Apple and Rain

by Sarah Crossan

  ‘Who cares? You can paint your toenails,’ she says, like that might keep my feet warm.

  I try staggering around for a minute when Rain appears again.

  ‘You look weird,’ she says. Her voice is flat and honest.

  ‘She looks great!’ Mum says, and puts her arm around me. I love the touch of that arm, especially facing Rain, and I feel myself expand.

  The shoes suddenly feel less uncomfortable. The dress isn’t so bad.

  I go to the kitchen to arrange the nibbles.

  21

  The party starts at eight, but no one shows up until ten when everyone piles through the door together. I carry around a plate of cheese and crackers, telling everyone I meet that I’m Mum’s daughter.

  ‘Annie’s kid? Really?’ ‘You look like her.’ ‘She really does!’ ‘Cute dress!’

  ‘Want some Brie?’ I ask.

  The food runs out quickly. The drinks don’t. Everyone keeps sipping wine and the more they sip, the louder the room gets. Even though it’s freezing out, the windows are open, so people can blow smoke through them. The music gets louder and louder.

  ‘Apple, Apple, there’s someone you have to meet,’ Mum shouts. She waves at me through the throng of people.

  I weave my way towards her. She hands me her glass of red wine. ‘You seem like you need a drink,’ she says. She laughs. The man next to her laughs too. And they’re both watching me. I take a gulp of the wine. It tastes like cough medicine, only worse.

  ‘This is Merlin,’ Mum says. She pushes the man towards me.

  ‘As in the druid?’ I ask.

  The man nods like a mechanical toy. ‘Exactly. Although my real name’s Martin. But who remembers a name like that?’

  I take another swig of wine and shudder. Mum grabs a bottle of Coke from the kitchen counter and uses it to top up the glass.

  I stare into the maroon concoction.

  ‘Don’t look so terrified. It’s calimocho,’ she says.

  Merlin sniffs. ‘Not without ice and lemon, it isn’t. Ugh.’ He elbows past Mum and returns thirty seconds later with a fistful of ice, which he throws into my glass, splashing the drink all over my arm. Then he sticks a slice of lemon into it too.

  I hope he has clean hands.

  ‘Now that’s calimocho,’ he says. ‘What do you think?’

  I sip the cocktail, expecting it to taste no better, but it is better. It’s sweet with a little fizz. It’s nice and cold. I can hardly taste the wine at all.

  I smile.

  ‘You don’t have to be polite, you know. You can have plain old Coke,’ Mum says. She offers me an empty glass.

  I shake my head. ‘It’s good,’ I say.

  Mum laughs. ‘A girl after my own heart. Now, Merlin, I have to tell you that Apple didn’t want to wear the dress. But I told her she can’t cover up her curves for ever.’

  Merlin’s eyes run up my legs to the dress and follow the lines of my body to my face. I want to tell him I’m only thirteen, but it might be rude to say something like that, so I go quiet instead. I hunch my shoulders to hide myself as much as I can. ‘She’s a beauty all right,’ he says. ‘Like her mother.’ Suddenly he pinches Mum’s bum. I expect her to smack him. Instead, she laughs.

  ‘Where’s your other one?’ Merlin asks.

  ‘I don’t know. Apple?’

  How should I know where Rain is? She’s probably tucked away somewhere trying to breastfeed.

  ‘Can you make sure she’s OK?’ Mum asks.

  For a second I don’t move. But when Mum tilts her head to the side and smiles, I just want to be useful. ‘Sure,’ I say. It’s a small flat. She can’t be far.

  I find her curled up in the top bunk with Jenny. Her eyes are closed. She doesn’t hear me come in. ‘Rain,’ I say. I touch her leg.

  She jumps up and pulls out a pair of earphones. ‘What do you want?’ She crawls into the corner where I can’t reach her.

  ‘Are you OK?’

  ‘As if you care.’ She sits the doll on her lap and rests her chin on its head.

  ‘Mum wants to know,’ I say.

  ‘Well, you can tell Mom I’m fine, except Jenny can’t sleep with all the noise. When are they leaving?’

  I shrug. People are still arriving.

  ‘But it’s almost midnight,’ she says. She points to the clock above the tiny desk we’ll have to share once she starts school.

  ‘Why don’t you come in and dance or something?’

  ‘Is that booze?’ she asks, staring at my glass.

  ‘It’s none of your business. Are you coming or not?’ I ask. I know I’m not being nice. I can’t help it.

  Rain pulls the duvet over her head. ‘Get out!’ she shouts.

  Back in the sitting room, Mum is standing next to a woman with her hair wrapped in a multi-coloured scarf.

  ‘Rain’s OK,’ I say.

  Mum blinks. ‘Huh? Oh yeah, good. Good.’

  ‘Who’s this?’ the woman asks.

  ‘This is Apple, Gina,’ Mum says.

  ‘Apollinia? No way. My God, I feel old,’ Gina says. She covers her eyes with her hands and screams.

  ‘Gina was my best friend at school. She’s been babysitting Rain for me,’ Mum says.

  ‘We were inseparable until . . .’ Gina trails off. She smiles at me awkwardly. I get it. They were friends until I came along and ruined everyone’s fun. But I won’t ruin anyone’s fun now. I guzzle down the last of the calimocho in my glass.

  ‘Can I get you a drink, Gina?’ I ask.

  Gina raises her eyebrows. ‘What have you got?’

  ‘I’ll make you a calimocho,’ I say.

  ‘Sounds delicious,’ Gina says.

  Mum laughs. ‘My girl,’ she says.

  22

  My head swims like I’m bobbing for apples. I sit up and open my eyes. I press my hand against my mouth to stop myself from being sick. The nausea passes. Slowly I sink into my pillow again and curl into a tight ball.

  Rain comes into the room and bashes about under my bunk.

  ‘What are you looking for?’ I moan.

  ‘Not my fault you’re hung-over,’ Rain says. She con­­tinues to rummage.

  I rub my eyelids and try opening them again. I feel so sick I groan.

  ‘You should’ve drunk water,’ Rain says.

  ‘Thanks for the advice, but it’s the middle of the night. Go back to sleep.’

  ‘It’s six o’clock,’ she says. ‘Technically that’s morning, and Mom says I can get up as long as it’s after six. So go stick it.’

  ‘Please, Rain.’ I roll over.

  She yanks a strange contraption from her box under the bed.

  ‘What is that?’ I ask.

  ‘A carrier.’

  ‘What kind of carrier?’

  ‘A baby carrier. I’m taking Jenny for a walk. Mom won’t buy me a stroller.’

  My head sloshes. I go to the window and pull back the curtain. The street lamps are still on. The moon is glowing. ‘It’s too dangerous to go out on your own. Wait until the sun comes up,’ I say.

  ‘You’re not my mother,’ she says. She snaps the carrier around her waist and stomps out. I listen to her getting ready and gaze outside at the wet road, the light from the yellow street lamps reflected in it.

  I groan again and follow her into the sitting room.

  Rain has the doll attached to her chest with the carrier and is pulling a coat over both of them.

  ‘Watch TV until it gets light,’ I plead.

  She ignores me.

  ‘Fine, I’m coming with you.’ I put my coat on over my pyjamas and slip my feet into Mum’s knee-high boots. I look ridiculous. I feel even worse – like my head’s a balloon that someone keeps trying to blow more air into.

  We leave the house quietly and remain in silence all the way down to the seafront. The arcades and shops are still boarded up. The gulls are swooping back and forth across the beach looking for worms and bits of yesterday’s sandwiches in the sand. The
sun is rising. The sea has a grainy, orange tinge.

  ‘I’m going for a paddle,’ Rain says. She skips down the steps to the sand.

  ‘It’s freezing,’ I say.

  ‘So what?’

  I feel too sick to go with her, so sit on a bench, looking at the waves nibbling the sand.

  Rain takes off her trainers and rolls up her jeans. She lets the freezing water cover her feet.

  ‘Careful!’ I shout.

  She wades in until the water is up to her knees.

  ‘Rain!’

  I jump up and run to the shoreline. ‘You’ll hurt Jenny!’ I kick off Mum’s boots. Rain turns. She blinks and walks towards me. Then she stands on the beach, looking down at her feet in the sand.

  ‘I wasn’t going to hurt her,’ she says.

  ‘The sea is dangerous.’

  ‘Brooklyn is by the sea. I’m not stupid.’

  ‘Well, what if a massive wave pulled you in?’

  ‘I come down here all the time.’ She finds a dry stretch of sand and sits so she can put her wet feet back into her trainers. I do the same with the boots.

  ‘What do you mean? At six in the morning when no one’s about? It isn’t safe. There could be . . .’ I trail off. I want to say killers or paedophiles but that would make me sound like Nana – Nana’s the last person I want to sound like.

  ‘What could there be?’

  ‘Gangs,’ I say.

  ‘Gangs?’

  ‘Gangs, yes.’

  Rain laughs and it makes me stare at her teeth because I’m sure it’s the first time I’ve seen them. ‘Brampton-on-Sea doesn’t have gangs,’ she says.

  All I can do is shrug.

  On the promenade, a man is lifting up the metal shutters of his café.

  ‘Morning,’ he says. He wipes down a chalkboard.

  ‘Do you have any money?’ I ask Rain.

  She puts a hand into her jeans and pulls out a fiver.

  ‘Want beans on toast?’ I don’t know if I can stomach it, but if I don’t eat something, I’m going to vomit all over Mum’s boots.

  ‘Ugh,’ Rain says. ‘What kind of beans?’

  ‘Baked beans. Haven’t you ever had beans on toast?’

  She shakes her head.

  ‘Welcome to England,’ I say. I grab the fiver and lead her inside.

  When we get home, I sit on the couch next to Rain watching TV and eating chunks of cheese left over from the party. My head no longer hurts. But Mum looks awful – she has black rings under her eyes, her hair is knotted, and she’s unusually pale.

  ‘Hey,’ I say.

  Mum goes to the kitchen where she reaches for a box of paracetamol. She pops two into her mouth and washes them down with tap water.

  ‘She’s got a hangover like you,’ Rain says. She grabs the remote control from me.

  ‘I think I must be coming down with something,’ Mum says. ‘And it’s not a hangover, thank you very much, Rain.’

  Rain opens her mouth to respond when the doorbell jangles.

  ‘Who the hell is that on a Sunday?’ Mum complains. She ties her hair into a messy bun.

  ‘Want me to go down?’ I ask. I’m not dressed either, but I look better than she does.

  ‘Yes. And whoever it is, tell them to skedaddle. Especially if it’s Merlin. God, I couldn’t get him to leave last night.’

  A memory of last night comes back to me: Mum talking to Merlin in the hall. They were standing very close to one another. I think they may have been holding hands.

  I slip down the stairs and into the hall, expecting to see Merlin or Gina or someone else from last night, but when I open the door, Nana is standing there. Her face is screwed up and she’s holding her handbag against her body like she’s scared someone’s about to pinch it.

  ‘I was worried you might be sick,’ she says.

  I shake my head. Could she know about the calimocho? ‘I’m OK. Why?’

  ‘I need to see your mother.’

  I glance behind me. ‘Mum’s not well.’

  Nana’s eyes grow wide. ‘I’m coming in. I’ve a right to know where you live,’ she says. She pushes past me up the stairs.

  By the time I get into the sitting room, Nana and Mum are facing each other like animals about to attack.

  ‘Why wasn’t Apple at Mass today? Is she not going any more? Is that a decision you’ve made for her?’

  Mum tightens the belt on her dressing gown and folds her arms across her chest. ‘I forgot,’ Mum says.

  And so had I. ‘Sorry, Nana. I’ll come next week.’

  ‘Maybe if you were up before noon, it would help,’ Nana says to Mum. She scans the apartment, taking in the bottles, glasses and paper plates from yesterday’s party. ‘It stinks of alcohol and cigarettes in here. Is this the kind of life you’re giving your daughter?’

  ‘I’m sorry it isn’t wholesome enough for you,’ Mum says.

  Nana suddenly goes quiet. Without looking, I know what she’s seen.

  Rain is standing with Jenny in her arms staring at Nana.

  The room is silent.

  Nana lays her handbag on one of the cardboard boxes. ‘Are you one of Apple’s friends?’ she says quietly.

  Rain shakes her head.

  ‘No. No, I didn’t think you were. What’s your name?’

  Rain looks at Mum. I think she might cry.

  ‘This is your granddaughter. Her name’s Rain,’ Mum says. Her voice is full of accusation, but I’m not sure what Nana’s done wrong.

  ‘Rain?’ Nana whispers. She doesn’t look angry any more. She holds out her hand and beckons Rain towards her as though Rain’s a shy puppy. I’d been so busy thinking about myself and the shock of having a new sister, I never thought about what it would be like for Nana to have another grandchild.

  Rain stands like a statue.

  Mum sighs. ‘This is your grandmother, Rain. I told you about her. I showed you a photograph, remember. This is her.’

  ‘Apple was living with you before, wasn’t she?’ Rain says.

  Nana nods. ‘Yes, she was.’

  ‘Well, you can have her back if you like because we don’t have room here,’ Rain says.

  ‘Rain!’ Mum shouts.

  On films and TV I’ve seen reunions. Long-lost relatives hug and scream and cry. But this is nothing like that. This is the exact opposite to that. I don’t want to be here – I want to go into my room and squeeze myself into one of the plastic boxes under the bed.

  Nana looks at her hands and fiddles with her wedding ring. Then she turns to Mum with fire in her eyes. ‘How dare you?’ she says.

  ‘How dare I what?’ Mum says. She clicks on the kettle she bought at the supermarket.

  ‘Apple, please give us a minute,’ Nana says.

  I wait for a sign from Mum, so I know whether to leave or not, but Mum is busy making herself a coffee.

  ‘Please, Apple,’ Nana says.

  I pull Rain down the hall into our room. We can still hear everything. We sit on my bunk listening, Rain clutching Jenny tighter than ever.

  Nana: You didn’t think to tell me you had another child?

  Mum: Don’t you come into my home ranting and raving.

  Nana: I’ll do what I like when my granddaughters are at stake.

  Mum: They aren’t your problem.

  Nana: But why would you keep something like this from me? And from Apple? I just don’t understand it.

  Mum: It was for the best.

  Nana: The best? The best? Whose best exactly? My God, Annie, you are unbelievable. You show up out of the blue and carry Apple off without one thought for how I feel. What’s her view of this long-lost sister? Have you asked her?

  Mum: Oh, give it a rest. Anyone would think I’d killed someone the way you go on.

  Nana: I really don’t know what I did wrong to make you behave like you do, Annie.

  Mum: Well, I guess you did something.

  Rain’s small fingers tickle my leg. She’s crying big bubbly tears. I
try to put an arm around her shoulder, but she stiffens. I hold her hand instead.

  ‘It’s OK,’ I say. ‘They argue like this sometimes.’

  ‘I don’t like it,’ Rain says.

  ‘No,’ I say. Neither do I. But that’s what happens every time Mum and Nana are together.

  ‘They don’t love each other,’ Rain says.

  I’m not sure that’s true. ‘They love each other, but I don’t think they like each other very much,’ I say.

  Rain frowns. ‘That doesn’t make sense.’

  ‘Do you love Mum?’

  She bites her thumb.

  ‘Doesn’t she ever get on your nerves?’

  ‘Like, always.’

  ‘It’s a bit like that. I have this dog called Derry, who’s really sweet. I love him like mad, but sometimes he pukes on the stairs or farts when we’re eating, and then I could really kick him.’

  She smiles. ‘Do you actually kick him?’

  ‘No! I love him too much to kick him.’

  And finally she laughs, just as Mum appears around the door. ‘Nana’s heading off now, if you want to say goodbye, Apple,’ she says.

  I go into the living room where Nana is standing, looking into the sink piled with dirty dishes.

  ‘I worry,’ she says quietly.

  ‘I’m fine, Nana,’ I say.

  Nana yanks a woollen hat from her bag and pulls it over her forehead. ‘Maybe you and Rain would like to come for dinner soon,’ she says.

  I hesitate.

  ‘Your mother said it would be OK.’

  ‘OK,’ I say.

  ‘Well, I’ll head off then. I’ve plenty of things to be getting on with.’

  I only left Nana a couple of days ago, but already I’ve forgotten how to act around her. I stand staring at her, wringing my hands.

  Nana waits a couple of seconds, and when she realises we’re done, turns and heads down the stairs. ‘God bless you all,’ she calls out and leaves me feeling like a piece of me has left too.

  Part 3

  23

  ‘Are you sure you want to take Jenny with you?’ Mum asks Rain on our way to school. ‘I’d be happy to keep her with me.’

  ‘She’d cry,’ Rain says. She’s sitting in the back of the car wearing the same green uniform I wore when I was at Littleton Park. Jenny is perched on her lap; Rain hasn’t insisted on a car seat yet.