Apple Pip
Youre no different to your mother!
What do you mean by that, Gran? Emily found herself squaring her shoulders, but immediately let them drop. What was she bracing for? Who needed defending?
Youre always scheming, thats what I mean! Always had your own thoughts, just like she didnever listening to a soul! And now youre off down that same road!
What am I meant to hear? Emily tried not to groan.
Me! Youre supposed to listen to me and respect me! Im older, I know life better! Understood?
Emily gazed with surprise at the ruffled woman, red-faced with anger, who wagged a finger dangerously close to her nose.
How curious! Why did her Gran insist on being heard? Just turning up herelike stubborn paint you can never quite rub away!
Emily twitched her fingers, as though she was clutching a stub of putty rubber; if only she could alter this dayjust shade over the shadows there, bring in some light here She disliked the gloom. Couldnt stand rows, arguing, raised voices Her mum never spoke to her that way. Mum always reminded her: that civilised folk can both listen, and really hear.
Ears open, Emily love, and listen sharp! Like a rabbit, yes! Dyou know why a rabbits so good at hearing? Because the fox pads ever so softly. If the rabbit gets distracted, doesnt listen, the foxsnap!has him for supper.
Dont! Little Emily would freeze, eyes wide, watching her mums clever mouth.
Of course not! The rabbit listens closely with his ears and runs as fast as his legs will carry him. No fox catches a smart rabbit!
That was ages ago, but Emily still remembered every story and lesson her mum ever gave, as clear as if the words were drawn in chalk on the garden wall.
Funny when Emily was younger, she thought her mum overdid it, or muddled facts. But now? Turns out, Mum knew precisely what she was on about.
Take Gran for instance. Until last year, shed never even met her. Shed lived with her mum in a tiny seaside town along the English Channel, went to the nursery, fought with Lucy and Maisie, made up, then raced to spend her pocket moneymaybe a pound or twoon a ninety-nine ice-cream cone at the pint-sized pier. School came soon after, then Tom, the first shy sunset kisses on the shingle.
And her mum was there, always
She gripped a chunky plastic bead on the bracelet her mother made for her, squeezing it so hard her knuckles shone white.
Fake? Mum would laugh. Never mind! Look how pretty it turned out! You see, sweetheart, sometimes real things arent always bestreal can be bitter and tough, it doesnt always cheer you up or keep you warm. A replacement can be wonderful in its own way.
How do you mean?
Come now, tell mewhat did you and Maisie fall out about the other week?
She said we were skint, and you couldnt buy me proper trainers, only fakes. She said she knows exactly what theyre supposed to look like.
Shes right. Uncle Albert made those trainers. But no one said they were branded, did they?
No!
Theyre good leather, they look smart, and Uncle Albert made them for you with all his heart. Do you like them?
Yeah!
Then theres no trouble. People fuss about labels cause they want to feel above the rest. LookI have this, you dont. So Im better? Is that so? Properly speaking?
Nope.
Right. What matters is youre real inside. Other bits and bobsarent much at all. Some folks care more about the tag than the thing. But the happiest remember not everything great comes with a fancy label.
After that, Emily thought long and hard, even washed the floors in her bedroom and her mums. Heading into the kitchen, where Mum was stirring apricot jam, she asked:
Mum, dyou reckon Maisie isnt my proper friend then? She says nice things and thenwham!says something mean. I know she liked those trainers. Just didnt want to admit it, I guess.
How do you know?
Lucy told me. Maisie made a stink so her mum would buy her some exactly like mine, but even fancier.
Oh, Emily Emilys mum set aside the wooden spoon and hugged her daughter. Dont get hasty. Maisies only as little as you in her own way.
Im not little!
Emily wriggled in her arms, her face fierce, but her mum sawshe was only angry at herself, for thinking ill of a friend.
To me you are, love, she said gently, kissing her daughters hair. You and Maisie botha mothers children stay her littluns forever, and thats not so terrible, is it? My own mums been gone so long How Id love to be small again, to be cuddled and cosseted, but theres no one left to do it.
Mum frowned, kissed Emily atop her head, then roused herself. What am I on about! This is your story. Give it time. Remember how she carried you home when you fell off the swings at the park? She was more scared for you than her own scraped knees! She bawled so much the doctor nearly gave her an injection too, just to calm her down! Remember?
I do
And when her dad brought her those new markers, she just gave them to you? Didnt even keep one, after I wouldnt let her visit you when you were poorly. Said if you drew the prettiest painting for her wall shed get better, just waiting for it. That?
I remember
You see! All this talk of trainers its nonsense. When youre bigger, youll see how little these things matter. Just keep whats precious to you, Emily.
Shes come round already.
What for?
To apologise.
And you?
I said I didnt want to see her and were not poor!
Were you cross?
Fuming!
And now?
I still am but less.
Right. Wait until your anger loses its teeth, then make it up. If you race in now, youll forgive halfway and keep feeling crossand thatll be the end of the lot.
How Emily wished her mum was here now. Shed know just what to say and doespecially with Gran suddenly in their home.
Shed arrived as unexpected as a winter hail storm.
Emily hadnt known her mum was ill, nor that shed written to her mother-in-law and asked her round.
Well, fancy that, Irene! Didnt think Id ever see this day. A grand, ruddy woman with heavy sandals came puffing up to the front gate, leaning her weight against it to catch her breath. Blooming hot! Dont know how Ill survive it!
Hello, Mrs. Partridge. Irenes voice sounded strange; Emily glanced at her sideways.
That the girl? Mrs. Partridge peered at Emily. Doesnt resemble us a bit. You sure shes Simons?
You never change, Irene replied, and let out a laugh. Emily relaxed. If Mum was laughing, things couldnt be all bad. Well see whats what.
Gran didnt impress Emily. She was noisy, anxious, couldnt sit still. She charged in and filled the little house with a fuss and empty flapping.
Typical mess! Is it so hard to tidy round, Irene? What sort of example for your daughter, eh? Youll have her husband turfing her out on the wedding night, and right too!
Emily couldnt grasp why Mum said nothing, hiding a smile, not challenging Gran as she rushed room to room, sweeping up and barking her orders.
The cats, usually lord of the house, scuttled for corners, and Maxher faithful mongrel, a present from Uncle Albertslunk outdoors, laying under the arbours shade, grumbling whenever Grans voice grew too loud.
See! The only sensible creature here is the dog! He knows hes got no business indoors. Animals have no place in the house!
The cats, seeing her with a mop, fled to the garden. Rather safe than sorry.
That was Emilys first taste of standing her ground. She scooped up her favouritePuddingand marched him, loud as you like, to her room.
Whats this then? Emily! Grans tirade set Max barking in the garden.
Theyre staying! The cats and Max! Theyve lived here far longer than you. If you want order, stick to your own! This is our home. Youre a guest here! At yours, do as you wish.
Irene gasped, covering her mouth, never having heard her daughter speak to an adult that way.
But to her surprise, Mrs. Partridge didnt take offence. She screwed up her eyes, smirked at some private thought, then snorted:
Still, our sort, arent we? Apples not fallen far! Should have brought her up stricter, Irene!
Since then, Gran left the cats alone, though she nudged them away with a well-shod foot if they straggled across her path.
Frankly, though, there were bigger worries about. Everything in their world tipped up suddenlydoctors, pills, hospitalthe clocks in the sitting room seemed to whirl, unwinding all sense.
Why did time gallop so? Mum was so young. And Emily needed her so dearly. Fate didnt care for fairness.
Time didnt heed Emilyor anyone. It marched on, minute after relentless minute, impassive and unstoppable.
In the pale hush of spring, Irene quietly slipped away.
The day before, Emily flung all the windows open to the salty wind, and whispered:
Mummy, your cherry tree will blossom soon. Any day now.
Ill try hard, darling. Id love to see it.
Hearing her mother was gone, Emily, boiling with helpless rage, snapped off the branch which had reached for mums window. What did it matter now, if there was no one left to watch?
Gran did not fuss. She swept Emily into her big arms, pulled a massive handkerchief outhardly less than a bedsheetand barked:
Cry then! Yell and weep! Let it out. No use keeping it in. Nothing you could do. Everyones got their time.
How did she know what to say? For shed struck right: Emily blamed herself for everything. Mum had worked herself into the ground for Emily, with little rest, dreaming of her daughter at university with a future
And Emily? Hung about with Tom and the girls instead of her textbooks and paints. Marks slipping low, chasing time as school neared its end. Only lately did she grit her teeth and mend itnever getting to tell her mother, not wanting to worry her.
The letter Irene left was handed over to Emily forty days later by Mrs. Partridge.
For you. Its time. Read careful. Your mums last word.
Whys it open? Emily turned over the plain white envelope, no stamp, no address.
To think Id stoop that low! You might not like me, but Id never read your post. Get on, Ive a house to clean, not time to meddle. Want to help later? Bah, be off with you!
Clearly offended, Gran blew out her cheeks as she left for the kitchen, not even arguing as usual. Emily pressed her head to the kitchen door framesmudged still with pencil marks, her mum charting her as she grew.
Blimey, look at you, Emily! Youve shot up, you have!
The memory of her mum was so vivid, Emily jumped away from the door in surprise. She sat in her room, put the letter on her knees, and hesitated. There was so much she wanted to say to her mum, and so much shed never hear now.
The envelope was close to bursting, thick with her mums neat, looping script, torn sheets of squared notepaper. Clutching Pudding to her chest, Emily started to read.
Emily! Dry your tears right now! Youre strong, girl, stronger than you know. Life is brilliant! With so much good if you look. So treasure it! Dont waste a drop on whats gone. Youll say we had too little time together. But I say this: we had so much timeso much! Far more than you realise. Let me tell you the whole of it, you need to know, for its your story now.
Where to start best at the beginningwith meeting your dad. He was splendid. The moment I saw him, I fell head over. The girls all said, Hes ginger! How could you? But they were daft. He was as bright as the sun and twice as warm. You take after him, though youve got my looksyour freckles, your eyes, your nose are his. He always dreamed youd have your grans curlshis mothers, Mrs. Partridges.
Emilyshes a good woman, your gran. Dont let her bluster get to you. Shes always been loud, gruff, impatient. And yet, solid and kind under it all.
Why did you never meet her? That, Im sorry, was my fault. I was young, and foolish, and didnt see her clearly.
Forgive me.
We had a blazing row when you were tiny. Your dad and I were happy together until he fell in love with someone else. It happens, Emily.
It wasnt that he didnt love you, or even me. He just found someone that became his whole world.
And what about the world he left? Thats the wayits gone. I always loved him more than he loved me, I think. He was a marvellous dad, stayed for your sake after the love had left. But when he met her, he couldnt carry on the lie. He was always honest.
I can see that now, but back then it hurt so much I could barely breathe. And then Mrs. Partridge came.
She meant wellcame to set Simon straight, to save the family; but started off muttering about my housekeeping. And I snapped. We shouted and said hurtful, shameful things I regret every day. I remember saying you werent her granddaughter
Lord, Emily, how soft-headed I was! Mistakes are made in a blink and take years to put right.
I should have remembered how shed come to me in the hardest dayswhen I nearly lost you. She moved in for weeks, made me eat, did up our little flat till I barely recognised it, left only when I was back on my feet and all was well.
I didnt know shed gone to meet the new woman either. Tried reasoning, nearly cursed her, then finally accepted her. And the kids she had with SimonGran loves them as much as you. Yes, Emily, you have a brother and sister. If you wish, Gran can introduce you. We spoke about it. You shouldnt be alone in this world. The more kin you have, the safer you are. Remember that.
And as for next stepsstudy, my love! I wish for you to have a future, but choose it yourself. Never let anyone boss you. Remember our talks? About what you want, your gifts? Youre talented, darling, make use of it! Not everyone gets such a chance. It wont be easy, but Mrs. Partridge will help. I have a little savedenough for a year or so at least. After that, youll manage. You always found ways beforeyour painted bags and canvases always sold well to the summer-holiday folk. In London itll be simpler, even. Dont give up your dream! If you make it real, maybe one day your exhibition will hang in some grand gallery. And Ill be proud, even if you cant see me. Somehow, Ill know.
I love you, I worry for you, but I believe in you. Youre strong, clever, and my best girl.
Now wipe your eyes, I said!
Mum.
Emily put the letter down, head bowed. Mum said not to cry.
Pudding had already curled tight on the rug and was snoring in his sleep, only his paw twitching at some dream. Emily sat, lost in thoughtwhat now?
She had her answer when Mrs. Partridge appeared in the doorway, flicked on the light and commanded:
Up you get! Enough of the gloom. Teas on, and well have a talk. Cant do nothing, cant just sit sobbing all day!
The subject of art did not delight Mrs. Partridge. She ranted that a proper joblike accountancywould feed and clothe her respectably. But Emily wasnt budging an inch. Gran huffed she was as stubborn as her own motherwho couldnt admit one small word could ruin a whole life, depriving loved ones of all warmth for years.
So many years of silence. Not a word! I searched you out, reported everywhere! How was I to know your mum changed your name so slyly? Not just her maiden namesomething entirely new! Dyou know how she even managed?
Uncle Albert did it, said Emily.
Ill have words with him! Killed all my hope, he did. Hell get an earful, no mistake!
Dont! Hes good! Helped us for years. Even tried to convince Mum to marry him.
And she?
Wouldnt! She said she loved Dad. I never knew he was alive! If Id known their story, maybe Id have persuaded her!
What a sorry show. Look at you! Mrs. Partridge set a plate hard on the table. Eat! And think on what I said. What sort of job is artist, eh? Accountancys better! Brings home the bacon!
Gran! Not in front of others!
And what if it is, eh? Start with others accounts, then soon enough youll sort your own!
No! Its not for me! Dont you see?
How could I possibly?!
I dont mean to offend you. Please, Gran But I want to do what I love. Mum said her savings were for me, yes? Ill be eighteen soon. Give it to me then, and Ill move out. You wont have to worry!
Gran looked ready to erupt, her finger already raisedbut stopped, looked Emily up and down, then, with a twist of her thick fingers, made the kind of sign everyone recognises since pre-school.
Well, look! Im coming too. Will see for myself if youre any good. Promised your mum I wouldnt leave you. So hush! Eat up! She snorted, pushed the plate closer, and bossed, Go on then! Its gone cold!
And so, in a few years, in a tiny gallery tucked behind a street in London, a most peculiar crowd would wander the halls.
A frizzy, red-haired, roundish woman; a half-tidy, gangly chap in fashionable specs; and Emily with a one-year-old in her arms.
So? Well? Shed always promise herself not to ask, but curiosity gnawed.
Gran would stare around, harrumph, and snatch the baby updab his nose, settle him on her shoulder.
Not bad! Lovely frames, and all the rest of it. Stillhow you do waste your paint! Ought to use less. That studios a right mess! Went in this morningworse than a foxs den! George! shed bark at the long-nosed chap. What are you watching for?
Whats wrong, Mrs. Partridge?
Bags under her eyes, enough to frighten the cat! Shes not getting her sleep. ListenSammys coming with me, you two have a breaksort yourselves out, and come round after the bank holiday. All clear? Good, off we go, little man.
Passing Emily, Gran would pause for a heartbeat, lay a hand on her cheek and softly whisper:
Your mum would be so proud. I am too, darling. You know? So thats thatmy little apple pipEmily met Grans eyesclear, fierce, and sparkling beneath the wild thatch of curling hair. For the first time, Emily saw not just the roughness, but the devotion thrumming underneath. A tether tied through years, arguments, and stubborn love.
She smiled and pressed Grans hand, her voice gentle, alive with memory and hope. I know, Gran, she whispered, steady now. I really do.
Later, as dusk spilled honey over the old city rooftops, the gallery emptied and the doors closed. Emily lingered in the bright hush, baby on her hipher painting of cherry branches in full blossom cast golden on the wall.
Standing beneath it, Emily breathed deep, tasting salt and sweetnessof old seasides, loss, and laughterknowing hearts can be broken and mended more than once. She remembered her mothers words: youre strong, girl, stronger than you know.
At the window, Gran and George and little Sammy waved for her, their faces tinted with the last light.
Im coming! Emily called, warmth singing in her chest. She crossed the room, heart full with all shed lost, and all she still hadevery apple, seed, and sunlit blossom, ripening into her brand new world.
