Every Love Has Its Own Shape Annie stepped outside and shivered as the bitter wind cut right through her thin jumper—she’d gone out into the yard without a coat. She walked through the garden gate and simply stood, glancing around, tears she didn’t notice running down her cheeks. “Annie, why are you crying?” She startled at the sound of Mikey, the boy from next door. He was a bit older, and his hair always stuck up at the back. “I’m not crying, it’s just…” Annie lied. Mikey looked at her, then reached into his pocket and handed her three sweets. “Here, but don’t tell anyone, or they’ll all come running. Now go inside,” he ordered, and she obeyed. “Thank you,” she whispered, “but I’m not hungry… just…” But Mikey seemed to understand and nodded, walking on. In the village, everyone knew Annie’s dad, Andrew, drank. He often visited the only shop in the village, asking the shopkeeper, Valerie, to lend him money until payday. Valerie grumbled but always relented. “How haven’t you lost your job with all the debt you’ve run up?” she’d scold as he hurried out—and spent what little he had on drink. Annie went back inside. She’d recently come home from school, where she was in Year 4. There was rarely much food at home, but she couldn’t admit she was hungry—otherwise, they’d take her away to a children’s home, and she’d heard only bad things about those places. Besides, how could she leave her dad all alone? No, she’d rather stay. Even if the fridge was empty. She’d finished school early that day—her teacher was ill. It was late September, and a biting wind whipped yellow leaves from the trees and swept them across the village. Her old coat and clunky boots barely kept out the damp and cold. Her father was asleep on the sofa, still in his clothes and shoes, snoring, two empty bottles on the table and another under it. Rummaging in the kitchen cupboard, Annie found nothing, not even a crust of bread. She quickly ate Mikey’s sweets, resolved to do her homework, and perched on a stool, tucking her legs underneath. Opening her maths book, she stared at the sums, but couldn’t concentrate. From the window, she watched the wind rock the trees and swirl the yellow leaves. The view included what used to be a vibrant vegetable patch. Now it looked dead—raspberries withered, strawberries vanished, weeds everywhere, and even the old apple tree was dry and bare. Her mum had tended every plant lovingly; the apples were always sweet. But this August, her father had picked them all too soon and sold them at the market, mumbling, “Need the money.” Annie’s dad, Andrew, hadn’t always been this way. He used to be kind and jolly; they’d go for woodland walks and watch films together, drinking tea and eating her mum’s delicious pancakes or jam tarts. But one day, her mother fell ill and went away to hospital—and never came back. “Mum’s got something wrong with her heart,” her father had said, with tears in his eyes. Annie clung to him as he sobbed. “Now your mum will be watching over you from above.” After that, he’d sit for hours staring at her mum’s photograph, then started drinking. Strange, boisterous men began visiting, and Annie would retreat to her tiny room or slip outside to the bench behind the house. With a sigh, Annie got on with her sums. She was clever at lessons and finished them quickly before packing her books away and curling up on her bed. There, her old stuffed bunny, Timmy, always waited—a gift from Mum, worn grey now but still beloved. Annie hugged Timmy close. “Timmy, do you remember my mum?” she whispered. He didn’t answer, but she felt certain he remembered as well as she did. Closing her eyes, the memories came rushing back—bright and cheerful, though a bit blurred. Mum, in an apron, her hair pinned up, kneading dough to bake something wonderful. “Let’s make magic buns together, love.” “What do you mean, Mum? There’s no such thing as magic buns!” “Oh, there is,” Mum would laugh. “We’ll make heart-shaped buns, and if you make a wish when you eat one, it will always come true.” Annie would help, shaping lumpy heart buns. Mum would smile warmly and say, “Every love has its own shape.” Eagerly, they’d wait for the buns to bake, then eat them hot and make wishes as the delicious smell filled the house. When Dad came home, they’d all have tea and magic buns together. Annie wiped away tears stung by those memories. That was then… Now, the ticking clock filled the quiet house, and she felt hollow, missing her mum desperately. “Mum,” she breathed, hugging Timmy tight, “I miss you so much.” On Saturday Annie didn’t have to go to school. After lunch she set off for a walk; her dad was asleep again on the sofa. Pulling on her old jumper under her coat, she headed towards the nearby woods. There was an old house on the edge—Granddad George’s. He’d died two years ago, but his apple and pear orchard remained. Annie had crept in before, climbing the fence to collect fallen apples and pears. “I’m not stealing—just taking what’s wasted,” she reassured herself. She remembered Granddad George a little—old and grey, always kind, giving children apples, pears, or even a toffee from his pocket. This time, as Annie reached the fence, she climbed over, picked two apples, wiped one on her coat and bit into it. “Hey! Who are you?” A woman on the porch startled her, causing her to drop the apples. The woman came closer. “Well? Who are you?” “Annie… I’m not stealing, just picking up these from the ground, I didn’t know anyone lived here…” “I’m George’s granddaughter; I arrived yesterday—I’ll be living here now. How long have you been coming?” “Since Mum died…” Annie’s voice cracked, and her eyes filled with tears. The woman pulled her into a hug. “There, there, don’t cry. Come inside; I’m Mrs Anne Carter—though when you’re grown up, folk will call you Anna too.” Mrs Carter instantly guessed at Annie’s hunger and hard life, and brought her into the kitchen. “Take off your boots, love. I cleaned up yesterday, though there’s still unpacking to do. Let me get you something to eat—there’s chicken soup on the hob I made this morning, and some other bits. Looks like we’re neighbours now.” She eyed Annie’s thin shoulders and old, too-short coat. “Is the soup… with meat?” Annie asked hopefully. “Of course, with chicken!” said Mrs Carter, kindly. “Come on, sit down, eat as much as you like. If you want seconds, just ask.” Hungry, Annie didn’t hesitate. She sat at the plaid-covered table, warmed by the cosy kitchen. Mrs Carter put a bowl of soup and bread before her. “Eat up, Annie.” Annie wolfed down the soup and bread in minutes. “Want more?” Mrs Carter asked. “No, thank you, I’m full.” “Then how about some tea?” Mrs Carter smiled, placing a basket covered with a towel on the table. As she pulled back the cloth, the sweet scent of vanilla spread across the room. Inside were heart-shaped buns. Annie took one, bit into it, and her eyes filled with tears. “Buns—just like Mum used to make…” she murmured. After tea and buns, Annie was rosy-cheeked and relaxed. Mrs Carter spoke gently: “So, tell me about your life—where you live, who with. I’ll walk you home afterwards.” “I can go alone—it’s only a few houses up,” Annie mumbled, not wanting her new friend to see their messy home. “Nonsense,” said Mrs Carter firmly. Annie’s house greeted them with silence; her father still lay sprawled on the sofa. Empty bottles, cigarette butts, and dirty laundry were everywhere. Mrs Carter surveyed the scene and shook her head. “I get it now…” she murmured. “Right—let’s tidy up.” She quickly swept the mess from the table, packed bottles in a bag, opened the curtains, shook the rug. Annie suddenly said, “Please, don’t tell anyone about our house. Dad’s good, really—just lost and sad… If people find out, they’ll take me away, and I can’t leave him. He just misses Mum, that’s all…” Mrs Carter hugged her close. “I won’t tell a soul, promise.” Time passed. Annie skipped to school in neatly braided hair, a new coat and boots, her rucksack slung confidently over her shoulder. “Annie, my mum said your dad got remarried—is it true?” asked Molly, her classmate. “You look so pretty, and your hair’s lovely.” “It’s true—now I’ve got a new mum—Auntie Anna!” Annie said proudly, hurrying into school. Andrew had long since stopped drinking, thanks to Mrs Carter. Now they walked together—Andrew, tall and neat, and Anna, graceful, confident, and kind. They always smiled and doted on Annie. The years whizzed by. Now at university, Annie returned for holidays and called out cheerily as she opened the door: “Mum, I’m home!” Anna ran out to hug her. “Welcome back, Professor!” They both laughed, and in the evening Andrew came home from work, smiling and content. Every love truly does have its own shape.

Every Love Has Its Own Shape

Annie stepped outside and instantly shivered as the wind whipped her thin jumper, sneaking icy fingers up her sleeveshed come out without a coat. She stood by the garden gate, glancing around, not even noticing the tears streaming down her cheeks.

Oi, Annie, why are you crying? Startled, she looked up to see her neighbour, Michael, standing therea scruffy boy a year or two older, with hair sticking out everywhere at the back.

Im not crying, its just got something in my eye, Annie lied.

Michael eyed her, then fished three sweets from his pocket and handed them over.

Here. But dont tell anyone or the whole lot of them will be round. Go on, get indoors, he commanded, all serious, and she listened.

Ta, she whispered, but Im not even hungry just

But Michael already understood, nodded, and wandered off down the lane. Everyone in their little village knew about Annies dad, Andrew. He drank. Hed duck into the only shop in the village, asking Mrs Valentine, the shopkeeper, to give him fags and drink just till payday. Shed have a go at himHow havent they sacked you yet? You owe a fortune, Andrew!but she always came through.

Annie let herself back into their cold little terrace. Shed just come in from schoolnine years old. There was rarely anything to eat in the house, but shed never dare say she was hungry, or else someone might ship her off to a childrens homeand shed heard stories about those. And how would Dad cope alone? Hed be lost. This was better. Sort of. Even if the fridge was always bare.

Today, Annie was home earlytwo lessons cancelled, her teacher was off sick. It was the tail-end of September, the wind lashing yellow leaves off the trees and sending them spinning down the road. The autumn seemed determined to prove a pointAnnies old coat and boots didnt stand a chance in the mud and rain.

Her father was asleep on the sofa, fully clothed, still in his muddy boots, snoring loudly. Two empty bottles on the table, another under it for good measure. Annie poked through the kitchen cupboardsempty. Not even a slice of stale bread.

She munched the sweets Michael had given her and settled down, tucking her legs under her, opening her maths book. The numbers swam on the pageshe had no interest. Outside, the wind battered the yard, sending leaves racing about.

She looked out at the vegetable patchonce lush and green, now nothing but dead weeds. The raspberries dried up, the strawberries gone, just the sad old apple tree left, as shrivelled as an autumn memory. Mum had cared for every plant, coaxing life into the garden. Annie could almost hear her voice: Look, love, theyre nearly ready. This August, Dad had picked all the apples early and flogged them at the market. We need the money, hed said, not meeting her eye.

DadAndrewhadnt always been like this. Once, hed been kind and cheery, strolling in the woods with Mum, plonking down to watch telly together, drinking tea and eating golden pancakes Mum cooked every morning. And jam tartsshe made those too.

Then one day Mum fell ill. She went to hospital and never came back.

Mums hearts just not right, love, Dad had said, his own voice cracking. Annie clung to him, both sobbing. Shell be watching you from above now, our clever girl.

For a while, Dad sat with Mums photo, staring into nothing. Then the drinking started. Strange men turned up at the house, laughing too loudly. Annie hid in her tiny bedroom or escaped round the back to the old bench by the shed.

With a sigh, Annie tried to do her maths. She was a bright girlschool came easy, even now. When she finished, she stacked her books away and flopped on her bed.

Her bed always had her old soft rabbit on ita tatty, greyed thing Mum bought her years ago, called Timmy. Hed been white once, but Annie loved him all the more for his battered ears. She hugged him now.

Timmy, she whispered, do you remember Mum?

Timmy stayed silent, but Annie was certain he did. She shut her eyes and let the old memories roll invivid and shining, even if they got fuzzy at the edges. Mum, in her pinny, hair swept into a bun, busy with flour and dough, always baking something.

Lets make magic buns, love! Mum would say.

Whats magic about them? Annie had asked, mystified.

Theyre heart-shaped. And if you make a wish before eating, it just might come true.

Annie helped, forming wobbly hearts, Mum laughing gently. Every love has its own shape, darling.

Theyd both wait as the buns baked, the house filling with delicious, warm smells, until Dad came homethen the three of them with mugs of tea and magic buns, wishes at the ready.

Tears blurred Annies eyes again. Yes, that was before. Now the clock ticked in the corner, and she felt hollowmissing Mum, wishing for what couldnt come back.

Mum, she breathed, hugging Timmy. I miss you.

On her day off from school, after lunch, Annie decided to stretch her legsDad still out for the count. She pulled on her old jumper under the coat and slipped out. She wandered to the edge of the village, where an ancient cottage stood; old Mr Godfrey had lived there till he died two years ago. Hed had a huge orchard, apples and pears dangling everywhere.

Annie often swung herself over the fence to scavenge windfalls, telling herself, Not stealingjust making use. Otherwise theyll rot!

She remembered Mr Godfrey as a kindly old gent with wild snowy hair and a stick. Hed always share his apples with the local kids, sometimes even a sweet if he had one tucked away. Now he was gone, but the trees still bore fruit.

Today, Annie clambered over, picked two apples, gave them a good rub on her jumper and took a bitewhen a voice startled her.

Oi, what are you doing? Annie dropped both apples in shock.

A woman in a smart coat appeared on the porch.

IumIm Annie. Im not stealing. Just picking up what was already on the ground, she stammered, didnt think anyone was herethere wasnt before

Im Mr Godfreys granddaughter. Came down yesterday, staying now. How long have you been coming for apples?

Ever since my mum died, Annie whispered, tears at the edges of her eyes.

The woman pulled her into a hug.

There, there. Come on in, love. Im AnnaAnna Godfrey. Just like you, eh? And when youre grown, theyll call you Anna too.

Anna saw at once that Annie was hungry and struggling. Inside, she encouraged, Shoes off, please! I only just tidied up yesterdayhavent even unpacked the suitcase yet. Ive got soup on the go though, and a few other bits. Guess were neighbours now. She took in Annies skinny shoulders and outgrown coat.

Is your soup does it have meat? Annie asked, hopefully.

Chicken, sweetheart, Anna smiled. Come sit at the table.

Annies stomach grumbled traitorouslyshed not eaten all day. She sat at a table covered with a checkered clothinside, the place smelled of clean washing and something lovely baking. Anna set a bowl of soup and a thick slice of bread in front of her.

Eat as much as you want, Annie. Theres plenty moredont hold back.

No chance of thatAnnie gulped it down, scraping the last bit of bread around the bowl.

More? Anna asked.

No, thank you. Im stuffed.

Good. Then lets have tea. Anna brought over a basket covered with a tea towel, then whipped it away, beaming. Instantly, the house filled with the scent of vanillainside were heart-shaped buns. Annie took one bite, closed her eyes.

Just like Mums. Exactly like Mums, she murmured.

After tea and buns, cheeks pink and worries faded, Anna said gently, So then, Annie, tell me about your home. Where do you live, whos with you? Ill walk you back after.

I can run by myselfits just four houses down. She didnt want Anna seeing their chaos.

Nonsense. Im coming too, said Anna squarely.

Annies house greeted them with silence. Dad still snored on the sofa, surrounded by bottles, ashtrays and a mess of old clothes.

Anna glanced around and sighed.

I see, she said softly. Come on, lets tidy up a bit. She got right to workpiling bottles into a bag, flicking open the curtains, beating out the doormat, sweeping the worst of it away.

Please dont tell anyone about us, Annie burst out. Dads hes not bad, hes just lost. If people find out, theyll take me away from himand I dont want that. He really is good, just misses Mum.

Anna hugged her. Not a word to anyone. Promise.

Time rolled on by. Annie now scampered to school in shiny new boots, a smart satchel on her back, her hair beautifully plaited.

Annie! My mum says your dads married now, is it true? piped up Mary, her classmate. Youve gone so posh! Nice hair.

Its true! Ive got a new mum, Auntie Anna, Annie replied, grinning, racing ahead to school.

Andrew had stopped drinking, thanks to Anna Godfrey. Now they strolled togetherAndrew tall, handsomely turned out, Anna beside him, neat and warm and strongsmiling always, bestowing all their love on Annie.

The years flew by. Annie became a university student, coming home for the holidays and bursting through the door.

Mum! Im home!

Anna flew out of the kitchen, hugging her tight.

Hello, my little professor, welcome home! And the pair burst into laughter, and later, when Andrew came back from work, hed join in, content and joyful as ever.