Apple and Rain

by Sarah Crossan

  ‘Well, go on, have a taste. It’s very common in America,’ Mum says.

  I dip a piece of calamari into tomatoey sauce and pop it into my mouth. It’s rubbery but good. I reach for more.

  ‘Told you you’d like it,’ Mum says. She pushes her white wine towards me. I take a sip and giggle. I feel sort of light-headed, but I don’t know if it’s because of the wine or how excited I am to be with my mum. She takes back her glass and guzzles down the last bit. Then she holds it up for the waiter to see. He scutters off to fetch another. ‘Nothing like a chilled glass of Chardonnay,’ she says.

  She gazes out at the sea.

  The tide is in. Waves crash against the cliffs in thick, noisy gulps. Mum stares for a few minutes and I watch her, not saying anything.

  The waiter places the wine on the table between us. Without taking her eyes from the sea, Mum reaches for the glass and sips. She doesn’t really resemble other mums: she’s wearing loads of chunky necklaces over a thin T-shirt. And her nose is pierced.

  ‘When I was your age, I had a boyfriend called Glen. He was four years older than me, and I used to sneak down to the seafront with him. He always had money for beers. That’s naughty, isn’t it?’ She looks at me like she expects me to say something. I try to think of what she wants to hear. Then she yawns, so I pop another piece of calamari into my mouth and chew. ‘How is it living with Nana?’

  ‘Nice. OK. She’s a bit strict.’

  Mum snorts. ‘Nothing changes there. She used to make me miserable.’

  ‘It’s better than living with Dad. Then I’d have to see his new wife every day. Her name’s Trish. I hate her.’

  Mum laughs. ‘I think there’s a law that you’re meant to hate your stepmother!’

  ‘I suppose.’ I push a piece of calamari across my plate. It’s too much to finish.

  ‘Want dessert? I’m having a piece of the warm choc­olate fudge cake.’

  ‘That sounds lovely,’ I say, still hardly able to believe I’m really with my mum. This is the best day of my life.

  Ever.

  9

  Eventually Mum and I have to go back to Nana’s house, and when we get through the door, it’s like jumping into a box of exploding fireworks.

  Nana sends me straight upstairs where I burrow beneath my duvet to try to drown out the sound of Nana screaming. Derry nuzzles my neck. It doesn’t help. I can still hear them.

  Nana: How dare you take her out of school without telling me! I was out of my mind with worry. I thought she’d been abducted, for God’s sake. I called the hospital and the police.

  Mum: I have a right to see my own child.

  Nana: Since when? Five hours ago? You stroll into her life like the last eleven years haven’t even happened. I won’t have you hurting her, do you hear me?

  Mum: We were having fun. She’s happy. Go and ask her.

  Nana: I’m sure she is, Annie. But that might be because she’s thirteen years old and you took her drinking. Do you think that’s how a mother behaves?

  Mum: She had a few sips.

  Nana: And I suppose that makes it OK?

  Mum: I’m sorry, but I’m back in Brampton for good, and I want a relationship with her. I hope you can support that.

  Nana: How dare you? I’ve spent years trying to persuade you to take an interest in Apple.

  Mum: I’ve always been interested in her. I’ve had . . . things to sort out. I couldn’t be what she needed. But I’m here for her now. I’m not eighteen any more. I can be a mother. I am a mother. And not a bad one.

  Derry sniffs my armpit. ‘Get off.’ I push him away. Why am I hiding upstairs and not with Mum, defending her? If I let Nana keep shouting, maybe she’ll persuade Mum to run away again. I don’t want that.

  I fly down the stairs, closely followed by Derry. Mum is sitting at the kitchen table. Nana is towering over her.

  ‘Leave Mum alone!’ I shout.

  ‘I told you to wait in your room,’ Nana says sternly. Any other time I would scurry away. Not today.

  Mum’s mascara is smudged and her eyes are red from crying.

  And then the front door opens and is slammed shut. Derry barks, growls and backs himself into a corner.

  ‘Bernadette? Apple?’ It’s Dad. Nana must have been so worried she called him. And he came. He actually came.

  He charges into the kitchen, smashing the door against the fridge. Mum jumps up. When Dad sees her, he gasps and drops his phone.

  ‘Chris. Hi. You’re looking good,’ Mum says. Her hair falls over one eye and she smiles. She’s so pretty. I wish she would steal Dad away from Trish.

  ‘We thought she’d been bloody well kidnapped. Now I see you’re behind this. Why didn’t I guess?’ Dad folds his arms across his chest. He glares at Mum. He’s not flirting with her, I can tell that much.

  Mum tries to look sorry. ‘I didn’t mean to have anyone running to the priest to arrange a funeral. I wanted to see her. I got off the plane, and I couldn’t wait.’

  Dad keeps his arms folded, but his expression softens. ‘You flew in today?’

  ‘This morning. I just finished a show.’

  Dad smiles. Nana’s mouth is puckered into a sour pout.

  ‘That’s lovely, Annie. I do hope your adoring audience gave you a standing ovation,’ Nana says. ‘I’m wondering what the plan is now. Are you going to tap-dance on the pier for money?’

  Mum stands up and puts on her coat. ‘I have to go now. I’ve appointments this evening to see some two-bed apartments. I’m hoping that Apple . . .’ She pauses and takes a deep breath. ‘I want Apple to come and live with me.’

  Nana’s eyes become hot clots of rage. Dad winces like he’s been pinched. But no one speaks. I can’t even think. I feel dizzy as the blood stutters around my heart. Live with her? In a place that isn’t Nana’s house?

  ‘The truth is, Apple isn’t happy,’ Mum says. ‘Isn’t that right, Apple?’

  Nana pulls her hands out of her pockets. Is she going to hit Mum?

  ‘Apple told me that you basically treat her like a prisoner, and that Chris is wrapped up in his new wife and life. I want to give her more.’

  Dad and Nana turn to me. My face flushes. Why is Mum telling them what I’ve said? It wasn’t meant to be broadcast.

  ‘Is this true, Apple?’ Nana’s eyes tighten into thin lines.

  I pick at the skin around my nails. Maybe if I do this for a while everyone will ignore me and continue fighting with each other. They wait for me to speak.

  ‘I don’t need to be collected from school,’ I murmur.

  ‘Trish has only ever been kind to you, Apple,’ Dad says.

  ‘It’s OK, Apple,’ Mum says. She gets up from the table, stands behind me and places her hands on my shoulders. She’s on my side, and Nana and Dad seem to be on the other.

  Derry cowers in his basket. He can tell something hor­­rible is happening. I want to snuggle with him, so we’ll both feel better.

  ‘I don’t need an answer now, of course. Apple will need a few days to decide what she’d like to do,’ Mum says.

  Nana slams her fist on the kitchen table. ‘Apple is staying with me. I won’t even discuss it.’

  ‘If she wants to be with me, no court would prevent it,’ Mum says quietly, and although I’m not entirely sure what this means, it makes Nana wobble and I wish Mum hadn’t said it.

  ‘I think you should go,’ Dad snaps. He grabs Mum’s studded leather handbag from the back of one of the kitchen chairs and flings it at her.

  You’d never know Mum was in the middle of an argument. She seems to be smirking. ‘You have a think about it, Apple, OK? Decide for yourself.’

  I nod dumbly.

  ‘Get out!’ Dad shouts.

  ‘And remember that I love you,’ Mum adds.

  A marble rises in my throat.

  ‘I know you do,’ I say. But until today, I had no idea.

  10

  Nana and Dad sit downstairs whispering. It’s obvious they a
re plotting against Mum. I don’t even try to overhear – I don’t want to know what they’re saying. To distract myself from having to think about it, I root in my school bag for my English homework. I find the poem Mr Gaydon gave me this morning and read through it.

  It’s a poem called ‘Stevie Scared’ about a boy who is scared of everything, and it’s sort of funny because he’s even scared of things like ladders and trees. But my favourite part of the poem is the last bit where we find out that Stevie is so afraid of the world that he hurts people to prove how tough he is; he acts mean so no one will ever know he’s a scaredy-cat.

  I wonder how the poem could relate to my life. But Stevie is not me. When I’m scared, I don’t fight with people – I shrivel up.

  I start typing.

  ‘Apple Afraid’ by Apple Apostolopoulou

  Apple Afraid, afraid of fights,

  Afraid of Christmas, of thundery nights,

  Afraid of butterflies, afraid of slugs,

  Afraid of Nana’s kisses, afraid of Dad’s hugs,

  Afraid of circuses, afraid of clowns,

  Afraid of Dad’s moods, afraid of Nana’s frowns,

  Afraid of speaking in front of the class,

  Afraid of being made to look like an ass,

  Afraid of having no friends at school,

  Afraid of all the girls who are easily cool,

  Afraid to be honest, afraid to be true,

  Afraid of Mum turning up out of the blue,

  Afraid of drowning, swallowing water,

  Afraid of being a lousy daughter.

  I check the word count: one hundred words exactly. I cup my chin in my hand and think about printing it and handing it in. I haven’t the energy to write another fake answer. But then there’s the problem of Mr Gaydon asking us to read aloud and edit one another’s work. If he let us work with our friends and I knew Pilar would read it, that would be OK. But he could pair me with anyone. I could get Jim Joyce, for God’s sake.

  I sigh and open a new document.

  ‘Derry’ by Apple Apostolopoulou

  My dog Derry is usually very sweet and obedient. But when I take him for a walk on the lead, he gets all excited and tries to break my arm. And the scariest part is when he sees another dog, especially a big one like a Rottweiler, because Derry doesn’t realise he’s only a soppy Labrador. He starts by sniffing the Rottweiler’s bum. Then they do this dance where they go around and around in circles until Derry barks angrily and so does the other dog and there’s chaos. I worry Derry will get killed in a dogfight some day.

  I press Print. The paper stammers out of the printer. I need to make a bigger effort with my English homework but not tonight. I have other things to think about, and doing well at school isn’t one of them.

  11

  ‘I like your Nana,’ Pilar says. ‘I’d stay with her.’ We’ve eaten lunch and are sitting on the tennis court behind the gym, sharing a bag of liquorice laces. It’s drizzling. No one else is about.

  ‘Nana’s so strict all the time.’

  ‘But why was your mum in America anyway?’ Pilar asks.

  ‘She’s an actress,’ I say. I puff with pride.

  ‘Couldn’t she come back for holidays?’

  ‘She was always busy.’

  ‘My uncle lives in California and he said that in America you don’t get any holidays. I mean, he gets Christmas Day off, but there’s not even any such thing as Boxing Day. He works on Saturdays too.’

  ‘I don’t know how much she worked,’ I admit.

  Pilar’s phone vibrates, and she checks it.

  ‘Who’s that?’ I ask.

  ‘No one.’

  Is she trying to keep secrets from me? I poke her. ‘What do you mean “no one”?’

  ‘It’s Donna. She said she wants to tell me something when we get to history later.’

  ‘Hold on. You two are actually friends now?’ I ask.

  Pilar pulls another liquorice lace from the packet. She twists it around her index finger until the tip turns purple. ‘I think so. She’s nice. Not one bit snobby like you thought.’

  ‘I never said she was snobby.’

  Pilar bites the purple tip of her finger. ‘Have you seen E.T.?’

  ‘No,’ I say sharply. Talking about films isn’t going to help me make a decision about where to live. And I’m annoyed she’s suddenly chummy with Donna Taylor but I’m not.

  ‘Well, E.T. is this creature who comes from another planet,’ Pilar says.

  ‘Yeah, I know that.’

  ‘All right, all right. Anyway, E.T. comes down and meets this boy called Elliott who’s lonely and stuff, and he really loves Elliott and they have fun together and everything but then, at the end – spoiler alert – he goes back to space because that’s where he’s meant to be. It isn’t safe on Earth.’ Pilar raises her eyebrows.

  Is the story supposed to mean something? I shake my head. She throws up her arms, exasperated.

  ‘Oh, come on. Your mum is obviously like E.T. She really loved America and everything, but there’s no place like home, is there?’

  ‘That’s the wrong film you’re thinking of. It’s Dorothy from The Wizard of Oz who says “there’s no place like home”.’

  ‘But you get my point,’ Pilar says.

  The bell rings for the end of lunch. Pilar jumps up. I stay where I am.

  Pilar takes off towards 200 Block and double French. ‘Come on!’ she shouts.

  Puddles are forming in the dips in the playground. The rain is more than a drizzle now.

  I imagine I am wearing ruby wellingtons. If I were, and I could bump them together and find myself in either Nana’s house or Mum’s, where would I go? What would I wish for?

  ‘There’s no place like home,’ I say aloud. I think of Nana, her mouth bent into an angry grimace.

  ‘There’s no place like home,’ I say again. I think of Mum’s beautiful American smile.

  ‘There’s no place like home,’ I say one last time. I close my eyes. I bump my heels together. When I open my eyes, I’m still at school.

  And I’m no closer to knowing where home is.

  ‘Hurry up, Apple! Nous sommes going to be trop tard,’ Pilar shouts.

  I stuff the liquorice laces into my blazer pocket and follow Pilar to class.

  12

  When Nana and I get home from school that evening, Mum is sitting on our front steps eating a scone. ‘Hey guys!’ she says. She jumps up. Crumbs fall from her denim skirt. She’s got leopard print tights on under it.

  ‘What do you want?’ Nana asks.

  ‘Hi, Mum!’ I say. I go to her and she kisses both my cheeks.

  ‘I’ve found an apartment in a good neighbourhood. I wondered if Apple wanted to come over for dinner. I’ve someone I’d like her to meet.’

  ‘I’d love to come,’ I say.

  Nana clicks her tongue. She takes my hand and forces me to stand behind her as though Mum’s a bomb that could detonate at any second. ‘I’ve baked salmon for dinner. I don’t like waste.’

  ‘How about after dinner then?’ Mum asks.

  ‘Apple has homework to do and she has school tomorrow, in case you’d forgotten,’ Nana says. She is careful not to say no outright.

  ‘OK.’ Mum nibbles on a fingernail. ‘How about the weekend?’

  ‘Apple practises her clarinet at the weekends.’

  ‘Not for the whole weekend,’ I say. I peep out from behind Nana. Mum tilts her head to the side and smiles. My insides bubble. I still can’t believe she’s back. I keep expecting I’ll wake up from a dream or Nana will sit me down and break the news that Mum’s gone again.

  ‘Sunday?’ Mum asks.

  ‘You can fetch her at one o’clock after we’ve been to Mass, but you’re to have her back before five, so she can get ready for the week,’ Nana says. She marches up the steps, past Mum, and roughly unlocks the front door. ‘Come inside please, Apple.’ I do as I’m told. Nana leaves Mum there on the steps like some criminal we need to
be afraid of.

  ‘Can’t she come in?’ I ask.

  Mum tucks her hair behind her ears, which have three piercings apiece. ‘It’s all right, Apple.’

  ‘No, it isn’t all right. It’s my house too,’ I say.

  ‘Go upstairs and do your homework,’ Nana says.

  ‘Go on, Apple. I’ll see you on Sunday.’

  I don’t want to, but I stomp up to my room. I open the window and look out. I can only see the tops of Mum’s and Nana’s heads.

  I can hear everything.

  Mum: I told you I was sorry.

  Nana: Eleven years, Annie. That is how long I have waited to hear you say it.

  Mum: Can you let me try to make it up to you? I’ve someone I want you to meet. An important someone.

  Nana: I don’t think so. Apple’s had quite enough of that kind of thing from her father.

  Mum: What? Oh yeah, I see what you mean. So Chris got married eventually. I don’t know why, but it makes me sad.

  Nana: Could we avoid the melodrama, if possible, Annie? Now don’t you be late on Sunday.

  Nana disappears inside. The door bangs. Mum shuffles down the steps.

  When she’s at the bottom, she looks up at the house and sees me. I wave, and she waves back. And I start wondering how it would be if I never had to wave goodbye any more. I start thinking it would be really nice.

  13

  The first thing Mum and I do on Sunday afternoon is make a stop at The Palace Hotel. I’ve had lunch, so Mum orders me a vanilla milkshake and a fudge brownie. She eats a pear and goat’s cheese salad. We talk about TV and books and school – things I can’t speak to Nana about because Nana’s only hobbies are going to church and watching cookery programmes.

  ‘Donna Taylor thinks she’s something then, does she?’ Mum asks, her eyes wide, so I know she’s interested.