Every Love Has its Own Shape
In the shifting, grayish morning, Alice wandered outside, a shiver catching her as the chilly wind slipped right through her thin jumper. She hadnt bothered with her coat, not even as she strolled past the front gate of her little terraced house. She just lingered, glancing up and down the quiet lane, not noticing when the tears began streaming silently down her cheeks.
Alice, whats gotten into you? came a startled voice. It was Michael, the neighbour boy, his hair sticking up at the back in a wild little tuft. He was a year or two older than her.
Im not crying, honestly Alice lied quickly, wiping at her face.
Michael studied her with a knowing look and then reached into his pocket, pulling out three sweetswrappers faded, but treasure nonetheless.
Dont say a word, he instructed, pushing them into her hand with a sort of stern kindness, or the others will show up. Go back inside, now. And she obeyed.
Thank you Im Im not hungry, really. Just she trailed off, not finishing. But Michael understood and simply walked off without a fuss.
Everyone in the little English village knew Alices father, Andrew, liked his drink. He haunted the off-licencethe only one in the villagealways quick with a plea for credit with Valerie, the shopkeeper. Valerie would grumble but pass it over nonetheless.
How havent they let you go yet? shed mutter after him. Youre in the red up to your ears. But Andrew just disappeared with his bottle, spending money meant for other things.
Alice slipped back into their narrow hallway; the house was always a bit cold, the lights a bit dim. She was nine, just back from school. There wasnt ever much to eat in the house, but Alice kept her hunger to herself. Shed heard about children sent away if people knewchildrens homes with their frightening stories. Besides, what would her dad do on his own? No, better here, even if the fridge stayed empty.
Today, shed come home earlytwo lessons cancelled because Miss Evans, her teacher, was unwell. The September wind had a bite to it, sweeping up golden leaves and chasing them in mad, whirling spirals around the empty playground. Her old coat did nothing for wet days, and her boots let the cold creep in.
Her fatherAndrewlay passed out in his clothes and shoes, snoring on the old, fraying settee. Empty beer bottles cluttered the kitchen table; more squatted beneath it. Nothing in the cupboard, not even a stale crust. Alice ate Michaels sweets quickly and sat herself down for her homework, folding her legs up beneath her on a wobbly stool. Maths stared back from her exercise book, sums floating behind her eyes, but she couldnt be bothered, not when the wind moaned through the windowpanes and the battered apple tree outside bowed in surrender.
The garden, once a lively patchwork of green, was now pale and wornraspberries gone brittle, strawberries vanished, only weeds lingering in ragged tufts, even the old apple tree just a knotty skeleton. Her mother used to love this garden, nursing every tendril, making jammy tarts with the apples. But this August, Andrew had stripped the apples too soon and carted them to the market, grunted, Need the cash.
Andrew hadnt always been like this. He once made them laugh, going for walks in the woods with Mum, watching old comedies on the telly, sipping tea and munching on Mums legendary scones for breakfast. Mum always whipped up jam tarts, heart-shaped biscuits dusted with sugar.
Then one day, Mum fell ill. They whisked her off to hospital, but she never came home.
Mums heart wasnt well, love, Andrew had told her, his voice shaking as he hugged Alice tight, Shes watching out for you from somewhere special now. Alice had sobbed into his jacket, wishing it was all a mistake.
Afterwards, Andrew sat with Mums photograph, staring at nothing. Then he started drinking. Strange, boisterous men spilled into the house, laughing, shouting. Alice would hide away in her little room, or slip out to the bench behind the garden fence, rocked by memories she only half-understood.
With a sigh, Alice finished her sums fastschoolwork was easy for her, though nothing made the house seem less empty. She packed away her books and flopped onto her narrow bed. At the pillow waited her faithful old soft bunny, once white, now a friendly grey. Mum had bought it; Alice named him Buttons long ago. She hugged Buttons close.
Buttons, do you remember Mum? she whispered. Of course he did. How could he not?
Sleepy memories returnedMum bustling in the kitchen, hair pinned up, hands lost in flour and dough. Darling, lets make magic buns today, shed say.
Magic? Really, Mum? Alice would laugh, wide-eyed.
Oh yes, Mum would wink. Theyre heart-shaped. Take a bite, make a wish. Dream it right and it just might come true!
Alices buns never looked quite rightalways lopsided, but Mum called them perfect in their own special way.
Every love has its own shape, shed say gently, ruffling Alice’s hair.
Soon Alice would fidget waiting for those warm buns to cool, the house alive with the scent of vanilla and rising dough. When Dad came home, theyd all huddle in, eating Mums magic buns and sipping milky tea, laughing at nothing much.
Alice wiped her cheeks dry. Those days were gone, vanished into the tick tick tick of the old clock in the corner and the emptiness that filled the rooms.
Mum, she scarcely breathed, squeezing Buttons tight, I miss you so much.
No school at weekends, so Alice roamed the village after luncha half-hearted meal. Andrew was asleep still, as usual. She layered an old jumper under her coat and walked out, letting her feet take her towards the woods on the far edge of the village. Just past the hedges, there was an old, crumbling cottage, once the home of old Mr. Edgar. Hed died years ago, but his little orchard of apple and pear trees survived, unruly and half-wild.
Alice had snuck in before, climbing the fence and collecting windfall apples, pearstelling herself, Its not stealing if theyre just lying there. No-one else wants them, anyway.
Mr. Edgar, as she half-remembered, had been a gentle, stooped man, always with a peppermint for a visiting child. Now, the trees offered up their fruit to whomever wandered through.
But on this day, just as Alice reached for an apple and rubbed it clean on her sleeve, a sharp voice startled her: Oi! Whos that?
A woman stood on the doorstep, shapeless tweed coat draped over her shoulders. The apple tumbled from Alices hand.
II wasnt I only took what fell. I thought no-one lived here now
Im Edgars granddaughter. I arrived yesterdaybe staying for good, by the looks of it. Have you been coming here long?
Alices voice wobbled, Ever since since Mum died Tears spilled unbidden sideways down her cheeks.
The womans own features softened. In one smooth motion, she reached out and hugged Alice close.
Oh, dont fret, come inside. Names AnneAnne Smith, like yours nearly! When youre all grown, youll be Ann too, youll see.
Anne Smith saw right off that life was hard for the girl. Inside, the cottage was scrubbed clean, cases stacked by the stairs. Kick off your boots, love. Ignore the boxes, Ive barely settled in. Ive soup on the stove and a few bits besides. You and I, neighbours now. She eyed Alices slight shoulders, her patched coat.
Does your soup does it have meat? Alice asked, cautious.
A bit of chicken, yescome on, sit. You must be famished.
Alice washer stomach growled out loud for the both of them. She slid onto a chair, its checked cover warm under her hands. Anne ladled out a heaped bowl of soup, set thick bread beside it.
Eat your fill. Theres more if you want it, not to worry.
Alice didnt hesitatea few minutes later her bowl was empty, the bread gone.
A second helping? Anne asked.
No, Alice shook her head shyly, thank you, Im really full.
Well then, tea-time it is! Anne set a basket on the table. The moment she lifted the cloth, the whole room filled with the smell of baking and vanilla. Inside, lay a pile of heart-shaped buns. Alice took one, bit in, and smiled a watery smile.
Just like Mums, she whispered, She made these just like these.
Full of warm food and sweeter memories, Alice listened while Anne chatted about her own life, then gently asked Alice about hers. Tell me all about it, love. Tell me where you live, whos at home. Afterwards, Ill walk you backpromise.
Its not farjust four houses along. I can manage, Alice insisted, not wanting Anne to see the mess at home.
Ill come just the same, Anne said, not unkindly.
The house was quiet, her father unmoved, snoring on the sagging settee. Bottles and cigarette butts littered the floor. Annes mouth pressed into a thin line as she surveyed the scene.
I see Right then, lets have a tidy, shall we? Anne declared. She set to work: clearing bottles, opening curtains, shaking out mats. Alice, unable to keep it in, blurted out, Please dont tell anyone about our house! Dad, hes kind, hes just a bit lost. If they find out, theyll take me away and I cant leave him. He really is good, he just he misses Mum.
Anne knelt and hugged her. Not a word. I promise, Alice.
Time slipped by as if in a dream. Alice ran to school with carefully braided hair, in a new coat and shiny boots. Her friend Mary called out, Alice, is it true your dad got married? You look so pretty! Your hairs all nice too.
Its true! Alice grinned, Now I have another mumAuntie Anne! and she hurried towards the school gates.
Andrew had stopped his drinking with Annes help. He walked taller. Now they strolled to the shopsAndrew, neat and smiling, and Anne by his side, proud and warm, both always beaming at Alice.
Years tumbled away. Alice was now at university, home for holidays, bursting through the front door yelling, Mum, Im home!
Anne would dash to greet her, squeezing her tight, Welcome home, Professor! My clever girl! and theyd both laugh, faces bright. In the evening, Andrew would come in from work, whistling and beaming with happiness, and together theyd gather round for tea, hearts content, love formed in its own peculiar, perfect shape.
