Page 13 of Sad Girl Hours
Chapter Thirteen
Saffron
Back at my place, the apple-pie making is well under way. The sky’s darkening outside but, instead of putting the main light on (a garish strip of fluorescence), Nell lights a series of tapers that she produces from a bag she apparently stashed here earlier and places them all round the kitchen.
“The combo of baking and the candles does make me feel a little like a peasant woman in ye olde times, preparing a pie for her husband who’s returning from a long day down the mines,” Nell says, “but it’s still a vibe.”
“I agree,” I say, taking care not to knock into one of the candles as I roll out the pastry on the flour-dusted side. “Though I must say I’m very glad no husbands are involved and these pies are just for us and our friends.”
“Amen,” Nell says. “OK, how are we decorating these bad boys? Classic top, lattice, fun shapes?”
“I think one lattice, one we just go bonkers with.”
“Excellent plan.”
Jenna and Casper wander in ten minutes later as I’m carefully weaving strands of pastry to form my lattice top, and Nell’s sitting on the floor, taking a break after unsuccessfully trying to cut out an apple shape to go on top of the other pie.
“It looks more like a deformed pumpkin,” she grumbles.
“A very beautiful deformed pumpkin. Besides, that’s perfect. It’s October – deformed pumpkins are very seasonally appropriate.”
“But I’m meant to be an artist.” Nell curls up into a ball on the tiles. “Sure, my paintbrush is a pen, but I still feel as though I’ve let the muses down.”
“Why is Nell on the floor?” Jenna asks, stepping over her.
“I have failed to live up to my calling,” Nell calls up, voice muffled from being in a foetal position, the jumper I lent her (when we got back looking like drowned rodents) hooked over her knees.
“Her pastry apple looks more like a pumpkin,” I explain. “This is apparently disastrous.”
“It is . I am a failure as an artiste.”
“It’s been a good day then, I’m gathering?” Jenna asks. “Very uneventful?”
“It’s been lovely,” I say, deciding to just ignore Nell’s artistic plight. Casper, however, crouches down in front of her and begins poking at her hair. “We went apple picking, did a maze maize and Nell turned me into a criminal. All great activities.”
“You engaged in criminal activity?” Casper prods.
“We did. We stole two bagfuls of apples and were chased off the premises of a castle, and then we lied to a very sweet, very enthusiastic teen about completing the maze without checking the map in order to win a prize.”
Jenna pauses in stealing a chunk of apple. “What prize?”
Nell flails around a bit on the floor, digging her hand into the pocket of the jeans I also lent her, before sticking her arm up in the air, holding the pencil aloft.
“You won a pencil.”
“Not just any pencil,” Nell says, getting up. “A football pencil.”
This does not invoke the impressed reaction that Nell clearly thinks it warrants.
“Hey, we worked hard for this pencil – show some respect. We were in that maze for two hours, it rained so hard that I had to get changed to look like a mini version of Saffron when we got home and we only cheated a tiny bit.”
“I’m very sorry. Also, what the fuck is wrong with this apple?” Jenna grimaces.
“They’re cooking apples – they’re not meant to be eaten raw,” I explain.
“They’re fucking disgusting.”
“Once again, show some respect. We stole these apples with our own fair hands, and we’re baking them into pies with our own fair hands.
Pies that we were going to share, but if you don’t respect the game then maybe you don’t deserve pie.
” Nell makes another attempt at cutting something out of her rolled pastry.
“Hey! This looks like a leaf! A perfectly normal, well-shaped leaf.”
“It really does,” I say. “Well done.” I put my hand up for a high five, which Nell smacks with vigour. “Do you feel a bit better now? Maybe the muses were just trying to guide you towards your true pastry calling of leaves.”
“Maybe they were.”
“Well, I’m glad the day has turned out to be a success,” Jenna says, and I know she’s probably being snarky, but I really think it has.
I glance sideways at Nell whose tongue is poking out slightly from the corner of her mouth as she focuses on cutting out leaves.
She feels my gaze on her and looks across at me with a smile.
“You could say that,” I say in reply to Jenna.
I’ve enjoyed myself today. I’ve not felt low at all.
I’ve submitted to the impish whims of Nell.
I’ve let myself just be and enjoy my time.
I was determined that things would be different this year, and now I think that maybe they really will.
I’ll keep working at it, keep trying my hardest not to let myself sink.
I need to be OK. Today’s just been one day, sure, but it’s proof that if I really want to, if I really try, I can be.
“Ta-da!” Nell lifts up her pie to show me, deformed pumpkin – sorry, apple – in the middle, a wreath of leaves now around the edge.
“Beautiful!” I say. “You’ve really pulled it back from the brink of your artistic crisis there.”
“Why, thank you.”
I start carefully trimming the offcuts round the edge of the pie dish so that the edges are all neat.
I can do this.