Apple and Rain (20 page)

‘Why don’t you?’ I ask.

She twists her mouth to the side. ‘I’ll do some actions,’ she says.

‘OK.’ I hold the book in front of me and read.

‘
She boobled down to the dirreny sonce

Alone, unarmed, her tickery jonced.

“What me? What my? What cooliers lie here?”

She whinnied furverly in the ghoulian ear.

And up he rose like a miney bront,

Waving his tammons and sleery flont.

“Don’t wake me, don’t shake me,” the ghoulian gristled,

And piped his phantons across the spistles.

A ploon bellowed out over the sheel

And she ran as fast as her miggens could reel.

“No more dirrenies,” she whispered aloud

And slumped back down to sleep on her mound.
’

‘Want to write another one?’ I ask.

Rain shakes her head. ‘I’m going to pee,’ she says. She scuttles down the ladder.

I jiggle the pencil and the spare lead quietly ticks against the plastic casing. I want to write my own poem now. Another nonsense poem, or maybe two or three of them. And so I do. I write until it’s dark outside. Until Rain has finished studying her atlas and until Mum calls from the kitchen to tell us she’s finally home.

35

Mum is so tired from working all week that she sleeps late on Saturday. She appears at noon and collapses on the couch. She watches TV and sips coffee, both hands hugging the mug. When Rain takes a shower, I make myself tea and sit next to her. I turn off the TV.

Mum’s eyebrows knit together. ‘I’m so grateful for everything you’re doing, Apple. You load and unload the dishwasher, you keep on top of all the laundry and grocery shopping. I don’t know what I’d do without you. I don’t know what I ever did.’ She goes back to her coffee. ‘But I promise you I’m close to getting a babysitter. I’m so close.’

‘We have to talk about Rain,’ I say. I know I sound a bit serious; I need her to listen and do something.

‘Oh, please don’t tell me she’s too much for you. I couldn’t take it.’ She presses her fingertips against her temples.

‘She really has to see a doctor. I think she
wants
to see a doctor.’

‘I’ve already told you that Doctor Bronson in Brooklyn said –’

I cut her off. ‘I know what he said. But that was months ago, and Rain’s no better. She’s worse. She keeps pretending Jenny’s on death’s door.’

‘If only.’ Mum shakes her head.

‘I don’t think she can help it,’ I say.

Mum scratches her head. ‘I keep hoping it will go away on its own. I thought that if she had a sister, she’d stop all this nonsense.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Well, I always wanted to come back to England, but once Rain got sick and started obsessing about that stupid doll, I knew it was time. I needed help raising her, so I had to come back. For Rain, if not for myself.’

I stare at the rings of tea stains in my mug. I don’t know what to say – I feel like someone is pouring dirty old sludge into me.

Mum quickly realises what she’s said and throws herself at me. ‘Oh God, Apple, I know what that sounds like, but I came back for you too. I missed you so much.’

She cradles my head in her arms, but it hurts my neck. I push her away and sit up straight. ‘Why did you leave in the first place?’ I ask. It’s what I’ve lived all my life wondering and been too afraid to ask until now: Why did Mum leave? Was I that unlovable?

Mum goes to the window and lights a cigarette.

‘It wasn’t about you,’ she says.

‘But you left me behind. Why couldn’t you have taken me with you?’ I ask.

‘How could I care for you? I couldn’t even take care of myself.’

‘Then you should’ve stayed. Nana would have cared for both of us,’ I say.

‘Your grandmother threw me out, Apple. If you want the truth, then that’s it. Your perfect, oh-so-virtuous religious grandmother kicked me out.’ She drags on the cigarette like it’ll be her last breath. ‘What should I have done? Brought you with me? I didn’t have a job, and I had no money. I wanted to be an actress. It was no life for a baby.’

When Nana tells the story of Mum leaving, she skips the bit about her kicking Mum out. She pretends it was all Mum’s doing. But that means the story I have in my head about what happened the night Mum left isn’t true either – it means I’ve made the whole thing up. Mum never rushed out, Nana pleading with her to stay – Nana pushed Mum out into the storm.

‘
Mom
, there’s no shampoo and my hair’s like an old grease ball!’ Rain is standing in a towel and dripping all over the carpet.

Mum stubs out her cigarette. She throws the butt out of the window without looking to see where it will land. ‘I’ll go and get some today. I’m really sorry.’ She does sound sorry, but I don’t think she cares that much about shampoo. ‘If you dry your hair quickly we can all go to Pizza Express for lunch.’ She looks at me meaningfully, but I don’t know why. And I don’t think she really knows why either. But Pizza Express is a start – it’s better than sitting around drinking coffee and watching TV all day long.

‘Dough balls!’ Rain shouts. She turns and drops the towel before she reaches our room so that her naked bum is the last thing I see of her. I laugh. Mum looks up, a bit relieved to see I’m not grumpy any more.

‘You remind me of your grandmother sometimes,’ she says.

‘Oh,’ I say.

‘No, no. In a good way. You’re firm but fair. Like a strict teacher. You know?’

I shrug. I don’t want to be like a strict teacher – that’s her job.

‘Mum . . .’

‘Yes?’

‘Who is Rain’s dad?’

Mum’s shakes her head. ‘Oh, just some loser. Never should have gone near him.’

‘Was dad a loser too?’

Mum laughs.

‘I’m serious.’

She chews on her knuckles. ‘Your dad was lovely. But we were both young. It wouldn’t have worked between us. I see him now and I know it
definitely
wouldn’t have worked.’

‘You gave me a stupid long Greek name.’

‘I wanted you to have a history, Apple. And back then, well, I loved your dad.’ This could be true. I know that how Mum acts isn’t always how she feels. ‘Have you seen this?’ she says. She pushes the band of her tracksuit bottoms down a fraction. There’s a green mark on her hip.

‘What is it?’ I ask.

She steps closer so I can see. It’s a tattoo. But not any old tattoo. It’s an apple. A tiny, bright green apple, hidden from the world but permanently and secretly stamped on Mum’s skin. ‘You were always with me, honey,’ she says. ‘Look, I know you’re upset, but it was a long time ago that I left. Can’t you forgive me? I’m back and I’m
trying
.’

I hug her. She has me tattooed on her skin – she loves me that much.

And she’s right. It
was
all a long time ago. People change. Everyone deserves a second chance.

36

After we’re stuffed from too much pizza and ice cream, Mum takes us to the park to feed the ducks. The sun’s come out a bit. The tree leaves are beginning to bud. Ducks jostle for the scraps of pizza crust we throw into the water. Rain makes quacking sounds until a mallard takes a fancy to her and follows her around the pond. We laugh and laugh, and I start thinking this is the beginning of it all – the beginning of us acting like a real family – until Mum’s phone rings and she rushes off to answer it in secret.

Rain stops quacking and throws the rest of the crust she’s holding on the ground.

‘Want to play on the swings?’ I ask her. I don’t want the phone call to mean anything, and if I can convince Rain everything is fine, maybe it will be.

‘Nope,’ she says. She finds a bench and sits on it. I plonk myself next to her and wait for Mum. I thrash my legs violently whenever a duck gets too close. They’re cute when you’re throwing food at them, but when they’re surrounding you and pecking at your feet, it’s sort of horrifying.

After ten minutes, Mum steps out from behind an oak tree. She sits between us on the bench.

‘I’ve got to go to London tomorrow afternoon for an audition. It’s an American casting director I met in New York. He’s in London for the weekend. This could be a big break for me. I know it’s a huge ask, Apple, but could you be in charge until I get back on Monday morning?’

I lash out at a duck and almost kick it in the head. It spits at me and waddles away. Mum titters. I don’t. And neither does Rain.

‘You’ll be gone overnight?’ After everything we talked about this morning and after the fun we’ve had this afternoon, I thought things might change. I so badly wanted it to be different from how it was. I wanted everything to be better.

‘I know what you’re thinking, but I’ll get an early train and be back home by eight. You won’t miss another school day.’

But Mum’s got it all wrong. I don’t care about school. I just want
her
to care about me going to school like any other normal mother.

‘Can’t you get a late train home on Sunday evening instead?’ I ask.

‘Roles go to the people who have time to schmooze and that can mean cavorting into the early hours. It’s a petty business.’ She squeezes my knee. ‘Apple, I
promise
this is the last time you’ll have to do this. I’ve spoken to Gina and she’s going to pop in to make sure you’re all right. She’s going to help with the weekdays from now on too. OK? Please say it’s OK.
Please
.’ Her face is a picture of worry, and I don’t want to be the reason for it. I want her to be happy. I want everyone to be happy.

‘You should go to London,’ I say because part of me wants to believe it really will be the last time and that if I say yes, everything will be better.

But a bigger part of me knows it won’t be any different after Monday. It won’t be any different at all.

37

Mum leaves early Sunday afternoon, once Rain and I are back from Mass and a cup of tea at Nana’s. I warn Rain not to tell Nana that Mum is staying away overnight. She promises not to say a word, but I get nervous that maybe
I’ll
let it slip, so I make an excuse as soon as we’ve had our tea, and rush home, leaving Nana to eat Sunday dinner alone and probably feed most of the stew she’s cooked to Derry.

Mum makes us peanut butter and jam sandwiches for dinner and has stocked up on Coco Pops and yoghurts. ‘You’ve got food, money and my number. And remember not to open the door . . . unless it’s Gina.’

‘How will we know it’s Gina?’ Rain asks. It’s the first time she’s spoken to Mum since the park.

‘
Ask
,’ Mum snaps. Then she remembers herself. ‘Right, so be good. I love you both, and I’ll see you in less than twenty-four hours. Cross your fingers and toes for me.’

‘Good luck,’ I manage to say.

She is wearing a short, red dress, puffy at the sleeves with lace across the back. Her hair is backcombed so it looks a bit like a wasp’s nest. She doesn’t look bad exactly, but she doesn’t look like she’s going to find work, that’s all. She clip-clops down the stairs in her high heels.

‘What about your coat?’ I call after her.

‘Coats are for cowards,’ she shouts back.

And she’s out the door.

I look at Rain. Rain looks at me.

‘The library’s closed,’ I say.

‘And no good films on TV until after seven o’clock.’

‘We could read,’ I suggest.

Rain shakes her head. ‘I’ve finished all my books. I’d have to read one of yours, and I think they’re all about kissing.’

‘They are,’ I admit.

‘Ugh.’ She pauses to caress one of Jenny’s hands. ‘We could knock for Del and ask him to take us to the fruities again. That was fun.’

‘It was,’ I say. ‘Let’s do that.’

Del opens the door before I knock. He’s got beads in his hair and I think he’s wearing black eyeliner. He’s swapped his wellies for heavy boots with the laces undone.

‘I had a hunch it would be you two,’ he says. He hitches up his jeans, which are hanging, crumpled and loose on his waist.

‘How?’ Rain asks. She is beaming at him like someone in love. But she’s ten. She can’t be in love. Can she?

‘I’ve got spidey-sense, which is weird because I’m actually Batman,’ he says.

‘He’s got binoculars,’ I tell Rain, and point at the pair hanging around his neck. ‘Who have you been spying on?’

‘Let’s just say, I might have seen two bare bums today . . . So, what’s the plan? Bit of ballroom dancing followed by some carjacking, topped off with a dash of fly-fishing?’

‘I hate fish,’ Rain says. ‘Especially octopuses.’

‘We could always go ice skating and do the fishing and other stuff another day. What do you think?’ Del asks.

‘I think, yes,’ Rain says.