Rain Cat
Chapter One
It was a summer of hot, hot days, one after another. The sun shone down from a clear blue sky. Jessie could hardly remember when the weather had been any different, though she supposed it must have been, because in her wardrobe there were coats and scarves and gloves, clothes she couldn’t imagine ever needing to wear. Now, everyone wore sun hats and sunglasses and sunscreen, and the coolest clothes they could find.
Dad had taken a fortnight off work to spend holiday time with Jessie. Every morning and every evening they went to the allotments, where Dad grew beans, tomatoes, potatoes and peppers. He was very proud of his strip of ground. He’d dug and weeded and raked and planted every bit of it, sometimes helped by Jessie.
After so much dry weather, the plants needed rain.
“Perhaps tomorrow,” said Jessie’s dad. He and Jessie looked up at the sky, hoping for even the smallest wisp of cloud. “Perhaps the day after. Perhaps next week.”
The runner beans were wilting in the heat, the tomatoes thirsting, the peppers turning fire-bright. Dad’s face was tomato-red when he carried watering cans to and fro, every morning and every evening. Jessie helped, though the cans were heavy and it was hard not to slosh precious water over her feet.
The water butts had been drained long ago – not a single drop left. Everyone had to use the tap, and there were often queues. Jessie and Dad carried and poured, poured and carried. The baked earth sucked up water in greedy gulps. More, more, it gasped. There was never enough. The ground was so dry that cracks opened up.
Jessie pleaded with the sky. “Please rain! Just a little bit! You could, couldn’t you?”
It was the same for everyone at the allotments. People had thirsty marrows and peas to look after, callaloo and aubergines, potatoes and carrots, and flowers for cutting. Everyone was busy, growing and tending their fruit and vegetables. Open Day was the week after next, and everyone wanted to grow the plumpest tomatoes, the shiniest onions, the brightest flowers.
“Rain. Rain. Rain.” That was Honeysuckle, in the patch next to Dad’s, chanting to herself as she weeded her herbs. She saw Jessie looking, and called across, “We must all think very hard about rain. Think rain and clouds and mist. Think with all your might.”
Jessie liked Honeysuckle, with her patchwork waistcoat and tinkling bracelets and smiley face, so she closed her eyes and thought and thought as hard as she could.
She pictured fat, brimming clouds. She heard rain pattering against a window. She saw puddles, saw her feet in wellies, stamping and splashing.
But when she opened her eyes again, the sun was still fierce. It dazzled her, and made her skin prickle.
“Come on, Jessie.” Dad was locking up his shed. “Time to go home.”