Inclement Weather

WRITTEN BY CIARAN GREIG

The raindrop landed with a soft thud on Mara’s shoulder. For a moment she stared at it, transfixed, as the water absorbed itself into the fabric of her jacket and bled across its fibres.

“Of course, most couples organise a back-up venue in case of inclement weather.”

Cleo, the venue manager, peeked down at the suede-detailed wedges on her feet. Mara had noticed Cleo’s wedges when they first arrived at The Elderflower Estate moments ago. The shoes were impeccably, impossibly clean – especially for a woman who supposedly spent her days traipsing around an outdoor wedding venue. Mara imagined that Cleo had a supply of baby wipes stashed somewhere on her person, ready to smudge away any hint of mud.

Inclement weather, Mara thought. She felt another raindrop sink itself into the hair on her crown. The sky above them was aflame with leaden clouds. Craig, her fiancé, squeezed her hand. Cleo led them up a leafy, winding path. The marquee appeared suddenly, standing alone in a wide clearing. A mass of gumtrees and pine guarded it overhead. Behind the trees, a line of ragged mountains carved out the space between the valley and the clouds. Mara could hear birds nearby, squawking and singing in the trees. The scent of the earth floated thick in the air: dust-like from the rain. It reminded Mara of the creek she grew up by. The smell of it always made her feel like she was playing witness to a whole, beautiful eco-system at work. Craig, usually quiet and unimpressed, flashed Mara a quick smile. Cleo pointed out a eucalypt nearby, where a sleeping koala rested while hugging a branch. Mara felt a laugh bubble up inside her. There was something about the delight of it all. When had she ever seen anything so simple before? So pure?

Mara closed her eyes for a second. Was it just a second? A milli-second? A minute? When she opened them, the venue manager was zipping open the entrance to the marquee and Craig was helping her part the clear plastic sheets that held the front piece together.

Mara squinted at the marquee, her eyes struggling to adjust. It was as if her brain didn’t know how to focus on the mass of thick plastic in the midst of the trees and the mountains and the wildlife. Something about it felt off. She looked at the trees and then back to the marquee. It was ghostly in its transparency, absurd in its clean lines and pointed corners.

In her peripheral vision, Craig waved his arms, mouthing something to her. Come on. Mara hurried in to join them.

Inside the marquee, everything was perfect. It was exceptionally, profoundly clean. The plastic filtered the light flawlessly. Quiet and temperate. “We can accommodate just about any seating layout you’d like,” Cleo said. “Bridal table at the top, through the middle, circular tables – ”

Mara looked beyond the confines of the marquee. She could see a large clearing in the distance, slightly overgrown. Scraggly. Cleo scrunched up her nose. “We could look into it for you.” she said, drawing out the last syllable. “I wouldn’t recommend it, though. Who wants rain ruining their hair on their big day?” Cleo smiled, then tilted her head.

Mara paused, then smiled back, “right.” *

They booked the venue, eventually. Mara paid the deposit herself, watching the funds disappear from her bank balance in an instant. None of it felt completely real. As spring slid into summer, she found herself spending more and more time talking about the wedding with friends, family, colleagues. She felt like she was always talking about the wedding. She wanted to stop talking about the wedding.

“It’s not that I don’t want to get married,” she explained to Craig one night, through a mouth full of Pad Thai. The useless standing fan they had propped up in their living room squeaked urgently and the air in the room was thick with warmth. She wiped a layer of sweat off her forehead. “It’s just all this wedding crap. I’m over it.”

The summer before the wedding brought fire: hot and wild, spreading across the country like a rash. They watched the flaming maps on TV, noticed how the fire skirted around the hinterland near their wedding venue. Mara found herself waking up frequently in the small hours of the morning, so sure that their whole world had collapsed into grimy ash. It was strangely comforting: those first few, transient minutes when she could believe that nothing else existed in the world but herself and Craig.

The flames never reached the boundary of the Elderflower Estate, after all. But the world soon shifted again. The wedding, scheduled for early April, was cancelled anyway. The whole globe seemed to be cleaving itself apart, limb by limb.

But, despite all of it, Mara couldn’t help but feel light. Everything gone. Nothing left. Just Mara, just Craig. She thought of the trees in The Elderflower Estate, imagined them exhaling slowly. All alone. At last.

Mara was on her knees, ripping out weeds in the garden, when Cleo called in a huff.

“You must be so disappointed,” Cleo said, sighing. “I can’t imagine what you must be going through.” “Yes, of course,” Mara said. With her phone wedged between her ear and her shoulder, she let Cleo’s voice fade into the background as she examined the weeds in her hands, ripped from their roots. She hated the sound they made as she tore them from the earth. It was a scream, low and short, like tearing tendon from bone.

That night, Mara and Craig lay still in their bed. Craig sighed about the work ahead of them: rescheduling the date, reorganising time off from work, the cost of it all. Mara thought again of the greenery of The Elderflower Estate, the bowing branches, the perfect leaves. She remembered the marquee, immense and plastic. She imagined a huge gust of wind sweeping down the valley and blowing the marquee away. Whoosh. She was a moment away from sleep when she heard the rain. It was soft at first, then stronger. It asserted itself on their roof, insisting on being heard, sounding like huge sheets of water crashing down on their rickety little house. Mara shuffled out of bed and watched from the back deck as the rain battered down on the garden.

She ambled into the yard and laid herself down on the grass, feeling the blades tickle the inside of her ears. She closed her eyes. She let the rain trickle down the side of her neck, let it fall in between her fingers.

This article was originally published in Issue 12, Complicated

PHOTOGRAPHY BY SAM HOPE

PHOTOGRAPHY BY SAM HOPE