Apple and Rain

by Sarah Crossan

  I’m left to switch out the lights and turn on the dishwasher. It’s not a big deal. It’s just some switches and buttons. But it feels like a big deal.

  For some reason, it feels like a really big deal.

  30

  I promise Rain that if she comes with me to church, I’ll make her a hot chocolate with cream later that day. She smiles for the first time all weekend and puts Jenny into the baby carrier. I forgot to set an alarm, so even though we jog all the way, we’re late. Really late. The priest is already giving his sermon.

  Nana turns and sees us slide into a back pew. Her hair is sprayed into a high puff that doesn’t move when she does. I expect her to be angry because I’m so late, but she smiles gently and turns back to face the altar.

  After Mass, we wait at the back of the church for Nana. Father Doherty sees me and pats my head. ‘What have I done to upset you now, wee one? I’ve had no one to bring up the offertory since you’ve been away.’ Father Doherty is Irish like Nana. But he’s from a different part – a place called Belfast – and he sounds like he still lives there. Sometimes he speaks so quickly, I can’t understand what he’s saying.

  ‘I moved in with my mum, father.’

  ‘Aye, sure I know, your granny told me about that. And how’s it going anyway?’

  ‘Good,’ I say.

  ‘That was a lovely sermon, father.’ It’s Nana. Father Doherty pulls Nana towards him and kisses her on the cheek. Father Doherty’s not like some of the other priests who stand on the altar like they’re God themselves. His sermons are always about how he did the wrong thing but then learned from it. Whenever I listen to him, I wonder what I could learn from my mistakes, but I’m not as clever as Father Doherty – I can’t turn my life into lessons.

  ‘Oh no, don’t tell me, there’s Mrs Baker. She’s been after me to help her organise a jumble sale. I’m going to scoot off and hide,’ Father Doherty says and away he goes.

  Nana pecks my cheek with dry lips. ‘Hello,’ she says. She’s almost shy.

  ‘Hi, Nana.’ We hardly look at each other. It’s stupid because we’ve lived our whole lives in the same house. There’s no reason for us to feel uneasy.

  Nana squats, so she’s eye to eye with Rain. ‘I’m glad you came too.’

  Rain knits her eyebrows together. She holds on to my coat.

  ‘Come on. I’ve a lovely piece of pork and lots of potatoes roasting in the oven,’ Nana says.

  Nana’s roasts are the best. The potatoes are always crunchy on the outside and soft in the middle. Her meat is never chewy. She makes her own apple sauce, which she calls Apple’s apple sauce, and she makes the gravy from meat juices, not a tin of Bisto.

  Rain eats like she’s never had a meal before. She stuffs half a potato into her mouth. Before she’s finished it, she stuffs some carrots in too. She forgets Jenny who is lying alone on the couch, Derry sniffing around her.

  Nana watches Rain but doesn’t criticise her manners like she would if I ate like that.

  ‘How are things going?’ Nana asks during dessert – homemade coffee and walnut cake with double cream.

  ‘Fine,’ I say. Derry comes in and rubs my leg with his nose. I break off a piece of cake, hide it and hold it out for him beneath the table. He lathers my hand in spit.

  ‘Fine? That it?’ Nana asks.

  ‘It’s great,’ I say.

  ‘Your mum’s well? She likes having two daughters to contend with?’

  ‘Mum’s a natural,’ I tell her.

  ‘Your dog’s licking my knees,’ Rain says. She giggles.

  Nana shoos Derry away. ‘He’s getting cheeky, that one. Been a bit spoilt since you left. So tell me, how do you like Brampton-on-Sea, Rain? Is school fun?’

  Rain answers without looking up. ‘I don’t go to school.’ I was so worried about Rain telling Nana about the parties and Egan Winters, I forgot to tell her to keep the school thing a secret.

  Nana puts down her spoon. ‘Really?’ she asks breezily.

  ‘The teachers and kids were mean about Jenny.’

  ‘Right,’ Nana says. When Rain used the bathroom earlier, I had a chance to tell Nana that Rain thinks Jenny’s real. She asked whether Mum’s taken her to see a doctor about it. I said she had, which is true; I just didn’t tell her when or where Rain saw this doctor. ‘So what do you do all day?’

  ‘I stay with Mom. Sometimes Apple takes care of me.’ She shovels the last piece of muddy-coloured cake into her mouth.

  A cloud appears across Nana’s face.

  ‘That’s not true. I stayed off one day,’ I say.

  ‘Well, I don’t think you should be staying off any day. You’ve always had one hundred per cent attendance at school, Apple.’ It’s true. Last year I got a certificate for it. I won’t get one this year though.

  ‘It was one day,’ I say.

  ‘Well, so long as one day doesn’t become two days and then three days.’ Her voice is stony and strict, how I remember it, but when she turns to Rain, she’s sweet again. ‘And what about you, pet? How do you learn, if you aren’t at school?’

  Rain pours more cream on to her plate. ‘Apple took me to the library. I got out some books.’

  Nana sighs. ‘I see.’

  ‘What do you see?’ I ask, because I know she doesn’t see. It’s typical of Nana not to understand – to make a big deal of nothing and make it seem like Mum’s the devil.

  ‘I think Annie and I have to talk,’ Nana says.

  I stand up. ‘We should go now, Rain. Come on.’

  ‘Sit down and wait for your mother to pick you up,’ Nana tells me.

  ‘She doesn’t have a car,’ Rain says.

  ‘Rain!’ I shout. I can’t help it. She’s giving Nana ammunition to use against Mum, which will lead to more arguments. All I want is for Nana and Mum to be friends, so I can see them both without feeling sticky with guilt.

  I rush to the hall and wait for Rain. Nana follows. She takes my hand and makes me look at her. ‘Apple, what’s going on?’

  My eyes brim with tears. I don’t know why. ‘Everything’s fine.’

  Nana rubs her eyebrows with the tips of her fingers. ‘Then why are you running away from me?’

  ‘We’ll come again soon,’ Rain says. She’s got Jenny back in the carrier.

  ‘Yes, we’ll come soon, Nana,’ I say and dash after my sister who is skipping down the steps, full of cake and potatoes.

  31

  Not having anyone to eat lunch with is the worst thing about Pilar dumping me, and it’s not like I can even hang around with Del because he’s signed himself up as a library monitor. So I stop going into the canteen. On the way to school I buy crisps and a doughnut and eat them on a bench behind the music room. The only day I don’t dread is Tuesday when orchestra practice takes up most of the lunch period, and I don’t have to be alone.

  I get to the music room before anyone else and head into the cupboard for a chair and music stand, when people scrape into the room. The stands are hidden behind a pile of tambourines. I’m about to drag one out when I hear Egan Winters’ voice.

  ‘I think I’ll go over and see her after school,’ he says.

  ‘You’re mad, mate!’ It’s Andrew. He doesn’t play an instrument. Sometimes he just comes to orchestra with Egan to eat lunch. I suspect he also likes ogling the Year Eleven girls playing cello.

  Egan lowers his voice. ‘Look, the age difference matters less the older you get. In a few years it wouldn’t seem that much.’

  My heart thrashes against my ribs like a frightened bird in a cage. The age difference? Could he be talking about me? Could he be talking about us? My breathing becomes so loud I wonder whether he can hear me. The rest of the horrible school day washes away and I feel like a rainbow is creeping into my shoes and spinning its way up my legs, into my belly, my chest, my head.

  ‘Even if she fancied you, I think it’s illegal. Why don’t you find someone in our year. What about Sara Watts?’ Andrew says.

&nbs
p; Egan makes a sound like he’s being sick. ‘Sara? Uh, no thanks. You ask her out, if you like her so much. And good luck getting her to brush those teeth.’ I’m so happy I almost let out a giggle. I press my forearm against my mouth to stifle it. Egan continues. ‘My only problem is Apple.’

  My hands fall to my sides. His problem? How? I like him too. Doesn’t he know that?

  ‘You shouldn’t have kissed her, mate. Seriously. Firstly, it was well dodgy. And secondly, it was obvious she thought it was for real. I bet it was her first kiss. You have that on your conscience,’ Andrew says.

  ‘It was a dare,’ Egan says. ‘And in case you’ve forgotten, you egged me on.’

  I know I’ve misunderstood something. He isn’t talking about me at all. He’s talking about someone else.

  ‘If she liked you, she wouldn’t let you kiss her daughter,’ Andrew says.

  The rainbow in my belly fizzles out. A heavy rock replaces it.

  ‘She wanted to see if I was a laugh. Anyway, she was so high, she’d have done anything. I wish she had.’ Egan laughs. Andrew does too.

  I crumple on to the floor. The tambourines behind me clink and clash.

  ‘What’s that?’ Egan says.

  He appears at the cupboard door.

  I stand up unsteadily, race out of the cupboard and grab my school bag.

  ‘Apple, wait!’ Egan says.

  ‘Oh, mate, you’re in it now,’ Andrew says. He bites into a Double Decker.

  Egan puts his flute on the floor and comes to me.

  I root in my school bag. I find his cap and throw it at him. ‘This has been stinking up our flat,’ I say.

  ‘Look, I’m sorry. I didn’t know you were in here.’

  ‘You fancy my mum? She’s in her thirties, and she told me that she thinks you’re immature and stupid,’ I say. ‘Anyway, she’s got a boyfriend. He’s rich and he drives a Porsche and he’s . . . an architect. So you haven’t got a chance.’

  Egan goes pale. ‘Oh. Yeah. I mean, I didn’t really think . . . you know. Andrew and I were messing around.’

  I don’t wait to hear any more. I have to go home.

  I storm out of the music room, across the playground and into the nurse’s office. I tell her I have the worst period pains ever. She asks all the usual questions, like what classes I have and whether I’ve had an argument with someone. When she’s satisfied with my lies, she calls Mum to pick me up. But Mum can’t because she hasn’t got a car. So I walk.

  At home Mum is lying on the couch watching TV. ‘Hey, sweets. I’ve got painkillers in my bag, if you need them.’

  ‘I’m OK,’ I say. I sit next to her.

  ‘You’re sweating. Have you got a temperature?’ She places the back of her hand against my forehead.

  ‘Mum, would you go out with someone who was seventeen?’

  She laughs.

  ‘I’m being serious.’

  ‘I went out with a seventeen-year-old once, Apple. That was your dad. I think he was enough for me.’

  ‘Right,’ I say.

  ‘Is everything OK?’ she asks. She yanks off my coat.

  I don’t want to tell her about Egan Winters. It’s too humiliating. I don’t want her to think I’m a loser. And if I’m honest, a small part of me worries that maybe she likes Egan Winters too – if I tell her how he feels maybe she’ll run off with him. Or worse, bring him home and make him my stepdad.

  ‘How’s Rain?’ I ask to divert the conversation.

  Mum tuts. ‘Apparently Jenny’s got a cough. She’s been nagging me to take her to see a nurse.’

  ‘It would be a good excuse to get Rain to the doctor,’ I say.

  ‘Maybe,’ Mum says. She turns up the volume on the TV. ‘I reckon I’d win a lot, if I could get a spot on a game show. They’re all dipsticks.’ She pushes my hair away from my face and kisses my cheek.

  ‘Shall I put the kettle on?’ I ask.

  ‘You know what, a white wine would be lovely,’ she says. She turns to the TV. ‘Open box seventeen. Seventeen!’

  32

  I told Nana that I only missed a day of school. I made it seem like a one-off. But on Wednesday I skip school again. Mum has a casting call in London for a part in The Woman in Black and she can’t wait for Rain who spends ages getting showered and then, just before Mum’s about to leave, says Jenny’s done a ‘mammoth poop’ and needs changing.

  Mum waves her arms around and shouts so loudly, I worry she might hit Rain. ‘You know perfectly well that if I leave you here alone and someone finds out, I’ll have child welfare on my back. Do you want to go into a care home? Is that what you want?’ She’s screaming at Rain, but she’s looking at me.

  ‘I’ll take care of her,’ I say. I’d do almost anything to avoid going back to school.

  When Mum’s gone, I clear up the breakfast dishes, put some towels and bedsheets in for washing and do my homework. I start with English. Mr Gaydon asked us to write about someone we love. It only takes me a minute to decide what to write about.

  ‘Someone I Thought I Loved’ by Apple Apostolopoulou

  I thought a kiss meant

  Everything.

  I thought it meant love –

  Until He kissed me.

  His mouth was moist, his breath like beer,

  His face so close I saw the fear

  Of me and what I was.

  Not the girl I wanted to be

  But just

  A Girl.

  A Child.

  A Silliness

  To him,

  And to everyone else who laughed

  At the performance.

  My nana always said that

  Love is an action.

  I know now she didn’t mean kissing

  Or anything close to it.

  She meant that love is quiet doing –

  A day to day toil in the dark.

  Rain peers over my shoulder. ‘What you writing?’ she asks. She reads the first line and laughs. ‘Have you written about that boy Egan? Have you written about how you love him?’

  I slam down the lid of my laptop. ‘Get out of my life, can’t you?’

  Rain snorts. ‘Love poetry is so lame,’ she says.

  ‘Don’t you have something to do?’

  She shakes her head.

  ‘We’ve got to take the library books back, so go and read them,’ I tell her.

  Rain curls up on the couch with a book about Elizabeth the First. I open the laptop and a fresh document, so I can do my homework for real.

  ‘Someone I Love’ by Apple Apostolopoulou

  Mallary Ford is the best writer on the planet. She writes like she can see inside people, especially people my age. My nana encourages me to play the clarinet, but when I leave school, I would like to write children’s books. My dream is to be as good as Mallary Ford (although I doubt that will ever happen). I have never met Mallary Ford, but if I did I would probably have to curtsy in front of her. Maybe people think you can’t love someone you do not know, but you can love their work; I think that’s close enough.

  Rain stands behind me again.

  ‘Stop bloody spying on me!’ I shout.

  ‘I finished the books,’ she says.

  ‘All the books?’ I sound like a teacher.

  ‘I skipped a few pages of the science one. I’m not interested in minerals.’

  ‘Fair enough.’

  In the library we swap the books we’ve read for fresh ones, renew the ones we still want and borrow a couple of DVDs, which help to whittle away the afternoon. And happily, Mum gets home early. On the way she’s picked up a pizza, half with olives for me, half with mushrooms and pepperoni for Rain. I know Nana wouldn’t approve of me missing school, but it’s worth it because Mum’s found a part in a play.

  ‘It’s only a few lines, but it’s in the West End and it’s a foot in the door. I start in three weeks. Finally we’ll have some money coming in.’ She kicks off her shoes and rubs her feet.

  ‘That’s fantast
ic. Congratulations!’ I hug her quickly. I can hardly believe my mum’s a real actress.

  ‘I knew you’d be pleased. Now, we’re left with one prob­lem.’ Mum glances at Rain. ‘If I’m to get more parts . . .’

  ‘She has to go back to school,’ I say, finishing her sentence for her.

  Rain has demolished her pizza. She is kneeling at the coffee table, cutting pictures from the John Lewis catalogue and putting together a design for a nursery. ‘Are you talking about me?’ she says.

  ‘Of course not. We’re talking about one of Apple’s teachers,’ Mum says. She lowers her voice. ‘The school simply can’t cope with her problem. I can hardly cope myself. You seem to be the only one she responds to.’

  ‘Me?’

  ‘I bet that after a few more weeks of you living with us, she’ll get rid of that doll and settle down. She’s got a sister now. Why would she need Jenny?’

  I’m not sure Mum’s right. Rain’s been devoted to her doll today – taking her everywhere, even to the toilet. She’s been announcing every cough or hiccup Jenny makes.

  ‘I know this might seem a big ask, Apple, but would you consider looking after her while I go to a few more auditions in London? I really think I could get some TV work if I persevere. You could help me out for a few days until I line up a babysitter? I don’t really have a lot of disposable cash right now.’

  Mum doesn’t have to convince me. I’ll do anything to help her become a famous actress. In any case, I’d rather stay at home and watch films than spend all day avoiding Donna, Pilar and Egan.

  ‘I can take care of her,’ I say.

  Mum hugs me so tight she almost breaks my neck. ‘Really? Oh, Apple, you’re the best daughter ever.’

  Rain looks up then quickly gets back to cutting out pictures. But the brief, sad glance is unmistakable: it’s the look of a daughter desperate for her mum to love her the best.

  Part 5

  33

  It takes Mum longer to find a babysitter for Rain than she expected. A few days off school turns into a week. A week turns into a fortnight. I worry that the school might send over a social worker to make sure Mum hasn’t tied me to a radiator, but no one shows up. Rain and I are free to do as we please. Occasionally we make fairy cakes or biscuits and some of them turn out really nice, which makes me think of Nana. Mostly we just read and watch films.