Just in case it rains
In the kitchen drawer, beneath the backup packs of batteries and spare hair bands, rested a piece of paper folded into quarters. Sarah held it not as a note but as a toolflattening it with her palm so the edges wouldnt tremblereading not just with her eyes, but with her whole body, the way you read instructions before pushing a button.
At the top, scrawled with a ballpoint: Just in case it rains. Below, a list. Not be strong or pull yourself togetherjust small, tried-and-tested actions.
1. Glass of water. Then tea. Sit for two minutes.
2. Breathe: in for four, out for six, ten times.
3. Call one person from three. Say: I need five minutes, just listen.
4. Write down three immediate steps. No more.
5. Delegate: ask, pay, postpone.
6. Walk the route: home to pharmacy via the park, circle the school, back again.
7. Say one honest sentence at home, no blame.
Shed made the list after two years ago, when she lost it at the supermarket because the till froze and someone behind her tutted. Shed rushed outside without buying anything, unable to explain to herself for half the day why it had happened. The psychologist, right at the first appointment, asked: What do you do when it hits you? Sarah answered: Nothing. I try not to feel anything. Thats when it became clear that nothing was still an action, only the most destructive kind.
Today she took out the paper not because things were already bad, but to check that it was still thereher anchor. She folded it back, pressed its creases, put it in the drawer, and closed it.
On the table sat a container of pasta, next to her sons school lunchbox. Sarah checked that shed packed napkins, an apple, and a small packet of biscuits. His jacket hung in the hallway, the diary rested on the side table. Everything was ready, and that only made her more anxiouslike before a trip, when it feels certain youve forgotten something.
Her son, James, came out of his room, zipping up his coat.
Mum, Ive got a maths test today.
I remember, Sarah said, smiling in a way that hid her inner please, no surprises.
Her husband, Tom, was already drinking coffee, eyes on his laptop. He worked shifts, and today needed to pop by the garage for parts for his car, then onto site.
Can you drop me off? Sarah asked, slipping on trainers.
No time. Ive got a meeting at nine, he replied, not looking up.
Sarah swallowed her usual irritation. No time sounded a lot like dont want to, though she knew that wasnt true. She grabbed her bag, checked the keys, bank card, phone charger.
The lift arrived quickly, but on the ground floor the doors jolted and froze. Sarah pressed the button again. Silence.
Mum, are we stuck? James looked at her with a far-too-grown-up expression.
No. Hang on. She pressed open and close, then the emergency call. The lift sighed and started moving.
Sarah felt a wave rise in her chest, as if someone had poured boiling water inside. Nothing had gone wrong yet, but her body was already bracing for trouble.
Outside she saw the bus pull away. At the stop stood peoplesome grumbling into phones, some staring off. Sarah checked the time. If they waited for the next bus, theyd be late.
Lets walk to the tube, she said. Quickly.
James ran alongside, trying not to fall behind. Sarah held his sleeve so he wouldnt dart into the road. In her mind, the list was forming: school, then office, then conference call, then
At the tube entrance her pocket vibrated. The school number.
Mrs. Parker? The secretarys voice was polite but dry. James doesnt have a note exempting him from PE. He says his knee hurts, but without a proper note we cant
Sarah closed her eyes for a second.
He really is hurt. Weve seen the doctor, the notes at homeI forgot to pack it. Can I send a photo?
Sorry, we dont accept photos. We need the original.
Ill bring it after work, Sarah said, and her voice wavered. Or I could ask my husband.
By twelve, please, the secretary cut in.
Sarah ended the call and felt something inside tighten. By twelve meant shed have to dash out of workand today was deadline day for her report.
James stood by, looking at her.
I didnt mean to, he said.
I know. Go on, its fine, she replied, though fine was already out of reach.
She walked him to school, kissed the top of his head, then made her way back to the tube. The carriage was packedsomeone stepped on her foot, someone else laughed too loudly. Sarah gripped the rail, trying not to think about this being only the start of the day.
At the office, she was greeted by coffee and printer smells. Her colleague from the neighbouring desk looked up.
Sarah, our clients on the line. Wheres the final draft? Theyre getting jittery.
Sarah sat, switched on her computer, opened the folder. The file wasnt there. She checked again. Yesterday shed saved it to the shared drive. Or she thought she had.
Just a minute, she said, feeling her palms grow damp.
She opened her email, found the correspondence, tried to piece together the steps. A thought flashed: Youve messed it up again. An old phrase from childhood, always resurfacing at moments when she just needed to solve the problem.
Her phone vibrated again. This timeher mum.
Sarah, her mums voice was tense. The kitchen taps leaking. I put a bowl underneath, but its still dripping. Im worried about flooding the neighbours.
Sarah looked at the computer screen, the empty folder, the clock.
Mum, Im at work. Can you turn off the water under the sink? Theres a valve. Remember?
I cant twist it. Too stiff.
Wrap a towel round it, try with that. If it wont budge, ring emergency repair. Ill text you the number.
They might take forever to arrive.
I know. But I cant come right now. Sarah heard her voice grow sharp. Ill send you the number, okay?
Her mum was silent for a few seconds.
Okay, she said quietly.
Sarah hung up and instantly felt guiltylike a heavy bag slung over her shoulder. She wanted to be a good daughter, mother, worker, and a normal person all at once. She always seemed to lose to everyone at moments like these.
Her boss popped her head in.
Sarah, whats happening with the report? The clients waiting. And she lowered her voiceyou sent them a draft yesterday with the numbers not matching up.
Sarah felt her face flush hot.
Ill sort it out. Ill fix it.
Sort it quickly, her boss said, and walked away.
Sarah stared at her screen, knowing shed do what she always did: rush about, grab at everything, and mess it up worse. Panic was already risinga sticky fear that shed run out of air.
She leaned back, closed her eyes for a moment. Just in case it rains, popped up in her mind, as if someone laid a hand on her shoulder.
Sarah got up, grabbed her mug, and walked to the kitchen. Not because she fancied tea, but because she needed to break the cycle, move her body.
She poured herself a glass of water, drank it in one go. Then put the kettle on, waited for it to boil, dropped a teabag in her mug. Sat down by the window and looked at the courtyard between the office blocks. Two minutes. Just two.
She breathed out longer than she breathed in, ten times. By the sixth exhale, her shoulders dropped a bit. By the tenth, her heart still raced, but not like a siren.
Back at her desk, she took out her notebook. Wrote at the top: Now.
1. Find the latest version of the report.
2. Call the client and honestly say when it’ll be ready.
3. Sort the school note and mums tap.
Three steps. Not ten.
She opened the version history on the shared drive. The file wasnt deleted, just renamed. Yesterday shed added the date and hadnt noticed the sort order had changed. Sarah opened the document, checked the figures, spotted an error in a formula. Fixed it, recalculated, saved.
Then called the client.
Good morning, its Sarah Parker. Yesterday I sent a draft with an errorIve fixed it and will send the final version in forty minutes. If you need it sooner, let me know and Ill make it happen.
There was a pause, then a sigh.
Forty minutes is fine. Thanks for letting us know.
Sarah hung up and felt a small patch of solid ground inside. Not relief, not happiness, just the ability to stand firm.
Next was the callone person from three. She opened her contacts and hesitated at Tom. She didnt want another I cant but needed practical help more than perfect understanding.
Tom, hi. Quick thing. School needs the doctors note by twelve. Its at home, on the hallway side table, under the diary. Could you drop it off for me?
Im the other side of town, he started.
Sarah breathed in, didnt let herself snap.
I get that. If it doesnt get there, Ill have to leave work, which is worse. Could you ask someone on your site, or tweak your route?
Tom paused.
Alright. Ill swing by home, grab it, and take it in. Send me a photo, so I know what Im looking for.
Thanks. Ill send it now.
She took a photo of the note she really had left on the side table yesterday and sent it. In her mind flashed: This is what it means to delegatenot heroics, just asking.
That left mum and the tap. Sarah texted her the emergency plumbers number with a short instruction: Valve under sink, turn right as far as it goes. Use towel if stiff. If youre scared, call the plumbertell them its leaking and youre worried about flooding. Then she rang.
Mum, I really cant come right now, she said gently as she could. But Im on the line while you try to shut the valve.
Im already my hands are shaking, mum admitted.
Lets do it together. Where are you?
In the kitchen.
Good. Open the cupboard under the sink. Grab the towel. Wrap it round the valve and turn. Gently.
Sarah listened to the shuffle, the clatter of the bowl.
It moved, mum said, surprised. Ohand the dripping stopped.
Brilliant. Just leave the water off until the plumber comes. Ill pop over this evening and check it.
Sorry for bothering you, mum said.
You didnt. You called just in time, Sarah replied, surprised that it was true.
She sent the reportforty minutes later, as promised. Her boss nodded, not smiling but not critical. Her colleague gave a thumbs up.
Youd think she could finally relaxbut inside was still a tremor, like after slamming on brakes. Sarah knew: if she just pushed through, she’d end up snapping at everyone at home.
At lunch she didnt go to the canteen. She grabbed her coat, phone, headphones and headed out. The route was from her list: office to pharmacy past the park, circle the school, back. Not because she needed medicine, but because the loop was familiar, short, and held no surprises.
She walked briskly, step-counting not deliberately but as if her body needed rhythm. At the pharmacy she bought plasters and a box of chamomile teathough there was tea at home. Let it be. A physical reminder: I took care of myself.
On her way back she stopped by the school fence, glanced at the windows. Somewhere in there, James was taking his test. Sarah caught herself wanting to text: How are you? But stopped. Let him handle his own world.
By evening, Tom messaged: Dropped off the note. All sorted. Followed by a photonote in the security guards hand, school hall in the background. Sarah smiled and felt another knot in her chest unravel.
She got home later than usual, tired but not drained. The diary sat on the side table, the note no longer thereTom really had swung by, hadnt forgotten, hadnt mixed things up.
James sat in the kitchen, eating pasta.
Mum, got a B. That matters most, he said.
Well done. Sarah ruffled his shoulder. Hows your knee?
Its okay now. I just worried it would hurt again.
Sarah nodded. She wanted to say, I was worried too, but that would be too much. She set the kettle going, took out the chamomile tea shed bought and dropped a bag in a mug.
Tom walked in, taking his shoes off.
How was your day? he asked.
Sarah felt her usual urgeto list, prove, make clear it was hard. But her list had a point: one honest sentence, no blame.
She placed the mug on the table and said:
Today hit me hard. I need you to be here this evening, just half an hour with no phone.
Tom looked at her more closely than he had in the morning.
Alright. After dinner. Im tired, but I can do that.
Thanks, Sarah said, realising it wasnt capitulation or victory. It was agreement.
After dinner, they sat in the lounge. Tom put his phone face down. James went to do homework. Sarah talked through the report, the school call, the tap. No dramaticsjust events, one after another. Tom asked a couple of things, nodded, said: Yeah, its a lot. And that was enough.
Later, Sarah dropped by her mums. She brought a spanner and a new washer she’d picked up at the hardware shop. Mum met her at the door, sheepish smile.
I kept thinking you must be cross, mum said.
I was, Sarah admitted, hanging up her coat. But not at you. At never being everywhere at once.
They opened the cupboard under the sink together. The valve was shut, the bowl dry. Sarah checked the joint, tightened the nut, replaced the washer. The leak stopped. Not a miraclejust mechanics.
When she got home, the sheet was still in the drawer. Sarah took it out, unfolded it, looked at the points. They didnt promise to make life smoothjust that she had a set of actions to take when everything turned upside down.
She added a new eighth point: 8. Ask for half an hour without a phone. Thought about it, and scribbled beside: Works.
Then folded the paper, put it away, and closed the drawer. The day hadnt turned out perfect. But it wasnt a catastrophe anymore, and that was enough to go to bed, believing tomorrow shed manage again.
