starts her computer, opens the folder. The file isnt there. She double-checkslast night shed saved it on the shared drive. Or she thought she had.
One moment, she says, feeling her palms dampen.
She scans her emails, threads, tries to reconstruct. The thought flashes: Youve messed up again. Its an old line from childhood, always surfacing when she just needs to solve a problem.
Her phone vibrates again. This timeher mum.
Claire, her mums voice is taut. The kitchen taps started dripping. Ive put a bowl under, but it still leaks. Im worried itll flood the neighbours.
Claire looks at her empty folder, her screen, the clock.
Mum, Im at work. Turn off the water beneath the sinkthe valve, remember?
I cant twist it, its really stiff.
Use a towel, wrap it round, try again. If you cant, ring the emergency plumber. Ill send you the number.
Theyll come who-knows-when.
I know, but I cant come right now. Claire hears her own voice get sharper. Ill text you the number, okay?
Her mums silent for a moment.
Alright, she says quietly.
Claire hangs up and immediately feels a heavy guilt, like a rucksack on her shoulder. She wants to be a good daughter, a good mum, a good employee, and a normal human beingall at once, and in moments like these, she feels shes failing at everything.
Her manager appears in the doorway.
Claire, whats happening with the report? The clients waiting. And also, she lowers her voice, you sent them a draft yesterdaythe numbers dont tally.
A flush rises in Claires face.
Ill sort it now. Ill fix it.
Please doand quickly, her manager says before walking away.
Claire stares at her screen, realising shes about to do what she always doesrush, try to juggle everything, and end up making bigger mistakes. Panic begins to rise, sticky and strangling, as if theres not enough air.
She leans back and shuts her eyes briefly. Just in case it rains, crosses her mind, as if someones hand rests on her shoulder.
Claire stands, gets her mug, and goes to the office kitchennot because she wants tea, but because she needs to change her position, break the loop.
She pours herself water from the dispenser and downs it. Then she flicks the kettle on, waits for the boil, drops a teabag in her cup. She sits at the window, gazing out at the courtyard, two minutes. Just two.
She takes ten breathsexhales longer than she inhales. By the sixth breath, her shoulders drop a bit. By the tenth, her heart still races, but no longer like an alarm.
Back at her desk, she pulls out her notebook. She writes at the top: Now.
1. Find the latest report version.
2. Call the client and give them a straight answer about delivery.
3. Sort the note and Mums tap.
Three steps. Not ten.
She checks the version history on the shared drive. The file isnt gone, just renamed. Yesterday shed added the date to its title and hadnt realised the sort order changed. Claire opens it, checks the numbers, finds a formula error. She fixes it, recalculates, saves.
Then she calls the client.
Good morning, its Claire Bennett. Yesterday a draft went acrossit had a mistake. Ive corrected it. The final version will be with you in forty minutes. If you need it sooner, let me know whats critical and Ill prioritise.
Theres a pause at the other end, then a sigh.
Forty minutes is fine. Thanks for letting us know.
Claire hangs up, feeling a small patch of solid ground inside. Not joy, not reliefjust the ability to stand.
Next, she needs to ring someoneone from three. She scrolls her contacts, lands on James. She doesnt fancy another cant manage, but now she needs action, not perfect support.
James, hi. Quick oneschool needs Olivers note by midday. Its at home, in the hallway, under his homework diary. Can you pop in and deliver it?
Im across town, he begins.
Claire inhales, steady.
I know, but if you cant, Ill have to leave work, and thatll be worse. Can you ask someone at your site, or adjust your route?
James pauses.
Alright. Ill go home, grab it, and drop it off. Just send me a picture of what it looks like so I can find it.
Thank you. Sending now.
She snaps a photothe note she really did leave on the cabinetand sends it. The thought flickers: Thats it, delegation. Not heroics, but asking.
Then theres Mum and the tap. Claire texts her the plumbers number and a short guide: Valve under the sinktwist right as far as it goes. If too stiff, towel round, gentle. If anxious, call the plumber and mention kitchen tap leaking, worried about flooding. Then she calls.
Mum, I cant come now, she says, keeping her tone soft. But Ill stay on the line while you try.
My hands are shaking, Mum admits.
Lets do it together. Where are you?
In the kitchen.
Open the cupboard under the sink. Grab a towel. Wrap it round the valve, try turning. Gently.
Claire listensrustling, then a thunk.
It turned, Mum says a minute later, surprised. And the drips stopped.
Perfect. Dont open it until the plumber comes. Ill swing by tonight and check it.
Sorry for disturbing you, says Mum.
You didnt. You called at the right moment, Claire replies, surprised its true.
She sends the reportexactly forty minutes as promised. Her manager nods, unsmiling but not reproachful. Her colleague gives her a thumbs-up.
Relief would seem obvious, but inside theres still a quiver, like after emergency braking. Claire knows: if she simply keeps working now, by evening shell be burnt out and taking it out on the family.
At lunchtime, she doesnt go to the canteen. She grabs her coat, phone, earphones, and heads out. The route is on the list: office to pharmacy via the courtyard, a lap around the school, then home. Not because she needs medicine, but because this well-trodden loop has no surprises.
She walks briskly, counting steps unconsciously, as if her body seeks rhythm. At the pharmacy, she buys plasters and chamomile teaeven though theres tea at home. Just in case. A physical token: I took care.
On her way back, she pauses at the school fence, gazing at the windows. Somewhere inside, Oliver is writing his test. Claire catches herself wanting to text: How are you? But she leaves him to it.
That evening, James texts: Note delivered. They said its fine. Followed by a photonote in the security guards hand, school reception in the background. Claire smiles, feeling another tight knot unwind.
She gets home later than usual, tired but not drained. Olivers homework diary sits on the cabinet, note gone. James really had stopped byhadnt forgotten, hadnt mixed up.
Oliver is eating pasta in the kitchen.
Mum, I got a B, he announces, as if its the most important thing.
Well done. Claire ruffles his hair. Hows your knee?
Fine. I was just scared it would hurt again.
Claire nods. She wants to say, I was scared too, but that would be too much. She boils the kettle, gets out the chamomile tea, and drops a bag in her mug.
James walks in, taking off his shoes.
How was your day? he asks.
Claire feels the old urge to list, justify, prove how hard it was. But her list says to give one honest phraseno blame.
She sets the mug down and says:
I was rattled today. I need you with me this evening, no phone, just half an hour.
James looks at her more carefully than he did that morning.
Alright. After dinner. Im worn out, but I can manage.
Thanks, Claire says, knowing its not surrender or victory. Its an agreement.
After dinner, they sit quietly in the lounge. James puts his phone face down. Oliver slips away to finish homework. Claire tells him about the report, the school call, her mums leaky tap. No drama, just facts. James asks a few questions, nods, says, Thats a lot. And thats enough.
Later, Claire visits her mum. She brings a spanner and a replacement washer from the DIY shop. Mum greets her at the door with a sheepish smile.
I kept thinking youd be cross, Mum says.
I was, Claire answers honestly, hanging up her coat. But not with youwith myself, for not being everywhere at once.
They open the cupboard together. The valves off, bowl dry. Claire checks the pipe, tightens the nut, swaps the washer. The drip stops. Not a miracle, just mechanics.
When she returns, the folded papers still there in the drawer. Claire unfolds it, looks at the list. It doesnt promise a smooth lifejust that she has a set of actions, a way through when it all goes wrong.
She adds a new line at the bottom: 8. Ask for half an hour without phones. And writes beside it: Works.
She folds it again, puts it away, and closes the drawer. The day wasnt perfect. But it didnt end in disaster, and that was enough to go to sleep believing shell manage again tomorrow.
