Sunshine through the Rain by Penelope Janu

Author:Penelope Janu
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: HQ Fiction
Published: 2023-10-23T00:00:00+00:00

When I arrive at the Coach House, a white sedan is parked next to Blake’s four-wheel drive. It takes an hour to do my chores and at the end of the hour, the car is still there. I should be relieved I don’t have to talk to him.

But I’m not.

CHAPTER

22

The day after my birthday, I work in Warrandale all day, so by the time I shower, change and drive to the Coach House, it’s after five o’clock. The only car there is Blake’s. I told him that yellow and white primroses remind me of sunshine. How did primroses come up? I can ask him about that when I apologise. And when I confirm that I don’t need to be rescued. Except when I have nightmares about my mother. And when my animals are threatened by a flood. And in the event of a surprise party. I’ll confirm that, as a general rule, I don’t need to be rescued.

What else can we cover in our chat? I think about you in the middle of the night. I missed you when you were away. I appreciate I told you to go, but the better I know you, the braver I get. I’d like to kiss you again.

Merrylegs has free range of the barn but has put herself into her stable for the night. She nickers softly as I lead the other horses through the barn’s double doors and bolt their stable half-doors behind them.

Bending over the little grey mare, I rub her neck. ‘How are you feeling today?’ When she lifts her head and searches the pockets of my coat, I give her a carrot. ‘I’ll bring Eeyore in and then I’ll get your dinner.’

Even though it’s raining, Eeyore, tall ears slightly back, stands in the corner of the yard. I scratch under his scrappy mane as he searches for a treat, finding his carrot. His tail flicks around, reminding me of the takhi at the zoo. I rub his cheek, brush raindrops from his eyebrows and clip a lead rope to his halter.

‘On the weekend, I’ll hang up your picture in the cottage.’

He walks relatively compliantly through the gate, but as we reach the door of the largest stable, he baulks.

‘I took the goats to the cottage, remember? You haven’t had to share for weeks.’

The moon peeks through cloud cover as I take the driveway that leads down the side of the Coach House. Blake might be preparing or eating dinner by now. He might be in the shower. Is it too late to stop? I glance towards the front verandah as I pass.

He walks down the steps two at a time. Long legs. Narrow hips. Broad shoulders. I want to talk to him, I remind myself. This is my chance. I put on the brakes, turn off the wipers and, my hands only slightly unsteady, open the window.

He has raindrops on the shoulders of his dark grey suit. He’s not wearing a tie, but his white shirt has a stiff collar.

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