City of Night

Northern Rain

NORTHERN RAIN

'This is our northern rain,' said Julyan, laughing. 'I hope you didn't expect the sun to be shining!'

I smiled at him, reaching out to touch his hand for a moment before he grabbed our suitcases from the car. Waiting by the pavement for him, I realised how unsuitably I was dressed for his 'northern' weather. The wind, although not strong, was piercingly cold. My hair was already misted damp from the rain, which fell in drizzles from leaden skies.

I fought to maintain my smile as we walked up the greyed road towards the little house I would soon call home. Julyan was striding on ahead, impatient to be inside. The scraping sound of the suitcase on the road matched the feeling in my gut.

How simple this must seem to him, wandering up the road to his home. There would be letters waiting for him on the inside of the door, familiar faces in the kitchen. However much I had longed to be here with him, my mind couldn't process the alien place.

I wished that we were in one of the houses we'd passed on our way out of my hometown. Julyan could be sitting in the back garden now, reading his newspaper as usual, or leaning over the garden fence in deep conversation with the neighbour--perhaps about sport, or hunting. I would be watching him through the kitchen window, smiling, with some other young bride. She would be bouncing a baby.

It seemed we wandered up the road for years. Houses to the side dropped away, and the path narrowed until we were fighting our way along a surface more distorted than the ocean. Foliage reached down to rip at our hair from either side.

I was so focused on getting to the end of the path that I almost walked past the house. It was different to anything I had imagined, peeking out behind a clump of trees. It's great sooted stones that made up so many houses in this area blended in with the skies. It was definitely a "cottage", but much larger than I expected. Colder.

'We're here,' said Julyan, a note of repressed excitement in his voice. 'Come on. Mind that step!'

* * * *

The clouds that had rolled in soon after we'd passed London didn't disappear completely until May. The sun cheered up the house considerably, and we were able to sit out in the garden at last.

Julyan was absorbed by some article, and I with my knitting. We must have looked lovely, side by side in this way. I wished someone would take a picture, so I could remember the moment.

The garden was wonderful--nothing like the harsh, bleak landscapes so common in this area. A slight concave hollowed the middle, although it was mostly flat. The lawn had been mown within three feet of the house, but after that it ran free, dotted by shrubs thick with pastel flowers. A lone tree stood by the high stone wall marking the end of the garden. It obscured the garden door, the tip of its pale branches reaching out to its cousins behind the wall.

The whole place was silent, sunny, and slightly damp from last night's rain.

'We need a gardener,' said Julyan, and my eyes shot to his face. I hadn't noticed him watching me.

'I like it,' I said. 'How it is, I mean.'

He didn't answer me for a moment, going back to his paper. 'It used to be much nicer.'

Looking down at my knitting, I noticed I had dropped a stitch lines and lines ago. The pattern of the piece was ruined by a little hole. 'I'll ring down to Mrs. Wicklow after tea and ask her to find one.'

The dappled silence of the garden fell over us again, but the light breeze that had seemed so pleasant not ten minutes ago chilled me now. I wanted to go in for a jumper, but Julyan was so intent on his paper. I didn't like to disturb him by getting up. He had been working so hard recently--he'd just got back from a business trip--and I knew he deserved this little bit of peace. He hadn't stopped since we'd arrived back from our honeymoon.