The Woman in the Raindrops

She comes to me every night in the rain.

Actually, let me rephrase that. I see her come to me when it rains, but I think she comes every night. It’s pretty hard to explain. I see the rain bounce off her body, off her face. I see the raindrops running down her skin, soaking into her clothes, but I don’t see her.

It’s like, I dunno, the invisible man or something. Like she’s there, but, not there, if you know what I mean?

You know what? This is getting confusing, let me start again.

Dear, well, whoever you are. I dunno who’s supposed to be reading this, I’ve never kept a diary before. Dear, future me, I suppose.

My name’s Enna Koppens. I know, silly name. It’s Dutch. Not my fault, blame my dad. Anyway, yeah, I’m fifteen years old, and I’m a girl.

Do I need to put anything else? I don’t suppose it matters really. This is about the woman in the raindrops, not about how much I like strawberries, or my CD collection, awesome as it is. It’s not even about me. Not really anyway.

Except… I’ve always had this weird sense of familiarity with her. Like, as if she’s part of me or something. Hell, for all I know she might even be me. Like, a weird version of me, or something, that lives in the rain?



Yeah, I know, all a bit silly and fantasy, like a unicorn’s gonna turn up with a wizard on his back.

But it’s not exactly something you’d expect to happen in real life either. You don’t get episodes of Corrie with ghosts turning up when there’s a storm. Just, like, people having affairs and stuff.

Anyway, yeah, I’m getting a bit distracted.

She came to me again last night. Up to the window, and she stared at me. Or I think she stared – she might have had her eyes closed as far as I could tell, I only saw water streaming down a see-through face. But it felt like she was staring.

I stopped being scared a long time ago. She’s been visiting me since I was a kid. At first I thought it was a nightmare, a shape in the raindrops that stood at the end of the garden. And then one night when I stayed up to keep watch, she came right up to the window and looked at me.

I even remember her blowing me a kiss that night, but she can’t have, she always just stares.

The annoying thing is I’m the only one who can see her. My parents always just thought I was playing a game. They joined in for a bit, like they do when kids have an imaginary friend, but they didn’t really see her.

Mum told me I was being silly when I said she was real, but then parents never listen to kids, do they? How would they know, they just think they know everything, and if something different happens they don’t believe it.

She barely even knows me anyway, she’s always at work, or at one of her clubs or something. Trying to impress some rich idiots so they think our family’s posh. She barely sees me, and when she does it’s like she thinks I’m mad with this rainwater woman stuff. I haven’t even mentioned her properly for years! It’s pretty much why I got this diary! But she just, I dunno, focuses on everything else. Dad’s not much better, but at least he doesn’t think I’m crazy.

I don’t think I’m going mad, although I suppose I wouldn’t notice, would I? Do mad people think they’re going mad?

Yep, distracted again.

I’ve tried speaking to her. Even tried going outside and trying to touch her, but nothing happens. It’s like… she doesn’t quite exist on the other side of the glass, you know? When I see her through the window, it’s like she’s really there, but invisible, just on the other side of the glass. Like I could reach out and touch her if I wanted to. But if I open the window, or go outside to see her, she just seems further away, always just slightly out of reach.

She doesn’t talk either. Just stares, and occasionally smiles or something. I smile back. She seems to like that.

I know it sounds really scary, but you just kinda, I dunno, get used to it, weird as it sounds. Like learning to sleep without a night-light. It’s scary at first, but then it becomes normal, you know? Like she’s a friend that’s always been there, or a guardian angel or something that’s watching over me.

Sounds a bit creepy stalkery actually, but you know what I mean, I’m just not very good at explaining it.

I should probably practice this diary thing a bit better, I’ve gone over about four days writing this. Plus it’s midnight. I’ll write again some other time. Goodnight reader! xx



Dear Diary.

God, that sounds weird. Like the diary’s a person I’m writing to. A pen-pal or something. But it’s just what you put, isn’t it? Maybe I should think of something else to write. I’m not really one of those people who names their diary, that just seems silly.

I’ve not even named the woman in the rain, and she means a lot more to me than this book. No offence.

Sorry for not writing in here for the last week, it’s all been a bit hectic with exams and stuff. And a boy, but I don’t want this diary to be one of those. Too many girls at school have diaries full of that rubbish. The ones like Sammi Fletcher who sit behind me giggling over them and then slamming the book shut when boys glance at them. Grr!

Meh.

The rain woman has been visiting, as usual. It’s only rained a little bit recently, but I still saw her faintly. It happens. It sometimes goes weeks without raining, although not often – this is Scotland, after all! Even the summer doesn’t usually get more than two days without rain!

The days when I can’t see her, I do miss her. But I know she’s still there, and it makes me feel better. Comforting and stuff, if I’m feeling lonely or upset. It’s just nice, you know?

Not much else to say I suppose. Although she seems somehow sadder this week than she usually does. Probably nobody else would notice other than me, but I’ve known her most of my life, even if she’s never spoken, and I can tell how she feels. She’s definitely sadder. Her head hangs lower, her movement slowed down… the water dripping down her face always makes her look like she’s crying, but that’s not it. I just know.

Erm, that’s it, I suppose... talk to you again soon!

Bye! xx



Dear diary.

The woman in the raindrops stopped visiting after my last entry.

It’s been a few months since, and I’m sorry I haven’t been writing in the meantime, although I think you’ll understand why.

The woman stopped visiting on a particular day, and it’s a day that I’m never going to forget. She disappeared just when I most needed her. Typical really, considering.

Oh god, this is getting melodramatic.

The woman in the rain stopped visiting on the day my mother drowned.

That’s all I can say. But it makes the rest of it make more sense. Why she’s always been watching over me. Why she was so close when my mother, my living mother, was so distant. Why she smiled when I was happy, and why she was sad when she knew what was coming.

I know now, that my mother loved me. That she always loved me.

I know now, that my mother watched over me, and made sure I was okay.

From the raindrops.