Apple and Rain by Sarah Crossan Read Free Book Online Page A

roughly unlocks the front door. ‘Come inside please, Apple.’ I do as I’m told. Nana leaves Mum there on the steps like some criminal we need to be afraid of.
    ‘Can’t she come in?’ I ask.
    Mum tucks her hair behind her ears, which have three piercings apiece. ‘It’s all right, Apple.’
    ‘No, it isn’t all right. It’s my house too,’ I say.
    ‘Go upstairs and do your homework,’ Nana says.
    ‘Go on, Apple. I’ll see you on Sunday.’
    I don’t want to, but I stomp up to my room. I open the window and look out. I can only see the tops of Mum’s and Nana’s heads.
    I can hear everything.
     
    Mum: I told you I was sorry.
    Nana: Eleven years, Annie. That is how long I have waited to hear you say it.
    Mum: Can you let me try to make it up to you? I’ve someone I want you to meet. An important someone.
    Nana: I don’t think so. Apple’s had quite enough of that kind of thing from her father.
    Mum: What? Oh yeah, I see what you mean. So Chris got married eventually. I don’t know why, but it makes me sad.
    Nana: Could we avoid the melodrama, if possible, Annie? Now don’t you be late on Sunday.
     
    Nana disappears inside. The door bangs. Mum shuffles down the steps.
    When she’s at the bottom, she looks up at the house and sees me. I wave, and she waves back. And I start wondering how it would be if I never had to wave goodbye any more. I start thinking it would be really nice.

13
    The first thing Mum and I do on Sunday afternoon is make a stop at The Palace Hotel. I’ve had lunch, so Mum orders me a vanilla milkshake and a fudge brownie. She eats a pear and goat’s cheese salad. We talk about TV and books and school – things I can’t speak to Nana about because Nana’s only hobbies are going to church and watching cookery programmes.
    ‘Donna Taylor thinks she’s something then, does she?’ Mum asks, her eyes wide, so I know she’s interested.
    ‘Sort of.’
    ‘And why’s that?’
    ‘Well, she’s pretty and she wears nice shoes and make-up and she seems older,’ I say.
    ‘What? But y ou’re pretty, and getting shoes and make-up isn’t a big deal.’
    ‘Nana won’t buy me any make-up and we get my shoes from Clarks so yes, it is a big deal,’ I tell her.
    Mum shudders as though I’ve said something frightening. ‘We’re going shopping!’ she says, and summons the waiter.
     
    In town I try on about a hundred pairs of shoes – red ones, gold ones, a pair of platforms covered in diamonds and loads of others that I would never wear. Mum makes me pose, stretched across the seats in the shoe shop, then takes funny pictures with her camera phone. Even when the shop assistant mutters something about time-wasters, Mum doesn’t care: she sticks out her tongue at the assistant behind her back, which makes me fall down on the floor laughing.
    I finally find the pair I love – brown ballet shoes with golden buckles across the toes. Mum doesn’t even ask the price. She tells the shop assistant to ring them up and hands her a credit card.
    ‘They’re sixty pounds,’ I whisper to Mum.
    ‘Good. We’ll have plenty of money left for make-up,’ she says, and winks.
     
    Mum lets me choose anything I want from the make-up counter as long as it isn’t tested on animals. So I get a tube of foundation, a blackest-black mascara, some pink blusher and a packet of tinted lip glosses. Mum also grabs some green plastic-rimmed sunglasses, which she says I’m to wear even in the winter – if I don’t want to get lines around my eyes.
    By four thirty I’m so happy it could be Christmas – how I always imagined Christmas should feel.
    Driving home, Mum doesn’t stop at zebra crossings, and she whizzes through roundabouts, hardly checking for other cars, all to make it back on time. Which we do.
    We pull up outside Nana’s house at exactly four fifty-nine.
    ‘I guess we’re home,’ she says, cutting the engine.
    Even though I’ve had a perfect day, I feel like someone has suddenly