The radiator warmed the back of her thighs as the winter afternoon crept towards night. She waited for the tightness to ease out, for her muscles to relax. It had been such a bright day but she needed rain.

She wanted that cold, end-of-year rain to bounce off the supermarket car park tarmac, for the lights to fracture and sparkle like they did, for car tail-lights to be the only colour as she walked, as she headed to the pharmacy.

…

Her red fleece top kept out the cold but not the rain and of course she didn’t care. Rushing around the aisles afterwards, her right pocket stuffed, she patted it to keep it safe. She rustled, she became oblivious to rain, such that it became her well loved trademark.

And later, a little later, back home, she was the one who fractured and sparkled. She sat on the sofa and in the soft glow of the TV babble she felt like she lit up the room. 

…

She left the heat of the radiator and peeped outside to the blackness. Make it rain, she whispered to her window, to her street. Make it rain. Please.