Rain

Rain. Rain, gushing in torrents. Rattling against windows and surging down roofs before spilling in cascades towards the streets below. Down the streets and into the gutters, washing away the days exertions as the inundation of water reached Biblical proportions. Flowing through the drains and winding its way to some unknown place where it joins its companions and forms a stream of dirty water and sewage where rats and other rodents thrive.

Only the brave, or maybe stupid, ventured into the streets. Within moments of exiting your home you became saturated in sticky, acid rain which made even your bones feel the damp. In accompaniment to the rain, there were gales. Gales that threatened to drag you away over the rainbow to the mystical Land of Oz but sadly, not one person found themselves taken to that place of excitement and adventure. Instead they found themselves assaulted by hurtling litter and other unsecured items that people abandoned in the streets when the atrocious weather had begun. For all anyone knew, it was monsoon season, but England doesn’t have a monsoon season, does it? Many people thought that maybe, the monsoons were coming to Europe, what with global warming and all the other strange weather changes that were predicted and all. Where the rain had come from, no one knew, but many liked to speculate. Take the news reporters for example; they spoke about warm fronts and building clouds and confused people with complex scientific jargon so that the viewing public had to assume that they knew what they were talking about. People were advised not to leave their homes for fear of flying objects careering through the streets and most adhered to this guidance.

One audacious soul however, battled against the winds in his knee length overcoat and oilskin rain hat. Shielding his face from the thrashing rain he struggled forwards, step by step, pulling himself forth using any secure object that happened to be near him. Random items bounced off his body and he occasionally flinched when a heavier article struck him. He was annoyed by the weather; he hated the way it changed. He wondered as to why there was not just one type of weather and it was always like that. Ideally, constant mild conditions; not too hot, not too cold, somewhere in the middle. As he neared his destination he increased his efforts, he was wet, cold and in great need of sustenance that he could not get from home. Tugging at the handle, he tried to open the door and was astonished that the shop was not open, having somehow forgotten the extreme weather. He banged on the door with his fist. No answer.

Bang, bang!

He struck the door again, harder. Still no answer. Reaching inside his coat pocket he grasped his mobile phone and tried to dial. The screen was almost instantly covered in rainwater making the screen impossible to read. He backed into an alley and braced himself against the wind as he sheltered his mobile under his coat. Fingers darting over the numbers, he dialled again and this time managed to press the call button. The thought crossed his mind that there would be no answer when the voice of his good friend Tim sounded on the other end of the line.

“Hello.”

“Hi Tim, it’s me Alex. I’m outside, let me in,” he yelled over the tumult.

“Sure. I’ll be down in a sec. Bye.”

“Bye.”

Harsh grating screeched above the winds howl as the key turned in the lock and the deadbolts pulled back. He hurried inside as the door opened to discover Tim in his underwear, an open dressing gown providing a minimum of dignity. His arms were folded and he sported an accusing look on his face. It was a good looking face, not a pretty boy, but his cheerful smirk and prominent cheek bones gave him a striking appearance. His hair was cropped short and normally held in place by a touch of styling wax. Always one for the ladies was Tim, quick to laugh and never without a witty anecdote. He was Alex’s closest friend and the sentiment was mutual. They had been friends since college and while Alex had disappeared to university for three years, Tim had loaned money from his father and opened a shop.

“Why the hell are you out in this, you nutter?” yelled Tim.

“Come on Tim, don’t play stupid. I need cigarettes,” Alex riposted.

“Oh, I might have bloody guessed!” exclaimed Tim, “The usual?”

“Yeh, you know what I like. Don’t worry, I’m paying this time!” said Alex, producing a ten pound note with a flourish, “Don’t know how long this weather’s going to last do we, so I thought I’d get a couple of packs, you know, don’t want to have to brave this weather again, do I?”

“Don’t suppose you do, although a tenner isn’t going to cover it. Prices have gone up over the last ten years, you know?”

“Yeh well, at least I’m paying something this time,” Alex shrugged as water began to pool at his feet,”You mind if I hang around here for a bit? I don’t feel like going out in that again anytime soon…”

“Sure mate, was just about to watch The Office. You watched it recently? I haven’t seen it in years,” said Tim eyeing the door warily as a particularly violent gust howled outside.

“Mate, no way. Not in years. Awesome idea.”

“I know, right?”

“Mate, seriously.”

“I know, mate.”

“No but mate, seriously.”

“Yeh, I know, mate.”

“Yeh, but, seriously mate.”

“Mate!” Tim said with an element of finality.

Alex shook his coat off, tossed his hat on top and removed his sodden boots before making his way through the back door into the living room. He collapsed into a chair by the fire, leaning back into the soft cushions and placing his feet on a stool in front of the seat. The plastic wrapping of his cigarette packet came off and was dropped into the waste paper basket next to his seat, the foil followed swiftly and seconds later the sounds of a lighter being struck filled the room, immediately pursued by a large billow of smoke that curled towards the ceiling. The thud of Tim throwing himself onto the long sofa reached Alex’s ears and he turned his head to see him stretching out and taking a cigarette out of his packet.

They sat in silence for a few moments, neither needing to speak; they simply enjoyed each other’s company whilst taking pleasure from the smoking of their cigarettes.

Rain crashed against the windows, driven by the immense squalls that raged around the house. The unpredictable drumming the heartbeat of that theraputic sense of wonder you experience when witnessing natures wrath while safe behind solid, brick walls.

“You know what’d be perfect right now?” Tim began from his relaxed position, “A beer.”

He sprang to his feet and jogged into the kitchen, returning a minute later with two glasses full to the brim with beer. He placed one on the table next to Alex and then took his seat again, taking a large gulp as he did so.

“The Office?”

“Mate, yes!”

Tim reached for the remote control and pushed play, bringing the screen to life.

In silent anticipation they watched. They knew what was coming. They had seen it a hundred times, the jokes a part of their everyday vocabulary, every line memorised and immortal.

They knew what was coming, but Alex was caught by surprise all the same.

“I don’t give shitty jobs…”

He exploded in laughter. Not just any kind of laughter; the kind of laughter reserved only for the most surprisingly hilarious moments. The kind of laughter that brings tears to your eyes, makes it hard to breathe, that causes your sides to hurt and your stomach to cramp. He laughed… and laughed… and laughed, loud and ridiculous, violent and agonising. He laughed, filling the room with noise, drowning out both the television and the storm raging outside. He laughed like a child, in pure unadulterated joy, unable to control himself. The laughter turned to a wheezing cough, grating his throat as fresh waves of rapture washed over him. His muscles ached and his belly to curled over. With salty tears filling his eyes and his face a vivid scarlet, he suffered the unstoppable spasms, sliding from the chair to the floor, laying on his back in acceptance of his fate.

As his fit of hysterics built towards a climax, Tim was smiling his own amusement, calmly drinking his beer as the show played out before him. The laughter began to slow down, seconds passing between sudden spurts of chortling.

“Quite finished, mate?” he asked.

Alex finally gained control and relaxed, spread eagled on the floor with his eyes closed.

“Yes,” he replied, opening his eyes and slowly sitting up.

“Ok, wanna put it back on?” Tim continued, shaking his head slightly in disbelief.

“Yes,” replied Alex, unable to form any other words.

“Jesus mate, I mean, it’s funny. But that funny?”

With the press of a button the picture began to move again, but Alex barely saw or heard anything as his brain fought to understand through his exhausted haze.

Five hours and nine pints later

Alex drained his glass and struggled out of his seat. Once standing he unsteadily made his way towards the kitchen, wavering in the doorway he grabbed the frame in order to stop himself from collapsing. Tim got up and stumbled to his aid but he was almost as drunk as his friend and he tripped on a stool sending him tumbling into his friends back.

They collapsed in a heap on the floor and the sound of glass smashing ended their groaning and they erupted with guttural laughter. As they rolled around in drunken stupors they laughed until their stomachs hurt, they laughed until they had forgotten what they were laughing at but still remembered that it had been funny so they laughed some more. Glass shards were all over the kitchen floor but they took no notice. It was only when Tim put weight onto his hand and yelped aloud with the pain that they decided to extricate themselves from their predicament.

They did their best to stop laughing and crawled into the sitting room. Tim, who had sobered somewhat when the glass had cut a deep gash into his palm, walked into the kitchen and made a makeshift dressing for the cut, wrapping reams of kitchen towel around a soaked flannel on his hand.

He stumbled into the living room and sat down. He noticed that Alex had somehow found time to get another beer and he laughed at the absurdity of the situation. Nevertheless, he got up and confiscated the beer, sat down and drank from the can.

“Planning on staying here all night, mate?” remarked Tim lighting a cigarette.

“No mate. I’m a little bit drunk, and that will no doubt be a problem for me getting home. But I’ve got work to do so got to make the journey eventually,” slurred Alex, “I’ll probably give you a ring when the weather lightens up, go for a drink or something.”

Tim stared at Alex wondering whether he had been trying to make a joke, but evidently he had meant it and Tim laughed again.

“I’ll think about it, yeh. You sure you’ll be okay out there, mate?”

“Yeah mate. Don’t worry about me. It’s not that far home,” muttered Alex as he pulled the door shut and almost collapsed as the wind hit him. Was it just him, or had it gotten worse out? The rain came down in stair rods, fat, heavy drops smashing apart against him in mini explosions of water.

Holding the brim of his hat down over his eyes, Alex raised his face to the black sky, relishing the touch of the elements as they washed over him. He laughed for the joy of being alive.

Pulling his coat as tight as he could, he set off for home. The return journey was much easier than the outward trip, the wind now behind him, pushing him home, which was a blessing in his alcohol weakened state. The effects of which hadn’t worn off yet. In fact, he was still very drunk. He fell several times, using all his strength and willpower to regain his feet and continue the long, hard slog.

When he got home he slammed the door and kicked his shoes off. He didn’t bother hanging his coat up, simply throwing it on the floor. Letting himself fall onto the sofa, he descended into a deep, dreamless slumber as the storm raged on.

Hello dear reader,

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David Alliband