Apple and Rain (10 page)

‘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.