Every Love Has Its Own Shape
Annie stepped outside, shuddering as a biting wind snuck beneath her thin jumper; shed ventured into the back garden without bothering to put on her coat. She wandered out the wooden gate and just stood there, glancing about, barely noticing the tears quietly streaming down her cheeks.
Annie, what are you crying for? She jolted at the voice, blinking away tears to find Michael, the neighbours son, a bit older than her, with rumpled hair sticking up at the back.
Im not crying, Annie lied quickly, wiping her face with her sleeve.
Michael studied her for a moment, then pulled three boiled sweets from his pocket and held them out.
Here, but dont tell anyone or youll have the whole lot after you. Get inside, now, he commanded sternly, and Annie obeyed without protest.
Thank you, she whispered. But Im not really hungry just
But Michael already understood; he nodded, then continued on his way. In the village, everyone already knew Annies dad, Andrew, drank. He was always popping into the corner shop, the only one around, begging the shopkeeper, Valerie, for a bit more credit until payday. Valerie would grumble but always give in.
How you havent lost your job, Ill never know, shed call after him. You owe enough already. But Andrew would march off and spend whatever he got on bottles.
Annie went back indoors, still in her school uniformshe was nine. There was hardly ever anything proper to eat at home, but Annie was careful never to let on about her hunger. She was terrified theyd take her away to a childrens home, and shed heard awful stories about those places. Besides, what would happen to her dad if she left? Hed waste away for certain. No, it was better to stay, even if the fridge was empty.
That day shed come home earlytwo lessons cancelled since the teacher had called in sick. It was the end of September, and the wind outside was sharp and relentless, yanking yellow leaves from the trees and scattering them down the lane. Annies old coat and worn out boots did little to keep her dry or warm when it rained.
Her dad was asleep, sprawled fully dressed on the sofa, snoring among two empty bottles on the kitchen table, another tucked under it. Annie checked the cupboardempty, not even a crust of bread.
She gulped down the sweets Michael had given her, then sat to do her homework. Perched on the wobbly kitchen stool, knees hugged to her chest, she opened her maths book and stared blankly at the sums, unable to muster the will to count. Glancing outside, she watched the wind whip the trees, twirling leaves around the garden.
Out there, the vegetable patch that her mother once lovingly tended was all dying. The raspberries had shriveled, strawberries vanished, weeds choked the beds, and even the old apple tree was withered. Mum had kept it all thrivingeach plant precious. The apples were always crisp and sweet, but this August, her dad had picked them early and sold them off, muttering, We need the money.
Andrew hadnt always been like this. Once, he was cheerful and warm. Together with Annies mum, theyd go for woodland walks to gather mushrooms, watch telly, and every morning Mum made tea and luscious pancakes or apple jam tarts.
But one day Mum fell illtaken to hospital and never returning.
Theres something wrong with your mums heart, her father had said, weeping. Annie wept too, clinging to him as he murmured, Shell be watching over you from above now.
After, Dad sat for days with her photo, staring off into nothing. Then he started drinking. Strange men began showing up at their home, shouting, laughing loudly. Annie took refuge in her tiny bedroom, and sometimes escaped to the bench by the corner of the house.
Annie sighed, forcing herself to finish her sums. Homework never troubled hershe was quickso, all done, she slipped the books into her bag and flopped onto her little bed.
There, always waiting for her, was her one treasured toy: a shabby stuffed rabbit her mother had bought her long agoher beloved Timmy. Once bright white, now faded grey, but still precious. Annie clutched him tightly.
Timmy, she whispered, do you remember Mum?
Of course, Timmy didnt reply, but she was quite sure he remembered. Closing her eyes, she relived memorieshazy and bright at once. Mum, hair in a tidy bun, wearing her flour-dusted apron, always fussing over pastry or dough.
Come on, love, Mum would beam, lets make some magic buns!
Whats magic about them? Annie had giggled, eyes wide.
Theyre heart-shaped, Mum laughed, and if you make a wish when you eat one, it just might come true.
Theyd shape wonky hearts out of dough together; Annies were lopsided but Mum always smiled and said warmly, Every love has its own shape.
Afterwards, Annie would wait, barely able to sit still, for them to bake. The whole house would fill with the sweet scent of warm bread. Then Dad would come home, and all three would share tea and magic buns.
Annie wiped her eyes, aching with longing for those golden days. It hurtan emptiness and quiet sadness knowing Mum was gone.
Mummy, she breathed, curling up with Timmy, I miss you so much.
On her Saturday off from school, Annie decided to walk after lunch. Dad was, as usual, snoring on the sofa. She layered an old jumper under her coat and set out, heading toward the woods where a rambling house stood, once occupied by old Mr. George, whod died two years prior. His orchard still stood, heavy with apples and pears.
She’d been there before. Shed scale the fence and gather fallen fruit, telling herself, Im only picking up whats on the groundnobody needs it now.
She barely remembered Mr. Georgejust an old, white-haired gent with a walking stick who was always friendly, handing out fruit or, if you were lucky, a boiled sweet from his pockets. He was gone now, but his garden kept giving.
As Annie ducked through the fence to reach the first tree and picked up two apples, she scrubbed one on her coat and took a sharp bitethen started as a stern voice called out.
Oi, whos there? On the porch stood a woman in a wool coat. Annie dropped the apples in surprise.
The woman stepped closer.
Who are you? she repeated.
Annie Im not stealing, I just Annie stammered, I only take whats on the ground, I thought nobody came here anymore
Im Mr. Georges granddaughter. Arrived yesterday. Ill be living here now. How long have you been gathering apples here?
Since since Mum died, Annies voice cracked, tears threatening once more.
The woman gently put her arm around Annie.
Come along in, my dear. Im Anne, just like youthough youll be Anna someday when you grow. Come on, lets get you warmed up.
It was instantly obvious to Anne that Annie was hungry, and that life was hard for her. They stepped inside.
Take off your shoes, love. I just cleaned yesterdaystill havent unpacked fully. But I made soup this morning and have a few other bits. Looks like were neighbours now. Anne watched Annies thin shoulders and undersized coat with clear concern.
Is your soup does it have meat? Annie asked, almost timidly.
Of course, chicken stew. Come, take a seat.
Annies stomach rumbled; she hadnt eaten all day. She sat at a table draped in a cheerful checkered cloth, feeling the houses gentle warmth. Anne brought a steaming bowl of soup and a thick slice of bread.
Eat as much as you like, Annie, dont be shy. If you want more, just say so.
Annie didnt need to be told twiceshe ate hungrily, quickly polishing off the soup and bread.
Would you like a bit more? Anne asked.
No, thank youIm full now.
Well, then, lets have some tea. Anne set a basket lined with a tea towel on the table. She unveiled it, and the house filled with the familiar fragrance of vanilla and freshly baked bread. Heart-shaped buns, just like her mum used to make. Annie took one, closed her eyes as she tasted it.
Mum baked buns like these, she whispered, exactly the same.
Full and glowing after tea, Annie finally felt safe. Anne smiled gently.
Now then, Annie, tell me about yourself. Where do you live, whos at home with you? Ill walk you back later.
I can go by myself, reallyits just four houses down. Annie felt a flush of shameshe didnt want Anne to see their mess.
I insist, Anne said firmly.
At Annies house, silence greeted them. Andrew still slept in his crumpled clothes, empty bottles and cigarette butts scattered everywhere.
Anne surveyed the scene, lips pressed together.
I see now she murmured, then said briskly, Rightlets tidy up.
She started sweeping rubbish off the table, bagging bottles, pulling back curtains, and dusting the filthy doormat. Annie, suddenly fearful, said,
Please, dont tell anyone about our house. My dads a good man, hes just lost his way. If people report us, Ill get taken awayand I dont want to leave. He really is a good man. He just misses Mum thats all.
Anne hugged her.
I promise, love. Ill never tell a soul.
Time passed. Soon Annie walked proudly to school, hair neatly plaited, wearing a new coat, shiny school shoes, and a small rucksack.
Annie, is it true your dad married again? her classmate, Molly, asked one morning. You look so smart now, and your hairs all fancy.
Yes, its true! Now Ive got a new mumAuntie Anne! Annie beamed, hurrying into school, her step light.
Andrew had stopped drinking long ago, with Annes help. Now, Annie would often see him walking with Annetall, well-dressed, careful and proud. Anne, dignified and confident, always smiling, hand in Andrews, doting on Annie.
The years flashed by. Annie became a university student, returning home for holidays, shouting through the doorway as she kicked off her shoes.
Mum, Im home!
Anne would come running, arms open, laughing, Hello, my little professor! Theyd embrace, giggling together, and later Andrew would arrive from worksmiling, content, and their little house, once so sad, at last warmed again with laughter and love.
