I told Nana that I only missed a day of school. I made it seem like a one-off. But on Wednesday I skip school again. Mum has a casting call in London for a part in The Woman in Black and she can’t wait for Rain who spends ages getting showered and then, just before Mum’s about to leave, says Jenny’s done a ‘mammoth poop’ and needs changing.
Mum waves her arms around and shouts so loudly, I worry she might hit Rain. ‘You know perfectly well that if I leave you here alone and someone finds out, I’ll have child welfare on my back. Do you want to go into a care home? Is that what you want?’ She’s screaming at Rain, but she’s looking at me.
‘I’ll take care of her,’ I say. I’d do almost anything to avoid going back to school.
When Mum’s gone, I clear up the breakfast dishes, put some towels and bedsheets in for washing and do my homework. I start with English. Mr Gaydon asked us to write about someone we love. It only takes me a minute to decide what to write about.
‘Someone I Thought I Loved’ by Apple Apostolopoulou
I thought a kiss meant
Everything.
I thought it meant love –
Until He kissed me.
His mouth was moist, his breath like beer,
His face so close I saw the fear
Of me and what I was.
Not the girl I wanted to be
But just
A Girl.
A Child.
A Silliness
To him,
And to everyone else who laughed
At the performance.
My nana always said that
Love is an action.
I know now she didn’t mean kissing
Or anything close to it.
She meant that love is quiet doing –
A day to day toil in the dark.
Rain peers over my shoulder. ‘What you writing?’ she asks. She reads the first line and laughs. ‘Have you written about that boy Egan? Have you written about how you love him?’
I slam down the lid of my laptop. ‘Get out of my life, can’t you?’
Rain snorts. ‘Love poetry is so lame,’ she says.
‘Don’t you have something to do?’
She shakes her head.
‘We’ve got to take the library books back, so go and read them,’ I tell her.
Rain curls up on the couch with a book about Elizabeth the First. I open the laptop and a fresh document, so I can do my homework for real.
‘Someone I Love’ by Apple Apostolopoulou
Mallary Ford is the best writer on the planet. She writes like she can see inside people, especially people my age. My nana encourages me to play the clarinet, but when I leave school, I would like to write children’s books. My dream is to be as good as Mallary Ford (although I doubt that will ever happen). I have never met Mallary Ford, but if I did I would probably have to curtsy in front of her. Maybe people think you can’t love someone you do not know, but you can love their work; I think that’s close enough.
Rain stands behind me again.
‘Stop bloody spying on me!’ I shout.
‘I finished the books,’ she says.
‘All the books?’ I sound like a teacher.
‘I skipped a few pages of the science one. I’m not interested in minerals.’
‘Fair enough.’
In the library we swap the books we’ve read for fresh ones, renew the ones we still want and borrow a couple of DVDs, which help to whittle away the afternoon. And happily, Mum gets home early. On the way she’s picked up a pizza, half with olives for me, half with mushrooms and pepperoni for Rain. I know Nana wouldn’t approve of me missing school, but it’s worth it because Mum’s found a part in a play.
‘It’s only a few lines, but it’s in the West End and it’s a foot in the door. I start in three weeks. Finally we’ll have some money coming in.’ She kicks off her shoes and rubs her feet.
‘That’s fantastic. Congratulations!’ I hug her quickly. I can hardly believe my mum’s a real actress.
‘I knew you’d be pleased. Now, we’re left with one problem.’ Mum glances at Rain. ‘If I’m to get more parts . . .’
‘She has to go back to school,’ I say, finishing her sentence for her.
Rain has demolished her pizza. She is kneeling at the coffee table, cutting pictures from the John Lewis catalogue and putting together a design for a nursery. ‘Are you talking about me?’ she says.
‘Of course not. We’re talking about one of Apple’s teachers,’ Mum says. She lowers her voice. ‘The school simply can’t cope with her problem. I can hardly cope myself. You seem to be the only one she responds to.’
‘Me?’
‘I bet that after a few more weeks of you living with us, she’ll get rid of that doll and settle down. She’s got a sister now. Why would she need Jenny?’
I’m not sure Mum’s right. Rain’s been devoted to her doll today – taking her everywhere, even to the toilet. She’s been announcing every cough or hiccup Jenny makes.
‘I know this might seem a big ask, Apple, but would you consider looking after her while I go to a few more auditions in London? I really think I could get some TV work if I persevere. You could help me out for a few days until I line up a babysitter? I don’t really have a lot of disposable cash right now.’
Mum doesn’t have to convince me. I’ll do anything to help her become a famous actress. In any case, I’d rather stay at home and watch films than spend all day avoiding Donna, Pilar and Egan.
‘I can take care of her,’ I say.
Mum hugs me so tight she almost breaks my neck. ‘Really? Oh, Apple, you’re the best daughter ever.’
Rain looks up then quickly gets back to cutting out pictures. But the brief, sad glance is unmistakable: it’s the look of a daughter desperate for her mum to love her the best.