For a Rainy Day

For rainy days

So, in the kitchen drawer you know the one, under the spare batteries and hair ties there was this piece of paper, folded into quarters. Emma kept it not as a sentimental note, but more like a tool: shed press her palm against it to smooth the shaky edges and read it not just with her eyes, but almost with her whole body, the way you scan instructions before taking the next step.

At the top, written in blue ballpoint, it said: For rainy days. Below, a list. Not keep your chin up or pull yourself together, but tiny, practical steps that she knew worked.

1. Drink a glass of water. Then have tea. Sit down for two minutes.
2. Breathe: in for four, out for six, ten times.
3. Call one person from three. Say: I need five minutesjust listen.
4. Write down three immediate next steps. No more.
5. Delegate: ask, pay, reschedule.
6. Do the route: house to pharmacy through the park, loop round the school, and back.
7. Say something honest at home, no blame.

That list had appeared after shed had a meltdown in Tesco two years ago, when the till froze and someone behind her tapped their foot impatiently. She rushed out without buying anything and spent half the day trying to work out why. At her first session, the therapist asked, What do you do when it all gets too much? Emma answered, Nothing. I try not to feel. And it hit her: Nothing is an action too, just the most destructive kind.

Today, she hadnt pulled out the paper because things were already bad; it was more to make sure it was still there, her anchor nearby. She folded it back up, pressed the creases, tucked it into the drawer, and closed it.

On the kitchen table was a tub of brown rice, next to her son’s school lunch box. Emma double-checked shed packed napkins, an apple, and a mini packet of biscuits. His coat hung in the hall; his diary sat on the sideboard. Everything was sorted, which weirdly felt unsettlinglike before a trip, when youre sure youve forgotten something.

Her son, Harry, came out of his room, zipping up his jacket.

Mum, Ive got a maths test today.

I remember, Emma said, and gave him a smile that hid her inner please, no surprises.

Her husband, Ben, was already sipping coffee, eyes glued to his work laptop. He was on shift work, and today had to swing by the garage for car parts before heading to the site.

Can you drop me off? Emma asked, pulling on her trainers.

I wont have time. Got a meeting at nine, he replied, not looking up.

Emma swallowed the prickle of irritation she always got. I wont have time sounded like I cant be bothered, though she knew it wasnt true. She grabbed her bag, checked keys, bank card, charger.

The lift came quickly, but on the ground floor, the doors snagged and stalled. Emma pressed the button again. Nothing.

Mum, are we stuck? Harry asked, looking at her with a grown-up seriousness.

No, hang on. She hit open and close, then the call button. The lift groaned and moved.

Emma felt that hot wave rise in her chest, as if someone poured boiling water in her. Nothing catastrophic yet, but her body was ready for disaster.

Outdoors, she saw the bus leaving. People crowded at the stop; some grumbled into phones, others just stared at nothing. Emma checked her watch. If they waited, theyd be late.

Well walk to the tube. Quick as we can.

Harry jogged beside her, trying not to lag. Emma held onto his sleeve so he wouldnt dart into the road. In her head, the plan was already forming: school, office, conference call, then

At the Underground entrance, her phone buzzed in her pocket. The schools number.

Mrs. Walker? The secretarys voice was polite but brisk. Harrys no PE exemption note today. He says his knee hurts, but without a note we cant

Emma closed her eyes for a moment.

He genuinely hurt it. We saw the doctor yesterday, but I forgot the note at home. Can I send a photo?

We dont accept photos. We need the original, came the reply.

Ill bring it after work, Emma said, her voice just on the verge of breaking. Or I could ask my husband.

Before twelve, please, the secretary snapped.

Emma hung up, feeling something inside twist. Before twelve meant shed have to leave workand today was report submission day.

Harry watched her.

I didnt mean to, he murmured.

I know. Go oneverythings fine, Emma said, though fine was a distant concept.

She walked him to the school entrance, kissed his hair, then headed back to the tube. It was crowded in the carriage; someone trod on her foot, someone else laughed too loudly. Emma clung to the handrail, trying not to think that the day was only just beginning.

At the office, she was greeted by the aroma of coffee and the hum of the printer. Her desk mate looked up.

Em, clients on the line. Wheres the final report? Theyre starting to get fidgety.

Emma sat, switched on her computer, opened the folder. The file wasnt there. She checked again. Yesterday shed saved it to the shared driveor thought she had.

On it, she replied, feeling her palms grow clammy.

She opened her inbox, found the email chain, tried to trace the steps. In her mind flashed: “Youve messed it up again.” It was an old phrase from childhood, always surfacing in stressful moments.

Her phone vibrated again. This time, it was Mum.

Emma, Mum said, voice strained. The kitchen taps dripping. Ive put a bowl underneath but it keeps dripping. Im worried about the neighbours.

Emma glanced at her empty folder, at the time.

Mum, Im at work. Turn off the water under the sink, with the valve. Can you remember?

Its too stiff for me.

Use a tea towel, try wrapping it around. If it wont budge, call an emergency plumber. Ill text their number.

They take ages to come out, dont they?

I know, but I cant get there right now. Emmas tone grew sharper. Ill send you the number, okay?

Mum was silent for a moment.

Okay, she whispered.

Emma hung up, instantly feeling the guiltheavy, like a big bag. She wanted to be a good daughter, good mum, good employee, and a sane person, all at once. In moments like that, she lost at every game.

Her manager popped her head into the room.

Emma, whats up with the report? Clients waiting. And, she lowered her voice, you sent them a draft yesterdaythe figures dont line up.

Emma felt her cheeks burn.

Ill sort it. Ill fix it now.

Make it snappy, her manager said, and left.

Emma stared at the screen, knowing what shed do next: start flailing, grab at everything, and end up making more mistakes. That familiar, sticky panic was climbing, like the air was running out.

She leaned back and closed her eyes for just a second. For rainy days, drifted into her mind like a reassuring hand on her shoulder.

She stood, grabbed her mug, and headed to the kitchennot for tea, but to break the cycle, change her posture.

She gulped water from the cooler. Then boiled the kettle, dunked a tea bag in her mug. Sat by the window, looking out at the courtyard between offices. Two minutes. Just two.

Ten breaths, each exhale longer. By the sixth, her shoulders eased. By the tenth, her heart still racedbut not like an alarm.

Back at her desk, Emma pulled out her notebook and scrawled on a fresh page: Now.

1. Find the latest report version.
2. Call client, be honest about timing.
3. Sort the exemption note and the leaky tap.

Just three stepsnot ten.

Opening the history on the shared drive, she found the missing file: not deleted, just renamed. Yesterday shed added the date and hadnt clocked that the sort changed. Emma opened it, fixed one formula error, recalculated, saved.

Then she phoned the client.

Morning, its Emma Walker. Yesterday a draft went over with an error. Ive fixed it, and will send the final in forty minutes. If thats tight, let me knowI’ll prioritise.

They paused, then exhaled.

Forty minutes is fine. Thanks for being straight.

Emma hung up, sensing a tiny island of steadiness within. Not happiness or relief, but a way to stay standing.

Next: the delegation call. One person from three. She found Ben in her contacts. She didnt want another cant do it, but needed practical help, not perfection.

Ben, quick one: the school needs Harrys exemption note by noon. Its at home, on the sideboard under the diary. Any chance you could drop it off?

Im way across London, he began.

Emma took a breath and stopped herself snapping.

I know. If you dont, Ill have to leave work, which is worse. Can you ask someone on site, or reroute?

Ben paused.

Alright. Ill swing home, take it in. Text me a photo of the note so I know what Im looking for.

Thanks, Ill send it now.

She quickly sent a photo of the note, resting exactly where she left it. It struck her: This is how you delegatenot heroic, just asking.

Then Mum and her tap. Emma texted her the emergency plumbers number and a short instruction: Valve under sink, twist right as far as it goes. Wrap in towel if stuck. If youre worried, ring the plumber and tell them its urgent. Then she actually called.

Mum, I cant come over just now, she said gently. But Ill stay on the line while you try the valve.

My hands are shaking, Mum admitted.

Lets do it together. Where are you now?

In the kitchen.

Good. Open the cupboard under the sink. Grab a towel, wrap it round the valve, try turning. Dont yank.

Emma listened as Mum shuffled and the bowl shifted.

It moved, Mum said a minute later, amazed. Ohthe drippings stopped.

Brilliant. Just keep the tap off till the plumber comes. Ill pop round later and check.

Sorry for bothering you, Mum said.

You didnt. You called at the right time, Emma repliedand surprised herself, because it felt true.

She sent the reportas promised, in forty minutes. Her manager nodded, not smiling, but not scolding. Desk mate gave her a thumbs-up.

Youd think she could breathe now, but her nerves still jangled, like after an emergency stop. Emma knew: if she just carried on working, by dinner shed be snappy, taking it out on everyone.

At lunchtime, she didnt go to the canteen. She put on her coat, grabbed phone and headphones, and stepped out. Route: office to pharmacy through the park, loop round the school, back. Not for medicine, but because the walk was familiar and short, with no surprises.

She marched, counting steps out of habither body searching for rhythm. At the pharmacy, she bought plasters and a bag of chamomile tea, even though she had loads at home. Just something material to say, I looked after myself.

Passing the school fence, she glanced at the windowssomewhere in there, Harry was taking his test. She caught herself wanting to text: Hows it going? But stopped. Let him be in his own world for now.

By evening, Ben texted: Dropped off the note. All sorted. Followed by a photonote handed to the school security guy by the entrance. Emma smiled, feeling another knot in her chest untie.

She arrived home later than usual, worn out but not empty. The diary was on the sideboard, but no note proof Ben actually did it.

Harry was at the kitchen table, eating pasta.

Mum, got a B on the test, he announced like it was everything.

Well done, Emma squeezed his shoulder. Hows your knee?

Alright. I was just worried itd hurt again.

Emma nodded. She wanted to say, I was scared too, but that felt too much. She put the kettle on, fetched the chamomile tea, dropped a bag in her mug.

Ben came in, taking off his shoes.

How was your day? he asked.

Emma felt the old urge to list everything, prove how hard shed had it. But the list had a point about saying something honest without blaming.

She set her tea on the table and said,

I was really up and down today. I need you to be here tonight, no screens, for at least half an hour.

Ben looked at her, more present than in the morning.

Sure. After dinnerIm tired, but I can manage.

Thanks, Emma said, realising it wasnt a concession, but an agreement.

After dinner, they sat in the lounge. Ben put his phone screen-down. Harry went to do his homework. Emma relived the day: the report, school call, mums tap. Not dramatic, just step-by-step. Ben clarified a few things, nodded, said Yeah, thats a lot. That was enough.

Later, she swung by Mums place. Brought her adjustable spanner and a new washer, picked up from the hardware shop on the way. Mum greeted her at the door with a sheepish smile.

I kept thinking you were cross, Mum admitted.

I was cross, Emma replied honestly, taking off her coat. But not at you. At not being everywhere at once.

Together, they opened the cupboard under the sink. The valve was off, bowl dry. Emma checked fittings, tightened the nut, swapped out the washer. The tap stopped drippingnot magic, just basic mechanics.

When she got home, the folded list was still in the kitchen drawer. Emma took it out, opened it, and looked at the steps. They didnt promise to make life smooth, only that she had a toolkit for when it all went sideways.

She added a new line at the bottom: 8. Ask for half an hour, no phones. Underlined, and wrote: It works.

She folded it up again, tucked it away. The day wasnt perfect. But it wasnt a disaster, and that was enough to go to bed feeling like tomorrow she could handle whatever came.