This is Better

At 1.15 pm the rain arrived. It didn’t just arrive though; it came in torrents. It pummelled the world below, submitting it to the power that it unleashed. The unwary, the unprepared, sought shelter wherever that may be, most failing in that single act of survival. It cascaded from the clouds, bouncing off the hard surfaces, seeping into the soft. 

Rooftop gutters overflowed, so that waterfalls scurried down the brown brick walls. Branches of trees groaned under the weight; leaves catching a single drop that was ready to disgorge itself onto an accidental shoulder that passed by.  

Lakes and rivers quickly expanded across once dry shorelines. Uneven pavements captured the rain in between the rough stones, creating small streams, and the roads became puddles that mixed with the manure that the horses had left behind.  

Those horses shook their manes and looked to the ground as they pulled the omnibuses, that idled their way to their destinations, hooves skidding and slithering in the wet. The top decks of those omnibuses were now empty, apart from one smug man, the only passenger brave enough to sit there, as he had taken his wife’s parasol as a precaution.  

Women hitched up their skirts as they crossed the street, showing a shapely ankle, whilst men attempted to tip toe, for fear of dirtying their shining black boots. All ran to the shop doors, sheltering from the deluge under a tarpaulin, or into the now steaming interior, clothes dripping, hair damp. 

In the parks, those who had harboured the dream of a sunlit afternoon stroll, now stood beneath the trees that were groaning, watching as the ducks and the swans continued their lives as if nothing had happened. The chestnut seller tried to protect his wares with an old newspaper, watching as the dark ink dripped onto the sizzling pan. The rose seller and the organ grinder both looked at each other and silently agreed that today’s takings were at an end...and the police constable asked the barrow boy to move away from the shop front of the haberdashery, for fear of obstructing those who needed to find the only dry spot available.  

London in 1895 had no defence against the rain. 

On the south side of the river, a young boy (whose name we never learn) crouches down in an alleyway and tries to shelter from the torrential rain. He finds a space where the closely built buildings overhang, and the windowsill on the first floor is large enough to protect him. He stays dry, but his shoeless feet feel the cold and the wet. He shivers but doesn’t move, his flat cap protecting his head and his jacket and trousers the only clothes he has had in the last twelve months of his nine-year-old life. There is nowhere to go, except back to the workhouse, but his fear stops him. 

As the alleyway darkens; the weak sun no longer attempting to compete with the rain, so he shifts position and decides to stay there for the night. He is too tired to move now anyway. Sleep doesn’t come quickly though, as the alleyway, like all of those in the south of London, is a haven for drunken men, women of the night and those seeking a place to rest their heads.  

He watches as the gaslight man, ignites the lamp, creating a small orange glow that barely covers the circumference, only for the rain to extinguish it once he has gone. Then he watches as a man and a woman silently glide into the alley, whispered words and fevered movements. She lifts her skirts; he drops his breeches. There is no sound apart from the heavy panting, but once finished she opens her palm waiting for recompense. He dismissively throws a coin to the floor, meaning she has to kneel down and feel in the wet mud for her payment, shouting a word that the boy has heard so many times. She finds it, puts it to her mouth and bites, satisfied that she can eat and drink tonight, on an evening when clients have returned to their dry and comfortable homes.  

He closes his eyes and sleeps.  

If the young boy was to be asked at a later time if he had dreamt the next moment, or if it had happened, he would not know. All he could remember was seeing a young woman approach him where he was still crouched. She wore blue, with white frills around her sleeves and bodice, black boots shining in the wet. Her hair was red and her eyes like emeralds, and when she smiled, her red lips parted to show sparkling white teeth. Even at his tender age, he felt he had fallen in love. 

‘Hello young mister...’ she seemed to whisper, as she bent down to him. ‘Why are you here?’ 

He didn’t know what to say, so he just looked at her, his eyes squinting from the sleep that had been interrupted. She repeated the question and placed her hand on his arm to reassure him. 

‘I’m ‘iding miss...’ he replied with a shaky voice. ‘I’m ‘iding from the rain...and the workhaarss master...’ but he wondered if he should have said the second part. 

‘What do you wish?’ was her only response, but those four words seem to resonate deep into his soul, so that even at the age of nine years, he knew he was being asked the most important question he would ever have to face. He wasn’t ready. 

‘I dunno miss...’ he stammered slightly, shifting his position as his legs had started to ache. ‘...I just wannit to be better...’ 

She smiled. A radiant smile, that seem to light up her whole face. 

‘Touch this...’ and she pointed to a sapphire stone that hung around her neck. He hadn’t noticed it, and if he had, he would have had no idea what a sapphire was. There weren’t any sapphires in the workhouse. 

Instinctively, he touched it with his finger but pulled back in fright as the stone appeared to sting him.  

‘Now close your eyes again...’ she whispered.  

He felt too sleepy not to, and in his little position under the overhanging buildings and the large windowsill, he fell into a deep sleep. 

When he woke, it was different. Everything was different. There was no alleyway. There was no rain. In fact, there were no buildings at all, just a vast expanse of yellow sunlit land stretching as far as he could see. There was nothing left.  

It scared him. His young mind had no idea what had happened, and as he stood up, he felt the warmth of the golden sand that was beneath his feet. Up above, the sun shone brightly, the small tree that seemed to appear out of nowhere, moved rhythmically, caressing him with a breeze that cooled him. His clothes, once old and scraggy, now looked new and clean, his flat cap no longer needed as the sun’s rays danced around him...and she was there. 

‘Hello again young mister...’ she said; her voice slightly more husky, but her clothes as they had been before. ‘...this is better...’ 

‘Where am I?’ he replied, looking around with concern and panic. ‘Where is the alleyway, and the buildings and the people...?’  

‘They are still here, but you just can’t see them...’ and she reached out and caressed his cheek with her palm. ‘You asked for better, and this is better...’ 

‘I don’t understand...I don’t like it miss...’ 

‘Let me explain, little boy...’ and she stood up, opened her arms out wide, gesturing as if she was about to explain the whole world to him. ‘...you didn’t know it, but I gave you a wish. You could have asked for anything. Maybe money. Maybe a warm bed. Maybe to never have to return to the workhouse, but you chose better. This is better...’ and she smiled again, her face brightening, radiating with warmth and love. 

‘Where is this though miss? I don’t understand...’ his panic rising, his heart beating faster. 

‘It’s wherever you want it to be...it’s your imagination. Come...walk with me...’ and she held his hand and walked towards the tree that had grown another foot.  

‘Touch it...feel the leaves...’ 

The young boy held the large leaf with his fingers, but it wasn’t real. It was something he had never felt before, it’s texture smooth but firm.  

‘What is it miss?’ he asked, now overwhelmed by the confusion.  

‘It’s the future young mister. This is better, and this is the future you can now create for yourself. The tree is made of a material that does not exist for you, but in this space, in this time, your wish has been granted. It is better.’ 

‘I don’t like it miss...can you take me back please?’ 

‘Back???’ she suddenly shouted, ‘I can’t take you back, you ungrateful little scamp...’ and her face, so beautiful, so kind and so gentle, now slowly transformed. Her eyes blazed, her red hair became limp and matted, her lips cracked. She aged as she looked at him.  

‘...it was your wish. I gave it to you...now you say you don’t want it...’ she almost screamed, making the young boy shake. His heart seemed to be bursting out of his skin, and he tried not to cry as he watched the beautiful woman become old. 

‘I don’t understand miss...’ he almost sobbed as he fell to the ground, surrounded by a world that was hot, with no real trees and with sand everywhere he could see. ‘I said I wanted it to be better, because I'd run away from the master because ‘e’d been beating me sister. He wasn’t just bawling, but he slapped her and I jumped on ‘im...then he turned on me miss...and I runned and runned and runned... until I got to the lane. I was keeping dry, but I want to go back and get her out. I know ‘ow miss...there’s a winder where she sleeps, and I can wake ‘er up and she can climb out wiv me ‘elp...she’s only six miss...she’s only six...’ and the tears came. He'd tried to be brave, but bravery was standing next to the cotton machine and not losing a finger or even a hand. He wasn’t brave today. 

The woman, now returned to her beauty, stood and stared. She was talking, but he couldn’t hear the words. It looked like she was talking to herself, but the young boy was now so bereft that all he wanted to do was to run away. Run where though? 

‘Touch the stone again...this is most unusual young mister...you’ve had your wish, and now you don’t want it...but it’s your funeral...go and find your sister, if that’s what you want...and then it will be better. Do you understand?’  

He nodded and reached and touched the stone. 

The alleyway was busy with the people starting their days. The sun was shining and the buildings and the stones steamed as the rain evaporated. The shop fronts were opened, doors ajar as the customers entered, a slight hint of perspiration on the faces of the ladies as the heat took hold. Parasols were discarded, the manure man cleared the streets and the omnibuses were full, even on the top deck. Even the nag, that pulled the might of the bus, seemed to have a spring in its step.  

The young boy stood up, adjusted his cap, and smoothed down his jacket, before setting off for the workhouse. He was going to save his sister.  

Then it would be better...