It was late when we arrived. I got out of the car and looked up at the house. Distant smoke in the wet air. Thick with rain. There were trees all around us, saturated in darkness. On the ground, hundreds of white roses, trampled flat by footsteps or strong winds.

We had said very little on the drive. The last hour almost in silence, except the occasional remark about how late it was, or the winding shape of the hills.

“I’m supposed to ring the number” I said, bending over and reaching back into the car across the dashboard.

“Close the door! It’s freezing”

The door slammed closed. I didn’t mean for it to slam like that. She was blurred through the window. The automatic light faded and rain drops congregated on the glass. I could just make her out still, pulling her coat up above her chin and closing her eyes.

“Hello? I’m here. Sorry… Yes, the Air BnB that’s right. We’re outside, it said to call this number.. OK…. thank you.”

She kept her eyes closed when I got back in the car. We sat in silence as the rain drops interacted with each other on the windscreen.

“He said he’s coming up the lane with the keys.”

She nodded quietly. Her eyes still closed.

“Fine,” She said.

Notes From The Zetland

Out of the Rain

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