‘Uh, no,’ I say reluctantly. I don’t want her to go without me, but it wouldn’t be fair to say that.
‘We’re going now!’ Donna calls from the gates as Nana passes her.
‘Are you sure you don’t mind?’ Pilar asks.
‘Make up a good reason why I can’t go.’
‘I’ll say you have bad period pains.’
‘Don’t say that.’
‘OK, OK. I’ll think of something good.’ Pilar backs away then turns and skips to the waiting group. Donna and the other girls give her light hugs and air kisses. None of them even look my way. And then they are gone. And because it’s raining, so is almost everyone else.
Everyone except Egan Winters.
He is standing outside the sixth-form centre with a girl. Egan is holding an umbrella over her head. She is scrolling through her phone. I watch them, wondering if they might kiss. Hoping they don’t.
I know it’s stupid to fancy Egan Winters. Pilar’s got a point – he’s too old. But only right now. When I’m twenty, he’ll be twenty-five and that’s nothing. That’s normal.
All I need is for him to notice me.
‘Hurry up, Apple!’ Nana shouts.
Egan’s eyes follow Nana’s waving arm and rest on me. He squints, says something to the girl and she laughs. Then Egan Winters laughs too.
Is he laughing at me? Is he laughing at Nana?
I pull up the hood of my rain jacket and stomp across the playground to where Nana is waiting.
‘You didn’t have to shout,’ I tell her.
‘Watch your tone, young lady,’ Nana says, unlocking the car.
And we drive home in silence.
5
While Nana makes dinner, I lie on the couch and finish a novel by Mallary Ford. It’s about a girl who falls in love with her cousin. It’s good but a bit weird. And after our lamb dinner, I help Nana with the dishes before going upstairs to do my homework.
I have a page of maths equations, the biology worksheet and Mr Gaydon’s ‘Solitude’ assignment to complete. I race through the maths and biology first, to get them out of the way, then turn on the old laptop Trish handed down to me when Dad got her a shiny new one.
I write ‘Solitude’ at the top of the document along with my name. Then I underline it and change fonts a few times. English homework is normally as easy as buttering a piece of hot toast, but instead of typing anything, my fingers hover over the keyboard like fidgety wasps.
I try hard to think about what it means to be alone. I think about what it would feel like to have no friends at all. Not even Pilar.
Then I go on Facebook.
I scroll through my newsfeed. Nothing out of the ordinary is happening except that Donna Taylor has changed her relationship status with Mariah Knox to ‘Engaged’. The status has thirty-six likes and twenty-two comments because it is obviously a joke. Pilar, who would never usually dare contact Donna, has written a reply:
Can I be a bridesmaid?!?!?!? Xoxoxo
It must mean they had fun today at the pier. Maybe it means they’re friends. Quickly, and without thinking, I type into the comments box too:
Can’t wait to see the wedding dress!!!!!
And I press Enter.
As soon as I do, I regret it. Donna accepted my friend request when we started in Year Seven, but she’s never commented on any of my statuses or even liked anything I’ve posted. My comment sounds like I think we’re friends (which we’re not) and it isn’t funny (which I was kind of going for). I could delete it, but if Donna has already seen the comment, she’ll think it’s strange if it suddenly disappears. I don’t want Donna Taylor thinking I’m strange.
But if Donna had looked at her page in the last few seconds, she probably would have liked a few of the comments people have made about her status, which she hasn’t. I decide to take the risk and delete my comment but don’t get the chance because, at that moment, Nana taps on my bedroom door.
‘Finished your homework?’ she asks.
‘No,’ I snap. If she finds out I’m on Facebook, I’ll be in for an hour’s lecture about how inappropriate it is. Nana thinks that the only people who use the internet are perverts on the hunt for children.
‘Well, take a break, so you can have some dessert.’
‘I’m not hungry,’ I say.
‘I made apple pie.’ I know she baked it specially – with handfuls of chocolate chips. But I don’t want any tonight. I want her to get out of my room, so I can delete my comment and not have everyone see how unpopular I am.
‘I’ll probably be ready in ten minutes,’ I say. I stare at the screen.
‘OK, I’ll wait. Glass of milk with it?’
I nod. Nana closes the door.
I look at Donna’s page and see that three people, including Donna, have liked Pilar’s comment. My comment sits beneath it, unliked and totally stupid. I throw my head down on to the desk.
Maybe I should delete my account. Facebook is basically for showing off how pretty or popular you are. Since I’m neither, it’s a bit useless.
But if I do delete my account and Mum decides to send me a friend request, she wouldn’t be able to. I know she’ll look me up one of these days, and when she does, I want her to be able to find me.
I hover over the settings tab when Nana calls up the stairs, ‘Apple, it’s ready!’
‘Sometimes you study too hard,’ Nana says as I plonk myself on to a kitchen chair. She passes me the cream in a white jug and sits down opposite. ‘Are the teachers overloading you?’
‘No,’ I say. I push a piece of pie across my plate. I don’t want to chit-chat. I want to scream at her and tell her that thanks to her, I now look stupid.
‘Fancy watching TV with me?’ Nana asks.
‘I have to do my English homework,’ I say.
‘Is something the matter, Apple?’ Nana shifts in her chair. She doesn’t like touchy-feely conversations. I know she wants me to tell her I’m fine.
‘Can I go now?’ I ask.
Nana glances at the uneaten apple pie on my plate. ‘Are you sick?’
My nose tingles.
Nana comes over to my side of the table where she puts her hand on my shoulder. ‘Why don’t you call your dad tonight? I’m sure he’d like to speak to you more often,’ she says, not understanding, thinking this is about Dad and Trish’s baby.
Beneath the table, Derry nudges my leg with his nose. I reach down and pat his head. He whines. He wants some of my pie, but Nana doesn’t let me feed him at the table.
‘I’ll go outside with him,’ I say.
‘It’s pitch-black,’ Nana says.
‘The stars are out,’ I tell her.
Derry cocks his leg against the shed, and I hear pee patter against the wooden cladding. The night air hums.
‘Why does she have to ruin everything, Derry? If Mum were here, she’d understand. She wouldn’t treat me like a little kid every second of the day.’ I like having Derry to talk to. He murmurs then sniffs around the shed.
‘Apple, is that you?’ a voice calls. Del’s face appears through the gap in the fence. Today he’s wearing a brown jumper with a dog on it. He’s still in the huge wellies and wearing warpaint.
‘I’m about to go inside,’ I say.
‘OK. But listen, I was wondering, maybe you want to come down to the arcades with me sometime.’
‘Me? Uh, no thanks,’ I say. Even if I were allowed to go to the arcades, I wouldn’t want to go with Del. I hardly know him. And what if someone saw us together?
‘Suit yourself,’ he says unoffended. ‘So who’s ruining everything?’
‘You were listening?’
‘I was actually digging for moles, but I could hear you.’
‘It’s nothing. Just my nan. She’s paranoid I’m going to be kidnapped. She thinks I’m a baby. Anyway, forget it.’
‘Really? I wish my parents thought I was a baby. They make me do my own washing, which is abuse in my opinion. I’m thinking of cal
ling the RSPCA about it.’
‘Don’t you mean the NSPCC?’
Del smiles.
‘Oh, it was a joke,’ I say.
‘You know your nan might be right about you getting kidnapped. I heard on the news that you’re never more than twenty metres from a killer. Or maybe it was fifty metres. Hold on, I think they said it was a predator not a killer. What’s the difference?’
‘That can’t be true. What if you live in the countryside away from everyone?’
‘Are you serious? The countryside’s the worst for killers. They’ve got rivers and forests and a million other places to dump a body. And people in the country own axes and guns and, I dunno, cattle prods. That’s why I hate camping.’
‘Apple?’ Nana calls from inside.
‘Come on, Derry, we’ve got homework to do,’ I say.
‘What’s that like?’ Del asks.
‘Homework?’
‘I’ve been home-schooled all my life.’ That explains a lot. It definitely explains the jumpers. ‘I’m basically a prisoner. So will you come with me to the arcades?’
‘Apple!’ Nana calls again.
‘Really got to go,’ I say, and run inside. The last thing I need is to become friends with the kooky neighbour.
6
I log out of Facebook in case Nana decides to nose about in my laptop when I’m not here, open a new word processing document and stare at the flashing cursor on the blank page. Then I begin my English homework.
‘Solitude’ by Apple Apostolopoulou
At a crowded school concert, the seats all filled with bums,
I peep out at the audience and I think about my mum.
She should be sitting at the front and listening to me play,
But she is not here,
And is not here,
She’s very far away.
Instead I have to dream of her, in America on her own,
Across the Atlantic Ocean, in another place, another time zone.
Does she close her eyes and think of me?
Does she close her eyes and smile?
Does she plan to come home some day
To be with me,
Her only child?
I stop typing. I’ve written one hundred and one words, which is too many. I delete the last word. Then the one before that. Then the one before that. And I delete and delete and delete until every word is gone. I want to write something interesting and true but I’m scared. What if Mr Gaydon shows Nana what I’ve written at parents’ evening? Worse, what if he makes me read it out loud in class?
I begin my homework again. I don’t bother making it into a poem.
‘Solitude’ by Apple Apostolopoulou
Being alone is not something many people want, but sometimes when you’re alone you can achieve quite a lot. For example, I am alone now, writing this piece of homework, but if my friend Pilar were here I would probably spend the whole time talking to her and being silly and getting nothing done. Also, I wouldn’t want to shower with someone else or use the toilet. Those are private things and being alone is useful when you need privacy. My dad likes to do DIY by himself. I think he likes the private thinking time, and everyone needs that.
I stop when the computer tells me I’ve hit one hundred words. Without proofreading the paragraph or making a single edit, I print the page. It’s a boring answer. It’s only half true. But it’s good enough to stop me getting a detention.
Part 2
7
A few days later, Mr Gaydon has marked our homework. As I guessed, he makes us read our work out loud. I go raspberry red, partly because what I’ve written isn’t true, partly because I know the writing is terrible, but mainly because Mr Gaydon makes me stand by the whiteboard in front of the whole class, including Donna Taylor, who yawns the whole way through my reading.
After that he puts us into pairs and makes us edit each other’s work, which we all knew was coming. I want to work with Pilar but Mr Gaydon chooses the pairings and I’m with Linda Johns who’s written about how lonely she felt when her hamster died last summer. Pilar gets Donna Taylor, and I can’t stop looking over at them. They laugh a lot and at one point I catch them taking a picture of Mr Gaydon’s bum with Donna’s phone.
I’m using a green pen to correct Linda’s grammar when Mrs Tilly, the headmaster’s secretary, floats into the classroom. She whispers something into Mr Gaydon’s ear. He frowns. ‘Could Apple please go to reception for a message from the nurse,’ he says. I’m sitting at the back. Everyone turns in their chairs to peer at me.
‘That’s you, Apple,’ Linda Johns says.
‘Yeah,’ I say. I’m not sure how to act. I’ve never been called out of class before. Mr Gaydon doesn’t know my name, but he quickly figures out who I am and comes towards me smiling. Is it a pitying smile?
‘What’s the homework, sir?’ I ask.
Mr Gaydon waves away the idea of it and my stomach drops. It must be something bad for a teacher not to care about homework. Is Dad’s baby OK? Has something terrible happened to Nana?
‘What’s the homework?’ I ask again.
Mr Gaydon goes to his desk and comes back holding a piece of paper.
‘Read this poem and write one hundred words about something you’re afraid of. Again, in either poetry or prose.’
‘Yes, sir,’ I reply.
When I get to the door, I glance at Pilar who gives me an exaggerated thumbs up. But it only makes me feel worse.
The school nurse is waiting by reception. ‘Apple,’ she says briskly. She leads me into an office that smells of coffee and antiseptic. She puts on her coat.
‘Is it my grandmother?’ I ask.
She puts her arm around me. ‘I’m assured it’s nothing to worry about. Someone’s coming to pick you up and take you to the hospital in a few minutes.’
I grip the straps of my school bag. ‘What happened? Who’s with her?’
‘I don’t have any details. Come on, let’s go out to the car park and see if your lift’s arrived.’
I stand next to the nurse and can’t help thinking about what would happen to me if Nana was really sick. Maybe they’d let me take care of her, or maybe they’d send me to live with my dad. Either way, it would be awful.
A car pulls up beside us and a voice calls out of the window above the din of dance music, ‘Cab for Apple Apostolopoulou?’ The person pronounces my surname perfectly.
‘Thank you,’ the nurse says. She turns to me. ‘No one’s been able to get in touch with your dad. Do you have a mobile? Can you call him?’
‘Yes, miss.’
‘Right, and if there’s any problem about where you’re going to sleep tonight or anything of that sort, give the school a call. Someone will be here until about six o’clock. OK?’
‘Yes, miss.’ I climb into the black Audi. The car pulls away and the nurse scuttles back into reception.
I don’t expect to have to talk to the driver, but as she rounds the corner she turns down the music and looks at me through the rear-view mirror. She can see me fully. I can only see her eyes – rusty brown and heavily made-up. ‘Everything OK, honey?’ she asks.
‘Fine, thank you,’ I say sourly because Nana has always warned me not to talk to strangers – although if the driver is a kidnapper, there isn’t a lot I can do about it now I’m strapped into the back seat of her car.
‘Your grandmother is fine,’ the woman says. Her eyes crinkle into a smile. The car turns into a cul-de-sac and slows to a stop. I stiffen. Is she planning to abduct me in broad daylight? And how does she know about Nana?
‘I’m meant to be going to the h-hospital,’ I stutter. I grasp the door handle and wonder whether to jump out and make a run for it.
The woman turns fully so her whole face is revealed. She smiles again. Her teeth are perfectly straight and white. ‘It’s me, Apple,’ she says gently.
My mouth goes dry. It can’t be. But it is. ‘Mum?’ I only recognise her because I’ve studied the photos
she’s emailed to Nana.
‘Phew. I was worried for a second you didn’t recognise me. You look so different.’
I try to think of something to say. Something that will mark this as an important moment in our lives. Before I can think of anything, Mum gets out of the car, opens the back door, and smiles again, with her lovely American teeth.
‘How long are you staying?’ is all I can say.
‘I’m back for good, sweetheart.’ For good? Meaning for ever? A few moments earlier I was terrified of my life changing, and it was, but in the best possible way. ‘I know it’s probably a bit of a shock seeing me, but can I have a hug?’ Mum says. I jump out of the car and throw my arms around her. I breathe in her heavy perfume. I can hardly believe she’s real.
‘Mum,’ I say.
‘So what should we do with our afternoon?’ she asks.
I shrug. And then I remember Nana. ‘Shouldn’t we go to the hospital?’
She laughs into the sky. ‘What? No! That was to get you out of school, you ninny. Nana’s fine. I think.’
‘Have you seen her?’
‘I’ll see her later. Right now, I’m hungry. Aren’t you?’ she asks.
It’s almost lunchtime. I only had a few spoons of porridge for breakfast. ‘Very,’ I say.
Mum tugs the band holding her ponytail together and shakes her long hair loose. It falls in smooth waves down her back. ‘Right, hop in the front, and let’s get going.’
I want to ask her if Nana knows I’m missing school, but it’s a silly question. So I don’t say anything. I climb into the passenger seat next to her and fasten my seat belt.
8
The Palace Hotel sits at the top of the cliffs. Not that they’re proper cliffs with scary death-drops. The cliffs in Brampton-on-Sea roll into the ocean like a soft blanket. Sailing boats are dots in the distance. The clouds are creamy against the horizon.
The hotel is where the posh weddings and mayors’ banquets are held. And here I am sitting at one of their tables by the window with a stiff napkin on my lap and a plate of battered fish called calamari on the plate in front of me. And I’m with my mum.