In Case of Rain

For a Rainy Day

In the kitchen drawer, under a pack of spare batteries and assorted hairbands, rested a piece of paper folded neatly into quarters. Evelyn held it not like a letter, but as a tool: flattening it with her palm to still its edges, reading not just with her eyes but with her whole selfmuch like following instructions before pressing some crucial button.

At the top, written in ballpoint, was the simple phrase: For a rainy day. Below that was not advice to pull yourself together or be strong, but quiet, practical steps, tried and tested.

1. Glass of water. Then tea. Sit for two minutes.
2. Breathe: inhale for four, exhale for six, ten times.
3. Call one person out of three. Say: I just need five minutes, please listen.
4. Write three next steps on a scrap of paper. No more.
5. Delegate: ask, pay, postpone.
6. Walk a route: from home to the chemist via the park, round the school, and back again.
7. Say one honest sentence at home, no blame.

The list had appeared after Evelyn had unravelled one afternoon in the supermarket because the checkout froze and someone behind her started clicking their tongue impatiently. Shed bolted outside without buying a thing, unable for hours to explain to herself why. At her first session, the therapist had asked, What do you do when everything overwhelms you? Evelyn had answered, Nothing. I try not to feel. It became clear that nothing was still somethingjust the most destructive choice.

That morning, she took the paper out not because things were already bad, but to check it was still there, to reassure herself that somewhere, at least, she had a foothold. She folded it up again, pressed the creases, tucked it away and closed the drawer.

On the table sat a container of rice, beside her sons school lunchbox. Evelyn checked: napkins, apple, and a small packet of biscuits. His coat hung in the hallway, his diary lay on the sideboard. Everything was ready, which made her even more uneasylike preparing for a journey, certain she must have forgotten something.

Her son, Henry, emerged from his room, zipping his coat.

Mum, Ive got a maths test today.

I remember, Evelyn replied, smiling so he wouldnt hear her silent just no surprises, please.

Her husband, Charles, already had a mug of coffee, eyes trained on his laptop. Working in shifts, today he needed to stop at the garage for car parts before heading to his site.

Can you drop me off? Evelyn asked, as she slipped on her trainers.

No chance, Ive got a meeting at nine, he replied, not looking up.

Evelyn swallowed the familiar sting. No chance felt like I dont want to, although she knew that wasnt true. She took her bag, checked keys, bank card, phone charger.

The lift came quickly, but on the ground floor the doors jerked and stalled. Evelyn pressed the button again. Silence.

Mum, are we stuck? Henry eyed her thoughtfully, almost grown-up.

No. Just a second. She pressed open and close, then the call button. The lift shuddered and started moving.

Evelyn felt a hot wave rise in her chest, as if someone had poured boiling water inside. Nothing had happened yet, but her body was bracing for trouble.

Outside, the bus had already gone. People clustered at the stop; some arguing on the phone, others staring into space. Evelyn checked her watch. If they waited, theyd be late.

Well walk to the station, she said briskly. Quickly.

Henry jogged alongside, trying not to lag behind. Evelyn held his sleeve so he wouldnt dart into the road. In her head, a checklist started forming: school, then the office, then the meeting, then…

At the station entrance, a vibration buzzed in her pocket. The schools number.

Mrs. Smith? The secretarys tone was polite and clipped. Henry hasnt got a valid excuse for PE. He said his knee hurts, but without a doctors note, we can’t

Evelyn closed her eyes for a second.

It does hurt, honestly. Weve been to the doctor, the notes at home, I forgot to pack it. I can send a photo now?

We only accept originals.

Ill drop it off after work, Evelyn replied, her voice already tense. Or perhaps my husband could.

By noon, the secretary cut off.

Evelyn hung up and felt something inside tighten. By noon meant leaving work, and today was report submission day.

Henry stood nearby, watching her.

I didnt mean to, he said quietly.

I know. Go on, its alright, Evelyn assured him, though alright was far away.

She walked him to the school, kissed his hair, and returned to the Underground. The train was packed, someone stepped on her foot, another laughed loudly. Evelyn clung to the rail and tried not to think that the day was only beginning.

The office greeted her with the smell of coffee and paper. The colleague at the next desk looked up.

Eve, the clients on the line. Wheres the final copy? Theyre getting anxious.

Evelyn sat, booted up her computer, opened the folder. The file wasnt there. She double-checked. Shed saved it yesterday to the shared drive. Or thought she had.

Just a moment, she called, feeling her palms begin to sweat.

She opened her email, searched the thread, tried to reconstruct the chain. In her mind, the old phrase flared: Youve messed it up again. The same words from childhood, always lurking at moments when all she needed was to solve the problem.

Her phone vibrated again. This timeher mother.

Evelyn, her mums voice was anxious. The kitchen taps leaking. Ive put a bowl underneath, but it keeps dripping. Im worried Ill flood the neighbours.

Evelyn looked at the computer screen, the empty folder, the clock.

Mum, Im at work at the moment. Turn off the water under the sink, theres a valve. Do you remember?

I cant move it, its too stiff.

Use a towel for grip, try again. If it doesnt budge, ring the emergency plumber. Ill send you the number now.

They might not come for ages.

I know, but I cant get there right now. Evelyn heard her voice sharp. Ill send the number, alright?

Her mum paused a moment.

Alright, she said softly.

Evelyn hung up and instantly felt guilt, like a heavy bag on her shoulder. She wanted to be a good daughter, a good mother, a reliable co-worker and simply human. At times like these, she seemed to fail all at once.

Her manager poked her head in.

Evelyn, wheres the report? The clients waiting. And, she lowered her voice, you sent them the draft yesterday, the figures dont match.

Evelyn felt heat rise to her face.

I Ill sort it. Ill fix it, she promised.

Do it quickly, her manager ordered, and left.

Evelyn stared at her screen, knowing what shed do nextrush between tasks, grab at everything, and likely make another mistake. Panic started to simmer inside her, sticky and suffocating.

She leaned back in her chair, eyes closed for a moment. For a rainy day, flickered in her mind, as if someone pressed a soothing hand to her shoulder.

Evelyn stood up, took her mug and walked to the kitchen. Not for tea, but to change position, break the cycle.

She poured herself water from the cooler, drank it in one go. Set the kettle, waited for it to boil, dropped a teabag into her mug. She sat by the window, looking down at the courtyard between the office blocks. Two minutes. Just two.

Ten deep breaths, exhaling longer than inhaling. By the sixth, her shoulders lowered slightly. By the tenth, her heart still raced, but not so loud.

Back at her desk, she pulled out her notebook. At the top, she wrote: Now.

1. Find the latest version of the report.
2. Call the client and give an honest timeline.
3. Resolve the doctors note and mums tap.

Three steps. Not ten.

She opened the shared drives file history. The document hadnt been deleted, just renamed. Yesterday shed added the date to its title, not noticing the sorting was off. Evelyn opened it, checked the figures, spotted an error in a formula. Fixed it, recalculated, saved.

Then she called the client.

Good morning, its Evelyn Smith. Yesterday I sent a draft with a mistake; its corrected now. Ill send the final version in forty minutes. If you need it sooner, let me know whats urgent and Ill prioritise.

A pause, then a relieved sigh.

Forty minutes is fine. Thanks for updating us.

Evelyn hung up and felt a small, solid island inside. Not happiness or relief: just the ability to stand.

Nextthe call. One of three. She scrolled through her contacts and stopped at Charles. Shed rather not hear no chance again, but today needed practical help, not perfect support.

Charles, hi. Im in a rush. The school needs the doctors note by noon. Its at home, on the sideboard under Henrys diary. Can you pick it up and drop it off?

Im miles away, he started.

Evelyn breathed in, refusing to snap.

I know. But if not, Ill have to leave work. Could you ask someone at the site? Or change your route?

Charles paused.

Alright. Ill go home, grab it and run it over. Text me a photo so I know what to look for.

Thanks. Sending now.

She photographed the noteyes, it was right on the sideboardand sent it. There, she thought, delegating. Not heroic, just asking.

That just left mum and the tap. Evelyn texted her the emergency plumbers number and brief instructions: Valve under sink, turn right to shut off. Use a towel if its stiff. If youre nervous, call the plumber, tell them youre worried about flooding. Then, she rang.

Mum, I cant come right now, she said gently. But Ill stay on the phone while you try.

Im shaking, her mum confessed.

Lets do it together. Where are you?

In the kitchen.

Good. Open the cupboard under the sink. Take a towel. Wrap the valve and try to turn itslowly.

Evelyn listened to her mum shuffle, the bowl clatter.

It moved, her mum said after a minute, surprised. Oh. The dripping stopped.

Perfect. Just leave the water off until the plumber comes. Ill pop by tonight and check everything.

Sorry to have bothered you, her mum said.

You didnt bother me. You called at exactly the right time, Evelyn replied, surprised by how true this felt.

She sent the report, forty minutes exactly. Her manager nodded, unsmiling but without criticism. Her colleague gave her a thumbs-up.

By rights, she could relax. Yet inside, she still felt the tremorslike after slamming the brakes on. Evelyn knew: if she just carried on now, by evening shed be irritable and snapping at everyone.

At lunchtime, she skipped the canteen. Took her coat, phone, earphones, and stepped outside. The route was from her list: from the office to the chemist through the park, round the school, then back. Not for medicine, but because the walk was familiar and short, free from surprises.

She walked briskly, counting steps as if her body sought a rhythm. At the chemist, she bought plasters and a box of chamomile tea, though she had plenty at home. Let it bea small, physical proof shed cared for herself.

On the way back, she paused at the schools railings, gazing at the windows. Somewhere inside, Henry was taking his test. Evelyn felt tempted to text him: Hows it going? But refrained. He needed to be on his own.

By evening, Charles messaged: Dropped the note off. All sorted. Followed by a photo: the note in the guards hands, school hall in the background. Evelyn smiled, feeling another knot loosen from her chest.

She came home later than usual, exhausted but not emptied. The diary sat on the sideboard, the note goneproof Charles had really stopped by.

Henry was at the kitchen table, eating pasta.

Mum, I got a four, he said as if that was the most important thing.

Well done. Evelyn patted his shoulder. Hows your knee?

Fine. I was just scared itd hurt again.

Evelyn nodded. She wanted to admit, I was scared too, but it felt too much. She set the kettle on, took out the chamomile tea shed bought, placed a bag in her mug.

Charles came in, taking off his shoes.

How was your day? he asked.

Evelyn felt the urge to list everything, prove how hard it had been. But her list included one honest sentence, no blame.

She set her mug down and said,

Today was rough. I need you to be present tonight, with no phone for half an hour.

Charles looked at her more closely than that morning.

Alright. Lets do it after supper. Im tired, but I can manage.

Thank you, Evelyn said, realising it was neither concession nor victory. It was simply agreement.

After supper, they sat in the sitting room. Charles put his phone face-down. Henry went to do his homework. Evelyn told him about the report, the school call, and her mums tapnot dramatising, just recounting the events. Charles asked, nodded, said, That’s a lot. And it was enough.

Later Evelyn went to her mums house. She brought an adjustable spanner and a new washer she’d picked up at the hardware shop. Her mum greeted her at the door, apologetic.

I kept thinking youd be cross, her mum said.

I was cross, Evelyn admitted, shrugging off her coat. But not at you. Just at not being able to be everywhere.

They opened the cupboard under the sink together. The valve was shut, the bowl dry. Evelyn checked the joint, tightened the nut, replaced the washer. The leak stopped. Not a miracle, just practical.

Back home, the folded paper still lay in the kitchen drawer. Evelyn took it out, read over the steps. They didnt promise life would run smooth. They only promised this: she had a set of actions she could take when everything spiralled.

She added a new line at the bottom: 8. Ask for half an hour without phones. Then scribbled beside it, Works.

She folded it up, put it away, and closed the drawer. The day hadnt been perfect. But it had stopped being a disaster, and that was enough to go to bed knowing tomorrow shed manage again.