It Always Rains in April

[Content Warnings: Violence, death]

April is the cruellest month.

It was a fact she had known to be true, perhaps from the very first April, when it all began. And every April following she felt its cruelty as it continued slowly, inevitably, inexorably, towards some end that would never come. 

Years after it happened, those words still echoed in the pubs, chuckled between beers as if they could explain away the terrible injustice that had taken place. The story always began with those words, and that is how it would end. 

She could never bring herself to go to their old haunts after that, scared to hear those words once more. Once at the funeral had been enough, enough for a lifetime of Aprils. And yet here was the cruelty of the world — that she had to live through each year that came, bracing for impact as it barrelled towards her and broke all the furniture she had so meticulously built and rebuilt, year after year. March was a warning, a sprinkle that hissed it is coming and each year, she thought she was prepared but the house she had built flooded every time. May was a numbing, a harsh cold she could never really feel as she adjusted to the world again and yet which she felt in all of its springtime.

Over the years it had gotten easier, yes, but it was never easy. What had happened all those years ago on that rainy April day never really disappeared. And when the showers returned, she was there as she had always been. She would hide away, every time, but no shelter could hide her from the rain – and yet again, she found herself damp to the bone, memories of the lies and the yells pounding down on her like an unending hailstorm. April was the cruellest month. She could not remember a time when it hadn’t been. 

12TH APRIL 1986

A knock at the door sounded in the silence. Claire glanced up from where she sat. It was mid-April and pouring rain outside, and no one came knocking on her door without a reason. She was not meeting anyone today, not meant to see anyone – she usually kept her Aprils quite busy, but today was an exception simply because of how things had worked out – so a knock was unusual. A voice at the back of her mind wondered if it was a wayward reporter, nine years too late. Or perhaps they were hungry for some shock story of how she was coping after so long. Whoever it was, she would not answer their questions. No, that time had ended long ago.

She stood up and headed over to the hall, and opened the door a fraction, then more. It took a moment for her to process what she saw.

At the door, hair hanging loose, swaying ever so slightly back and forth in the wind, there she stood. Claire opened her mouth to speak but her words froze in the air as they left her lips. Her sister was staring at her, looking her up and down, eyes wide as if she had only just realised how much time had passed.

The thoughts were rushing through Claire’s mind again as if no time had passed, and she could hear the world getting louder and louder once again. How was she here? Claire had left – she had put that world behind her, that whole life, had created someone new and it was not right for her sister to just show up one day and trample on everything she had built. But yet here she was, standing in the rain just like she had all those years ago.

“You’ve grown up,” Annette said simply. Claire frowned, and a million words fought each other in her throat. Of course she’d grown up – she hadn’t had any choice, the nine years that had passed having left her all alone in this world she couldn’t make sense of. Growing up was inevitable, but of course Annette knew that.

All the words in the world could not have been enough to respond to seeing her sister in the flesh after all these years. “So have you.”

Annette chuckled but it came out as more of a sad, sarcastic laugh. She gave Claire a small smile. “That’s what happens when you’re in prison for so long. Ten days feels like ten years.”

Not long enough, the younger Claire would have responded. Her sister should be in there for murder, forever. But she was tired, and she wasn’t even sure anymore what the truth was. If it even existed anymore.

She swallowed and glanced back at Annette, and said the words she had never thought she’d ever say again. They bit at her as she spoke, her brain revolting against her, screaming at her not to say those words, while her heart whispered that maybe her sister had changed.

“Would you like to come in?”

Annette nodded, and Claire stepped past to allow her sister in. Closing the door behind her, she followed her into the living room. She watched as the figure before her, this older sister who looked so familiar and yet at the same time a completely different person, shuffled around the room, taking everything in. Annette stopped at the toy railway track on the carpet, and bent down. For a moment their breathing was the only sound as she picked up the little red train on top of the track and stood back up, examining it with some innate curiosity. She turned back to Claire, eyes glassy.

“How old?”

Claire found herself smiling despite herself at the thought of her son. “Three. He’s at nursery today.”

Annette nodded, still absent-mindedly playing with the train in her hands. “I suppose I haven’t been the best aunt then,” she said, her eyes fixed on the family photos lining the wall. It was true, of course, but Claire could not say that, so she just shook her head.

“No, that’s not true – and you’re out now, so I’m sure you can start creating a life –” without even thinking, she realised she had started gesturing to the door. Annette’s face fell in understanding.

“You still don’t believe me,” she said, more to herself than to Claire. She plopped herself down on the sofa. Claire breathed deeply before she responded, pushing back the frustration.

“No, it’s just –”

Annette looked over at her, eyes dark with betrayal. “You don’t believe me, you never have. And when I finally get out, you don’t want me in your life. Just say it, Claire.”

“You don’t understand.”

“No, I understand perfectly.” Annette glanced around her again, but this time it was not with the wonder she had had before; it was twisted, dark, a part of Annette that Claire recognised from long ago. A part which had left her with an image of her sister that she hated and had tried, in vain, to forget. “You have this perfect little life now, and here I come to ruin it all. Shame you don’t want to even hear the truth.” Annette stood.

Claire could feel the anger boiling inside of her. How dare Annette claim she understood – that she even imagined what the last nine years could have possibly been like. Before she even knew what she was doing, her voice was growing louder and louder

“I am just starting to move on, Annie!” she exclaimed, the childhood nickname exploding out of her. “I have a husband, and a son, and I have friends, and I don’t live in that godforsaken town anymore where everyone stared at me when I walked down the street. Do you even know what it was like when you went to prison?” She already knew the answer but continued as Annette stared back at her, shocked. Somewhere along the way it crossed her mind that her older sister had never seen her like this before, not when she had known her.

“No, no, you don’t. You left and yes, I’m sure it was difficult for you but it was so hard for me for years because I had lost him and my sister was a fucking murderer so who the hell would want to be seen with her little sister. So don’t tell me you understand.”

Annette shook her head. Her voice was weak, cracking at the edges as she spoke. “Don’t talk about Ritchie like that. Like losing him was worse than losing me.”

Claire shrugged. “Sometimes it felt that way.” She knew the words were harsh, but they were true and her sister needed to hear the truth.

“I lost you too, Claire,” Annette said, her voice so low she almost didn’t hear it. She pretended she hadn’t.

“Why are you even here?”

“I’m out of prison. They let me out early on good behaviour.” Annette sighed, nine years of exhaustion seeming to catch up with her, but her gaze did not leave Claire’s. “I came to find you.”

“Why? Why would you come to find me?”

“Why would I not? I’ve been waiting nine years for this day, Claire.”

“I never came to visit you,” Claire said, the familiar guilt creeping up her spine. She had never said those words aloud – had never admitted that fact to anyone but her husband. It was a different kind of betrayal, a lasting betrayal, to abandon one’s sister in court and then behind the bars.

Annette looked down at the carpet, beige and plain in the dim room. “I know. I waited for you, you know. Every week I hoped.”

Even though she did not know how to see her sister anymore, at those words she could feel her heart breaking just a little bit more. The image of her sister, nineteen and twenty and twenty-one and on and on, never letting that shred of hope die that her baby sister would one day come around. That she never had was a tragedy on both of their parts, but a fault of only her own. She wondered when she had stopped hoping.

It was as if Annette could read her mind. “I never stopped. I knew – God, of course I knew – that you wouldn’t believe me, but I thought that maybe one day you would decide you wanted to see your sister again. Seeing you even if you hated me would have been enough.”

Claire did not speak. She did not know how to respond, had never prepared for this. She had never thought this day would come.

“I’m not a murderer, Claire.” the words echoed in the room, rebounding against the four walls before they finally died. Suddenly it was too warm in that room and in the house and Claire could feel the room closing in on her, all of the beliefs she had held and the walls she had built crumbling around her and threatening to bury her within them.

She could feel Annette’s eyes on her, and as she looked up at her older sister through the imaginary rubble, she could feel the shame burning deep within her gut. Annette nodded to herself. “Let’s go for a walk.” she grabbed Claire’s coat off the hanger near the door and passed it to her. It seemed that even after all these years, being an older sister came so naturally to her. For a moment Claire let herself fall into it, be the sixteen year old she had once been with the protective older sister.

 * * *

“It’s nice to be outside.” Annette said. Claire watched her, sitting there on the park bench as they watched people go past. Her sister closed her eyes, a smile breaking through her face. She seemed to be drinking in all of nature, even in the harshest of cold. 

Claire wrapped her coat tighter around herself. Above them, the clouds were darkening; it was April and the rain was constant. Perhaps Annette did not remember that. “It looks like it’s about to rain again. We should go back inside –” Claire started to say. Annette placed a hand on her shoulder, shaking her head. 

“Let’s stay. I want to talk to you.” she opened her eyes, then looked back out at the park, up at the sky. “To explain it to you. All of it.”

Claire sat back on the bench, crossing her arms. “I don’t know what there is to explain anymore. I don’t understand what changed.” she looked over at her sister. “You say you’re not a murderer and yet you were in prison for nine years for it. You say you didn’t kill him but Ritchie is still gone.”

“I know.”

“You were there, that day. When he died.”

“I know,” Annette repeated. “And nothing has changed. But nothing was true before either.” Claire frowned as her sister took a deep breath. It seemed like a mental preparation. “Do you remember that April?” she asked, and Claire rolled her eyes despite herself. 

“How could I forget?”

“Sorry, sorry. Stupid question.” Annette looked down. “Tell me what you think happened that day.”

Claire tried to think back to that day. It was not difficult: she had gone over those few hours thousands and thousands of times, more than she could count, turning every event, every sentence, over and over in her mind. And the more she did it, the less she understood. 

She smirked. “You didn’t want me to come that day, remember? Said I should spend time with my own friends.” The memory was so clear that when she squeezed her eyes in just the right way, she could swear they were right in front of her.

“I was young and in love,” she heard Annette say next to her. “And that river was dangerous.”

“I know. And I was so thankful you let me come with you two. It was the best day, you know.” she leaned her head back. The best day, until it wasn’t.

12TH APRIL 1977

“Annie, can I come with you? Please!” a younger Claire pleaded, wide blue eyes diving deep into her sister’s brown ones. Annette sighed and looked down, biting her lip. She felt at once silly and all too young, playing with the hem of her dress as she waited for her older sister’s response.

“Oh, let her come,” Ritchie said from next to them. He grinned, although Annette looked uncertain. He leaned over and squeezed Claire to him, and she leaned into him. It was comfortable, familiar, this man she had known since she was a child. It would be alright if they were with him.

 “Come on!” with a quick glance at each other, the girls followed behind him. Annette took Ritchie’s hand as Claire trailed behind. She looked around her, taking everything in as they walked.

“Mum’s going to kill me, you know,” Annette hissed.

“Hmm?”

Annette shook her head and rolled her eyes. “She’s going to hate we’re taking you out here.” Claire just grinned. At sixteen, annoying her mother was a spectacular thought.

“Who says she has to know?” 

It was beautiful near the river – it was so close to their home that she could see it from her bedroom window, but its place in the legends had kept people away for years. Every so often, the town kids went to visit it, to brave their way through it to the other side. It was like some ridiculous rite of passage in this tiny town, to show that you could make it through the rapid waves without getting pulled down into the depths. Decades ago, someone had died in those waters. Old Mr Davids lived at the edge of the town now and told everyone about his lost little boy every time he left the house. Claire shuddered at the thought.

How history repeats itself, she would think later. People do not learn. But then she was sixteen and determined to prove that she, and Annette and Ritchie, could make it across the river. She was sixteen and did not understand anything, and at the time she thought she did.

Over the rocks and down the marshes and they were there, at the banks of the river. It suddenly seemed so big in the dimming light, the rushing water the only sound in the air. It was unending and Claire felt so small.

“You okay, little one?” Ritchie said from next to her.

She looked up at him. He was a whole foot taller than her, and in the light his face was framed by the dark clouds overhead, lit by the fragments of light that had found their way through, like some kind of fallen angel. “Yes – yes.” She was going to do this. She had to do this, so desperate to prove to Ritchie that she could do this. He would be so proud of her, she knew.

She stood at the edge of the bank. She could do this. 

Even in the dim light, it was clear how slippery the rocks were atop the river. Something in her whispered that this would be impossible, but there was no backing out now. Just one step forward –

“Wait.” Annette lunged forward and Claire felt her sister’s arm pulling her back, away from the banks. She felt relief flow through her, but then she glanced over at Ritchie and the disappointment was palpable.

“Why’d you stop me?” she hissed, even though internally she was grateful.

“I can’t let you do this – I’m sorry, I can’t. I am not going to let you hurt yourself like this.” Annette’s eyes were flaming now, with fear or anger, Claire couldn’t tell. “Go home.”

“But –”

“No buts. Home. Or I’ll tell Dad you tried this.” Mum would have been bad enough, but Dad – no. She couldn’t deal with his disappointment. 

“Fine.” She turned back to the path towards the house. “You coming?”

Annette glanced over at Ritchie. He spoke for her. As she remembered that night over and over the words would blur but it did always stand out to her that it was Ritchie who made the decision then, Ritchie who had seemed to make all the decisions back then. That didn’t become twisted until later, of course.

“We’ll be back soon, little one,” he said, offering a smile. “Going to watch the stars for a bit.”

She could feel the familiar jealousy rising within her. “Suit yourself,” she huffed, and headed away from them.

* * *

The house was dark and silent as Claire clambered up the stairs to her bedroom. Outside, it was still dusk, just light enough to see down to the river. She was glad to be back, of course, but the green monster that had settled in earlier had not faded on her walk up the path. Instead it had created a home within her, hissing and crackling under her breath, swelling with each breath she took until it filled her lungs. 

She headed over to the window, that green devil within her whispering to her to watch them, to see just what she was missing. Something deeper in her whispered that this was, of course, self-sabotage, a trick designed to plunge her into that well-known despair, but she ignored the voice. No, she was knee-deep in envy now and she was only going to wade in deeper.

The sky outside was darkening but there was still enough light to see two figures, standing at the riverbank, weaving back and forth through the grass. From far away, they looked happy together, almost dancing in the rain which was pelting down harder and harder. Ritchie’s dancing was getting faster and faster, yes, and for a moment when she squinted she thought she saw the glint of glass in the light, but a second later it was gone again. And it was faster and faster and the rain was torrential now, surrounding them, pelting at them. And then the two figures were close, too close, and she saw Ritchie smile, that kind smile she knew so well, and whisper something in Annette’s ear. She watched, entranced, as her sister shook her head, smile fading from her face, but perhaps that was the rain that had washed it away.

Annette took a step forward, and Ritchie fell. 

For a moment, he was there, on the riverbank, and then all she could see was his head bobbing up and down like that of a ragdoll in the water. Annette had fallen back, and she seemed to be watching the bobbing head too, but she did not help. From the window Claire could see mouths moving but no voices, not from this far away – but she could see the riverfoam, the angry waters lapping around Ritchie as he bobbed up and down and after a while, stopped bobbing. 

Claire tore her eyes away. It wasn’t real. What she had seen could not be real. Slowly, like a child afraid of the monsters under her bed, she turned her eyes back to the window, and there Annette was still, crouched next to the shore. And no Ritchie.

It was real. It was real and she had just seen it. Her sister had killed their best friend. My sister killed Ritchie.

The next few seconds were a blur as she stumbled to her feet and watched, as if from afar, as she pulled herself down the stairs and into the living room, where the telephone hung limply on the wall. My sister killed Ritchie. Over and over. She couldn’t think. God, she had to think. The police. She had to call the police, now.

“Emergency services, which service do you require?” the voice at the other end of the line said, so strangely calm. Claire couldn’t think, couldn’t speak for a moment. “Hello?”

“Um, yes, police.”

“Connecting you now.” The seconds felt like hours. Come on, come on, come on. Claire glanced over to the window, but she couldn’t see the river from there. Having cursed internally at the fact that the landline was so far away, she turned her attention back to the telephone.

“Hello, where are you calling from?”

“8 River Way. Please, come quickly – I – I can’t see it anymore but someone was pushed outside by the river, my house is right nearby, and I don’t know if they’re alright, it’s raining and I can’t see much –” the panic was rising and the rain outside was only getting louder and louder.

“Can you see if anyone’s injured?”

“No, no, I don’t know – it’s slippery and it’s dark and I don’t know.” 

“We’ll send someone along right away, Madam.” She nodded, the thought briefly crossing her mind that they could not see her, and put the phone back on the wall. She did not know how long she stood there, staring into space. It was as if she were frozen in time. 

A sound came from the hall – the door, creaking open, and the sound of rain hailing down outside. Annette. Claire took a breath and tiptoed out into the hall, over to where she could see the figure at the door. She could feel the anger bubbling inside of her, as loud as the rain outside, but she bit her lip as she watched her sister turn and close the door softly, as if not to wake anyone up. As if she could pretend this hadn’t happened. 

Annette turned back around and her arm reached out to turn the light on. As the room flooded with light, she looked up and Claire met her eyes, taking in her older sister. She was sopping wet, her light blue dress a second skin on her body, its pattern only marred by her hair, which stuck to her dress and was plastered on her forehead. As Claire’s eyes adjusted to the light and she watched her sister in those few seconds, her hair seemed to frame her face in some ghastly painting of a floating head. Her face was pale, paler than Claire had ever seen it, but it was her eyes that she could not look away from, red and bloodshot.

Claire spoke first, and her voice surprised even her. It didn’t seem real, not in the silence of the house. “Did you mean to hurt him?” she whispered, half knowing, half fearing the answer. Latent tears bubbled in her throat. But she knew what she had seen, and the image would not leave her mind. She knew the answer already.

Those bloodshot eyes did not leave hers. Eyebrows furrowed as realisation set in. “Claire, I –”

Claire settled into her stance, her feet grounded firmly on the floor. “I need to know, Annie.” She spoke slowly. “Did you mean to hurt him?”

Annette shook her head. “N-no, of course not. Of course not.” 

In the silence that followed Claire watched her, as if she could pull her to pieces with her mind – it wouldn’t have been necessary because by the looks of it, her sister was falling apart before her eyes anyway. “I want to believe you,” she whispered, and it felt like she was about to throw up as she spoke. And it was true, she did want to believe her sister, but she knew what she had seen. “But you pushed him, Annie. And you didn’t help him when he fell.”

Annette gulped, again and again. Amongst the tears that had started to fall she managed to get out words that Claire could just about make out. “I didn’t mean to – I didn’t mean to, I swear it, Claire, please, you have to believe me –”

“He was in the river and you left him there, Annie, you didn’t help him!” Her sister kept looking at her with an expression on her face that she could not understand, but she did not respond. “I saw it, Annie. “From the window, I saw it all. I saw you push him.”

She did not deny it. Deep within her Claire felt something break. Years later she would look back on that day and realise that it was then that her innocence died, that she would never again look at her older sister or the world in the same way again. In a split second the world had grown so much darker, so much crueller, and those torrents pouring down from the heavens as they did that fateful evening would never really leave her. 

That moment, she would realise, was when their relationship had splintered forever. When her older sister, the girl she had idolised, looked at her with eyes spilling with despair and anguish and yet nevertheless love when hers dripped with resentment. And as Annette fell from her pedestal, she had taken with her the whole world they had built together. Somewhere in the years that followed Claire would remember the image of her sister she had before, of the girl waving at her from the riverbank as she headed back up the path, but even that would not be enough to hold onto.

“What – what happened to him?” Claire asked. She had to hear Annette say it aloud.

Annette looked down at her shoes, now destroyed, no more than puddles at her ankles. “He – he’s gone,” she finally responded. She seemed so small then, shuddering before that huge wooden door.

He was gone. Ritchie was gone. No. “Gone?” Claire repeated. Although she had seen him fall she had not let herself believe that that was it – that he had died.

“Dead.” The word was sharp as it fell like a stone on the floor, denting the ground and swelling in the air like an explosion. They seemed to swallow everything up in them.

Annette looked back up, and took a step forward. Before she even knew what she was doing, Claire took a step back from her, backing up to the base of the stairs. The look on her sister’s face was one that would haunt her dreams just as often as the image of Ritchie’s fall. Of Annette looking at her like she had just killed someone. 

“Don’t, please,” she managed, wrapping her arms around herself. “I can’t b–” a knock sounded at the door behind them and both girls turned before Claire remembered what she had done. At sixteen, she didn’t know, and would not know for several years after, quite how she felt in that moment as she pushed past her sister and opened the door to the two policemen. Was it guilt, or satisfaction? Was this betraying her sister, or the right thing to do? She did not know, and she would not know until years later, who to believe.

“We had a call from this residence, Miss,” one of the men said. Claire nodded.

“Y–yeah, yes, that was me,” she squeaked out and opened the door up wider to where her sister stood behind her. The policeman sighed. Making a gesture at his colleague behind him, they followed her in. One hand on his belt, the first policeman looked between the girls and, standing in that dimly lit corridor, uttered those words that would change everything.

“We’ve already sent a team down to the river and they’ve found a body.”

“Richard Hawkes, it looks like,” the other police officer, slightly younger, jumped in. The first policeman looked at him, annoyance clear, but continued.

“Looks like it. Suspected foul play.” he looked at Annette. “We have a witness placing you down there at the scene of the crime fairly recently, Madam. Others too, actually, who saw you there earlier this evening, so we’re going to have to arrest you on suspicion of murder of Mr Hawkes.” he nodded to the other policeman, who fished out a pair of handcuffs and, with an eagerness that made Claire’s blood boil, pulled Annette’s arms behind her back to chain them together. The clanging of the cuffs was the only sound for a moment. Claire stared at her sister, willing her to say something – anything – but her eyes had already glazed over. Silent tears streamed down her cheeks as she whispered the words “I didn’t, I didn’t, I didn’t,” over and over. 

“My God, what’s happening?” a voice behind them called out. Everyone in the room turned to the stairs where her father had stumbled down, her mother a couple steps behind him, both still in the process of pulling on their bathrobes. Her mother looked between her and sister, wide-eyed and silent, confusion painted across her face. “Why in God’s name are you arresting my daughter?”

“Apologies, Sir, there’s been an incident down at the river and your daughter is suspected in the murder of Richard Hawkes, Sir. We’re going to have to take her to the station for questioning.” The police officer’s face was stony as he responded.

Her father stared at his daughters, eyes wide, running his hand through his hair as he looked back and forth between the two of them. “Ritchie? No, no – Annie, what’s going on? Claire?” Neither daughter could speak.

“Absolutely not. Absolutely not.” Their father pushed past them, over to the coat hanger on the wall, and grabbed his coat. “My daughter is not going anywhere without me. We will accompany you to the station and we will answer your questions and that is it.” he glanced back at Claire and her mother. “Stay here.”

Her mother lunged forward to follow them but her father shook his head, not waiting to see their reaction before turning back to the policemen. The door opened again and the rain poured in.

Claire did not rip her eyes from her sister. Annette glanced back at her, reality having finally set in. By now her tears had spilled down her chin, down her dress, soaking it even more than it already was. “Claire bear, please, listen to me,” Annette turned back to her sister, pleading. By now her tears had spilled over and her cheeks were streaked with lines upon lines of tears, unending. “Please, I didn’t mean to hurt him, please, Claire, please, tell them –”

Claire hung back. 

12TH APRIL 1986

She couldn’t do this. “Look, Annie, I know you want to do this, but I can’t – I don’t understand what the point is of reliving that day again.” She made a move to stand, but felt a tug on her sleeve. Annette was gazing up at her, and in that light the lines on her forehead, the wrinkles around her eyes, were so clear. Age had worn itself so deeply on her face.

“Don’t – don’t go.” Claire lowered herself back onto the bench. “I need this, please.”

It was just one last time. She could do this. Claire sighed. “I’m sorry I didn’t go with you to the station,” she said to the sky. Annette chuckled.

“I don’t blame you for it. And besides, Dad would have never let you go.”

“You were scared.”

A beat. “Out of my mind.” It was clear then they were both back in 1977 then, Annette remembering what happened after – the interrogation at the station, the first night spent behind bars, the disappointment in her father’s eyes. For Claire, the image of her mother, cold and crying on the bottom step before the door until the morning, was playing like a broken record in her mind.

“I imagined this moment for years, you know,” Annette said. “How it would go. What you would say, what I would say. I had all these plans of how to convince you, and I don’t know if anything will, you know.” she sat up, arms on her knees. “But I want to tell you, if you’ll let me. What happened down there.”

Claire nodded. “God knows I didn’t listen to you then, Annie.” Now was as good a time as any, and it didn’t look like she was getting out of this – out of reliving her past – anytime soon. “Go ahead.”

12TH APRIL 1977

Annette watched the back of her sister as she walked up the hill back to their house, quiet relief flooding through her. She did not even want to think about what could have happened had she let Claire try to jump the river.

“She could have done it, you know,” a voice said from next to her. “You’re too protective.” Annette rolled her eyes.

“I’m sure you’d feel the same if Ian tried that on.” A small part of her wasn’t so sure, though. Ritchie was a daredevil, yes, leaving everyone else in the sand, and he seemed to think everyone else should be, too. That everyone else should give as little care to their lives as he did. He didn’t always care what his little brother did or didn’t do; maybe he wouldn’t have acted like she did. She’d never know.

Ritchie shrugged. “Maybe. Maybe not.” His eyes sparkled as he fished in the inner pocket of his jacket and pulled out a large bottle, only three-quarters full. He held it up to her. “Drink?”

She shook her head. No, she had to get back soon and this was dangerous, drinking by the river’s edge. No, she had to be sensible. “We really shouldn’t.”

Something passed through his eyes but then it was gone as swiftly as it had come, and within a second he was pulling the cap off the bottle and chugging, faster and faster. He came up for air, raising his eyebrows at her. “You’re missing out, Annie.”

She hated when he used that name with her. That name was reserved for family. “Ritchie, please. Stop that.”

He raised the bottle into the sky. “I’m having fun,” he responded, index finger of his other hand wagging at her as he began to sway with the bottle. “Annette Lorrens, haughty taughty Annie, the whole town wrapped around your finger.”

“That’s not true.”

“Isn’t it?” He grabbed her waist, pulling her to him. Her vision was clouded by him and only him, his eyes searching hers, darkening until she was choking in the oblivion swirling in his pupils. “Come on, Annie, loosen up. I know you have a little crush on me.” he laughed, and the laughter died in the wind. “You and your baby sister.” 

Annette wriggled in his grip but he held steadfast. He was much larger than her, much stronger. All that was between the two of them now was the pouring rain, creating a shield between them that Ritchie was trying ceaselessly to pull apart. “Stop it –” she started. Yes, she had liked him once, but that was before she’d seen how cruel Ritchie really was. This was not how she wanted things to be.

He glanced up at the sky. “God, this blasted rain.” A mere comment, as if her frenzy in his arms meant nothing to him. His eyes returned to settle on hers. “Oh, Annie, we’re just having fun. Come on.” Even the rain was not as loud as his voice then. “Or I’ll tell everyone about your dad.”

Annette stopped for a moment. “What?” Her eyes widened. Ritchie nodded, the grin etching its way across his face. The hair on her neck stood on end as she watched him.

“Don’t play dumb, Annie. Your father, the oh-so-good headmaster, having an affair with his secretary while the kids are in class down the hall?” he cocked his head to one side. “Always the cliche.”

It was shameful, and it would destroy them, destroy their whole family in this tiny town where everyone knew everything about each other. Except this. They couldn’t know this. “You wouldn’t.”

Ritchie chuckled. “Oh, Annie. How little you think of me.” He glanced to the side. “Come on, then –” he leaned in for a kiss that she had once longed for and which she now dreaded. No, enough was enough. 

“No. No, I don’t want to.” She leaned back into him with such forcefulness, pushing him backward. Ritchie fell backward but for a moment she didn’t see where he had landed because she too was falling backward the other way, feet having slipped on the wet rock. The ground was muddy and wet and suddenly she felt so small and exposed, the rain pelting down against her, creating a curtain through which she could not see. She pulled herself forwards, her whole body aching from the fall. 

There, in the water, waves lapping against him, was Ritchie. But it was only his head, bobbing up and down, that she could see; the rest of his body had been engulfed by the darkness, and by the looks of it his head would soon join his other limbs. He was splashing about, eyes wild, screams garbled by the wind.

“Annette! Help me!” He called out, again and again. “Help!”

In the months and years that followed Annette would ask herself why, in that split second, she did not stand up, why she did not leap into action and pull this boy she had known since childhood out of the water. Perhaps it was because she was injured, her back bruised by the fall and ankles burning, but she knew that wasn’t the reason. Perhaps it was because the boy in the water was not the boy she recognised. Perhaps this was the first time she saw a taste of freedom and, with the world full of water, believed that no one had seen her decision. Of course, she had been wrong, but she did not regret what she had done – or, more precisely, what she had not done.

The screams continued, devolving into threats and abuse that Annette wished she could not hear over the rain but which for some cruel reason she could, until after what seemed like forever, they fell silent. And Annette was left alone in the rain, a puddle of salt and water by an abandoned river she should never have visited.

12TH APRIL 1986

It took a moment to process everything her sister had just said. The story she had spun was too real to be falsified – too painful to be imagined. “I didn’t – I didn’t know,” Claire whispered. “I thought I saw you…”

“You saw something, Claire. But you didn’t see the truth.”

Claire could not meet her sister’s eyes. “I searched for answers for so long, you know. For why you did what you did – what I thought you did.” She paused. “I wanted answers from both of you but I couldn’t – I just couldn’t – visit you.” She fiddled with her fingers. “I don’t know why. Maybe if I had I would have listened to you sooner.”

Annette nodded. “You wanted answers you weren’t ready to hear. And answers I wasn’t ready to give you at the time.”

A silence, for a moment. “I didn’t know about Dad, not then.” She glanced to her side, to a family walking together in the distance. They looked so – peaceful. “After you were taken away, their marriage fell apart and he left with the secretary.” There was some irony in that, she thought. “Seems by that point there wasn’t any point keeping secrets anymore.”

She felt her sister smile from next to her, then shake her head. “I’m not even surprised. That boy seemed to know all our secrets, and he died with them.” she glanced over at Claire. “Maybe it’s a good thing it came out eventually. It’s no longer ours to live with.”

“And Ritchie –”

“Ritchie Hawkes is long dead and the boy we knew growing up died long before he drowned that day in the river, Claire. Know that.”

Claire nodded. So many memories, so many days torn between the boy she had known, the schoolgirl crush she had harboured, and the man who had tried to hurt her sister. “I’m sorry I didn’t believe you.” Two words – I’m sorry – which she had once thought she would never say. And yet here she was.

Annette leaned back. “I know.”

“I was a coward that night.”

“No, you were smart.”

“I should have stayed.”

“I’m glad you didn’t.” Annette glanced over to her, eyes earnest. “Really. I wouldn’t have wanted you to see all of that.”

“You shouldn’t have to protect me.”

Annette’s face softened. “I’m your older sister, Claire. It’s my job to protect you.”

There was silence, for a long time, as the two stared up at the clouds. Claire spoke first.

“I wish we could go back to that day. To who we were then.”

“I know.” Annette looked over at her, peering through her hair. “But that day doesn’t change who we were before.” Claire nodded. Although that April day had changed everything that came after it, the sisters they were before still remained somewhere in time, laughing and living together. Somewhere, sometime, they had been sisters and they had been happy, and that was something she – and her sister – could hold onto.

Claire looked over at Annette. “I’m sorry for what happened to you, Annie, really. I’m sorry I didn’t believe you then.”

“Perspective changes everything, little one.” Annette moved a stray strand of hair out of Claire’s face. “And I don’t blame you for what happened.”

“Do you – do you blame yourself?” Claire asked, quietly, afraid of what the answer would be.

Annette was quiet for a long time. “I’m trying not to,” she finally said. “I had nine years to think about it in a place built to blame me.” she looked over at Claire. “But I know I did what I needed to in that moment, to save myself. I don’t regret what I did.”

Claire nodded. “Annie?”

“Yes?”

“I believe you.”

Above them, the rain began to fall. Claire looked up at the sky as the water poured down her cheeks, silver streams glistening on skin. A small smile emerged through the curtain.