«An Apple Doesn’t Fall Far from the Tree»
«Clarice, you’ve lived in this house your whole life—how on earth could you bring yourself to sell it?» fretted her neighbour Agnes, who’d lived right next door for decades, if not more.
Clarice and Agnes had never kept secrets from each other. They’d shared joys and sorrows, lent a hand in tough times—what else were neighbours for, if not to be like family? And now Agnes was downright heartbroken to hear Clarice had finally sold her house.
«Clarice, you’ve really gone and done it? Where on earth will you go? It’s all so uncertain—what if your grandson Tim doesn’t even meet you? The city’s a big place, you’ll get lost…»
«Don’t fret, Agnes. There are kind folk everywhere. And Tim’s my own flesh and blood—who else will help him if not me?»
Agnes fell silent. She knew the truth—Clarice had raised Tim herself. His parents, her son and daughter-in-law, had dumped him on her as a baby and gone off to make their fortune. After that, they’d vanished. At first, her son wrote letters, then—nothing. Clarice hadn’t a clue where they were, though she held out hope. But where? In those letters, he’d promised to return, to help his mother—yet here she was, left to manage the house, the garden, the boy. Now Tim lived in a student flat in London.
«Oh, I don’t know, Clarice, I just don’t… It’s scary to uproot yourself at our age,» Agnes fretted.
«Agnes, love, you know I’m going to Tim—he’s expecting me! He rang just the other day, asking if I’d sold the house. I popped to the post office and wired him the money. Once I’m settled, I’ll call—you’ll visit! You see how old I’m getting—who’ll look after me if I take ill? I can’t keep bothering you. But Tim’ll be nearby. He hasn’t time to come down to the village, but there, he’ll keep an eye on me. Not for nothing did I raise him,» Clarice explained.
Agnes bit her tongue, keeping her worries to herself.
«Maybe Clarice is right. Maybe Timothy isn’t as I think. Maybe he doesn’t visit because he’s busy—working hard in the city.»
As Clarice made to leave, Agnes blurted out:
«Listen, my dear, if anything goes wrong, you’re always welcome back. This house is far too big for just me.»
Clarice hugged her, eyes welling up.
«I know, Agnes, I know—you’ve a heart of gold. If need be, you’ll take me in, look after me. But I’m sure my Tim’s different from his parents. He’ll be waiting. He remembers kindness, and besides—he’s got no one else…»
Agnes nodded, brushing away a tear. She knew Tim had no family but Clarice, who’d raised him, lived for him, given him everything. Yet something nagged at her—why had he been so insistent she sell the house?
They said their goodbyes, and Clarice caught the train—just a half-hour ride to the city. Stepping onto the platform, she took a seat and dialled Tim’s number—only to hear:
«The number you have dialled is incorrect.»
«How’s that possible? We spoke just two days ago—he promised to meet this train!» she thought. «Ah well, he’s probably held up. Work, most like.»
Three hours she waited on that bench, scanning every man who passed—but no Tim.
«Oh! I’ve got his address!» She fished a slip of paper from her coat pocket—Tim’s student digs. Peeking into her worn purse, she checked her cash. Enough for a cab. She approached the drivers loitering by the kerb.
«Lad, I need to get here,» she said, thrusting the address at one. «My grandson lives there. Was supposed to meet me, but—well, life happens.»
«Hop in, love. Have you there in no time.»
The ride was long, the car lulling her near to sleep—until the driver announced:
«Here we are.»
«Ta very much,» she said, pressing crumpled notes into his hand.
«Hold on, love. Let me walk you in—just to be safe.»
«Here—take it.»
«Later. First, let’s get you to your grandson,» he chuckled.
At reception, the warden frowned.
«Who is it you’re here for?»
«My grandson—Timothy. He lives here.»
«You’re his grandmother? But—you’re alive?»
«Eh? ’Course I am—I’m standing right here!»
Clarice looked between them, baffled. The driver’s face fell—he’d caught on.
«What’s this about me being alive?»
«No point sugar-coating it,» the warden said flatly. «Yesterday, he said he’d inherited from you—that you’d passed.»
She sat Clarice down, handed her water—the poor woman was shaking. The cabbie lingered.
«Timothy claimed you’d died, sold your house, pocketed the lot, left his key, and vanished.»
The driver tried to soothe her, though he couldn’t fathom such cruelty. Even the warden pitied her, fetching tea and biscuits.
«Don’t you fret, love. We’ll sort something,» he said helplessly.
His own place was tiny—he, his wife, and kids crammed in with the in-laws. They saved every penny for a home of their own.
«Any other family, dear?» the warden asked.
Clarice swayed on the chair.
«No. Only Tim. I raised him.»
«So… you’ve nowhere to go?»
«None. But Agnes—my neighbour—she’s closer than kin. Knew this’d happen, bless her. Said she’d always take me back. We’ve been like sisters. Suppose I’ll head home.»
«Right, love. Let’s get you to the station—and keep your money. What kind of man would I be, taking it? Train fare covered?»
«Aye, lad, aye. Strange, isn’t it—a stranger helps for free, yet my own flesh and blood…» Her tears fell anew.
At the station, he helped buy her ticket. An hour’s wait.
«Here, love—my number, just in case. Ring if you need anything.» He scribbled it down. «Best be off—more fares to catch. Safe travels. It’ll all work out.»
On the train, Clarice watched the world rush by—trees, hedges, rooftops.
«Still, there’s more good folk than not,» she mused. «That driver—didn’t even ask his name. Oh—Nigel, it says here. Not much older than Tim, yet so kind. And the warden, offering a bed, tea, comfort. Next time I come, I’ll bring apples from the garden, jam. Agnes makes the best preserves…»
Her heart ached—no home to return to. Yet oddly, she felt peace. Every footpath, every blade of grass here was hers. Only one sorrow lingered—no house to call her own.
«I’ll stay with Agnes. Maybe Tim’ll come round—fetch me. We’re all each other’s got.»
Dusk fell as she trudged the familiar lane.
«Nothing like country air. No city can match it. Wonder what Agnes will say—probably scold me silly.»
As if sensing her return, Agnes had been restless all day, even debating meeting the train.
«What if she changes her mind? No—once she’s gone, she’s gone.»
Yet there, in the twilight, she spotted her.
«Clarice? It is you!» She barrelled out, arms wide.
«Back again,» Clarice wept. «You were right all along. Oh, Agnes, what a fool I was—trusting my Tim, and him lying through his teeth. Well, they say the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree. Just like his parents, that one. Seems that’s my lot in life…»
«Never mind that,» Agnes said firmly. «I’m glad you’re back. Two lonely souls together—we’ll manage just fine. I’ll help you, you’ll help me. That’s how it’ll be.»